Surviving Childhood Abuse

There are many myths about Child Abuse, and one of the biggest is that Abuse is usually at the hands of strangers. In my case only a handful of strangers caused me harm, while family and friends were the main perpetrators.

The first time I remember being abused I was 5 years old. I remember only a few things....one was the exact phrase that was used before the abuse occurred, and the other was being told that I couldn't tell anyone or I would go to jail. A 5 year old going to jail for the crime committed against her, but what did I know, I was 5 and I trusted people...until that day.

From then on I didn't trust anyone, as I had no reason to. There was no one to protect me. This was the beginning of years of sexual abuse perpetrated by several different people, none of which were strangers.

There are 3 main types of Child Abuse:

1. Emotional- In my opinion this one is worse than Physical, because these scars aren't visible, and they last longer than the scars of Physical Abuse.
2. Physical -
3. Sexual-This one scars the victims for life with trust issues.

Unfortunately I was the victim of all 3 most of my life. At the age of 9 or 10 I actually ran away from home as I couldn't take it anymore. I remember making sandwiches, packing pots and pans, a blanket and food, and riding my bike to a nearby Orange Grove. I swore I would never go home again, but as it started getting dark I got scared, and rode home.

Someone, I don't remember who, had been telling me horror stories of kids getting killed, chopped up and put into refrigerators, and so I was deathly afraid of the dark. I needed to be able to see if someone was going to come harm me. So, I went home.

School and books were my escape. I read Nancy Drew, and loved how she was smart and could solve just about any mystery. I wanted to be like her, and make sense and order out of my chaotic life.

My parents had divorced when I was too small to remember, and my step-father made it very clear that I wasn't his child. Holidays weren't pleasant as he made sure his kids had a lot of gifts, while my mother struggled to buy for my brother, sister, and me. Also my step father drank a lot and was physically and emotionally abusive to everyone. He would get into nasty verbal altercations with my mother, which sometimes resulted in physical altercations.

One time he was hitting my mother and I remember taking a baseball bat, hitting him and telling him to leave my mother alone. I was around 10 or 11 at the time. The next thing I remember is my mother making up with him and forcing me to apologize for hitting him. That act of apologizing never made any sense to me, and I didn't understand how my mom could even be nice to him after that.

This cycle of abuse with my stepfather lasted several years until they divorced. In retrospect I am not sure what was worse, living with his abuse, or the next chapter of abuse in my life. But what I did know was that on our street of middle class professionals nobody talked about abuse, and the "secrets" were all kept within the home.

This was probably one of the biggest reasons for the next chapter: Nobody could help me, because nobody knew.

My teen years were very turbulent. So many things happened that left me broken, and longing to be free. I had built walls around my pain, and just wanted to be able to be like everyone else. But that didn't happen, and at 15 I was pregnant. No one knew I was pregnant, including myself. I had learned how to disassociate everything that was unpleasant. My mother took me to a Doctor to get diet pills as I had gained weight, but instead he told my mother he heard the heart beat of an approximately 7 month old fetus.

I was 15, and that was almost the end of my living at home. I was shipped off to an unwed mothers home until the baby was born. Of course it was given up for adoption and I was told I ruined my mothers life. I remember one day after I went home I wanted to go to a Football game at the High School. I was cleaning the floor when I asked if I could go.

"No, we can't trust you! You already got knocked up once." The tears were hot and falling onto the floor as these words tore into my heart.Hanging my head, I cried as I finished cleaning the floor. They also called Child Services to try to get rid of me by saying I got a Fail in Algebra therefore I was a bad kid. At least that's how I interpreted the call. But I didn't leave then, I guess the Social Services people didn't think a Fail in Algebra was the worst thing in the world.

A few months later I called them myself....I just had to get out of there as I was almost completely lost. My brother and sister had already been sent to homes, and I was the only one left. No one knew I called until the knock on the door, and I walked out to the Social Worker. I thought for sure now someone was going to protect me. How wrong I was.

I went to several Foster Homes, then Reform School. At that time in the 60's the Health and Welfare code had a provision for locking up incorrigible children. And they had adjudicated me incorrigible because I kept running away from all the foster homes. I just couldn't stand being lied to and watching so many people act like they cared just to get the county check. Again, I just wanted to have a normal life, I wanted to be free of the pain and the people that didn't protect me.

After I got out of the Reform School I was angry. Hurt and angry but still trying to get an education and do something with my life. Unlike so many of my acquaintances I didn't get into the Drug scene. The only thing I had going for me was I had a good mind so ruining it wasn't an option.

I was sent to therapy, but that didn't work because I wasn't ready. It took over 15 years before I trusted anyone enough to attempt to share some of my story. My life was OK, not great and not bad, at least that's what I thought. The pain was compartmentalized for survival, and it was locked up. Deep. Deep within my soul was the remainder of that 5 year old that was so abused. "Trust no one, have no expectations, and don't let anyone expect anything from me".....but these things were private, no one knew them. All they knew was I wouldn't tolerate being touched...no hugs, no anything that resembled caring. And I lived this way for years while I tried to heal myself.

I did heal as much as is possible, and finally learned to let go of my rage. What a relief that was, but what a long hard road it was also. I don't even want to think of all the relationships I missed along the way by not trusting anyone. Now I make every effort to show I care to people I choose to trust.

I am not sure anyone that has been violated repeatedly ever completely heals, we just find our own way to make it through life. The lucky ones find someone that really cares, and let them in enough to make a difference. Because of a few people that didn't give up on me, and showed me I was worthy, I spent the next 25 years giving back. I paid it forward, and I healed.