by Rachel Parker

Created on: March 04, 2009

I am a thirty one year old one female and this is my story. I have often read articles about child abuse; how its victims are affected and how it affects them throughout their life. I decided to write my story in the hope that it helps just one person feel that they are not alone. So I shall begin at the beginning

I can't remember very much of the first fourteen years of my life. I have odd memories that are dreamlike and dis-jointed. One of my earliest memories is that of waiting for my father's new girlfriend to arrive. I think I would have been about five or six. Whilst we were waiting I was performing an oral sex act on my father. There is no sense of wrongness about it which is quite disturbing for me as an adult.

My next memory is of stealing sweets on my way to school every morning. At this point I must have been about eight. I think in my childlike mind I was crying for help. Needless to say I was caught and my father informed. I remember being bounced around the house like a rag doll. I have a vague memory of having to be kept off school but I'm not completely sure. But it would explain why I have an oddly shaped rib, that has been commented upon many times as looking like I have broken them at some point and it has healed in the wrong place.

I have other memories that really are unmentionable. Not because I don't want to talk about them but because you the reader probably would not want to read them. To me this is the real problem survivors of abuse have. People tell you they want to listen to what you have to say, but you have to censor what you tell them. A "normal" mind cannot come to terms with the unmentionable horrors that can happen.

I didn't come from a conventional family and I suppose you could say I was doomed from the start. My parents separated whilst I was a baby. My mother left the family home and me with it. She was what you would describe as a "free spirit". That combined with the fact that my father was a controlling man used to getting his own way, she decided he could care for me better than she could. The youngest of a family of all girls he had the full support of his family. So that was my mother out of the picture until I was fourteen!

As I said earlier I have only few memories of that time of my life. My father worked eight till five. Came home from work and we all sat together at the dinner table. My step mother would leave for work. Then my father would begin drinking. During the week the abuse was less. But I used to dread Sundays.

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