Abuse / Survival Stories > WORDS OF A VICTIM


I read my life is no longer a lie, therefore i decided to write a book myself, as if i were her. I live in a perfect life. But i fear for those who are in pain. I wrote this story ; so many others can reflect of it. I hope you enjoy

 As I tried to fight back my tears, faint cries are heard from the other room. My head is spinning with fear, I’m next. I pray for the safety of my mom. Soon enough I hear heavy footsteps pounding in my ears. Step by step getting louder, the door swings open. I hide under my sheets, staying quiet, not knowing what is going on. I feel the sheets lifting. It’s too late, it’s too late, and I’m found. Again and again his swinging his fist. Bruises everywhere, broken bones, open wounds. I instantly get a flash back; dad picking me up, whispering coldhearted shit. As usual I lay back thinking it was all going to end soon.

 Day after day, night after night, I would get sexually abused. My nights were a rollercoaster of pain going every direction getting lost in mist air. I threw up after every oral course; I cut myself for not knowing if there’s anyone that could help. My tears were blood, my life was a joke. I always knew, I was sent here as a lab rat, figuring out every piece of my body. Mondays were body checkups. Father would press on my nipple and describe its features like a fat kid describing his favorite cake. I had many sores, I was use to abuse. My mission was to end the day I die. Till death do us part?

 Slap! I was suddenly on the ground as teeth fell off like raindrops releasing from the sky. I smelled the rotten underwear left to decay on the concrete floor. I gazed up, and saw a shadow lurking at me. Grabbing me by the ends of my toe nail. *Crack* I feared to look beneath me for I knew I was falling apart. “AHHHHH,” my bone was popping out my toe like confetti. It was pitch black and swollen. “Hush,” Father said, as his Vaseline covered finger pressed on my lips. Feeling violated angered me yet relaxed my body. My mind was twisted with many horrific views and cruel thoughts. I had nothing else to do but relax and let the procedures begin.

 I remember when I was 4 years old, September 13, 1992. That night Father took me into his bathroom, sat me down on the cold toilet seat and just pulled out his penis. His black eyes circled my brown eyes as he asked for a massage. He said, don’t be afraid, look it’s called the caterpillar. I gave him a look a daughter would give his dad as in questioning him. He pulled my baby size hands, and pressed my fingertips against it while moving in circles. I remember him saying, “see it’s just a massage”, as a smile formed on his devil lips. He let go and told me, "here you try it" so I just stood there giving him what I thought was a massage. Many times I was ordered to ‘strip naked in front of him” (by now I was 8 years old). I was forced to kiss him from his neck down. He repeatedly put his hands down my pants while saying it’s the tickle game. What did I do? Well I stood still, for what could I do. The daily routines were as told; I would go into his room suck on his tongue or his neck (whatever he had in mind that day). He had always groped me, kissed me, licked me; dry humped me, and giving me many unexplainable orals. Ever since then I have had scars; wanting to disappear. And I am homeschooled; by my father himself. His favorite subject is science, for he would use me as an example.

 ~Ana

 

 

 

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