My Stepdad Asked Me To Touch Him

I was 10 years old and never had much of a good start to life. My dad always beat my mom black and blue. I’d watched him slash her with a knife and once he tried to hang her with a rope, she was cut down by ambulance men who attended. He even held a gun to both my mums and my head.

We had moved from one refuge to another as he kept finding us. This had been going on since I was 5. I was ten now surely I was safe.

My mom had met a new boyfriend and everything seemed perfect, she was pregnant and I was getting the little brother or sister I craved, as I only have a bigger brother. I thought at last my life was good, until one night.

I was woken from my sleep to find my mums boyfriend in my room, “shhh he told me go to back to sleep”

I didn’t feel scared at first “he wouldn’t hurt me would he? “  I started to fall asleep and I felt a hand come under the cover.

I froze, he was touching me

I didn’t know what to do; I really didn’t so as bad as it sounds I did nothing. Was I wrong to do so?

Next morning everything carried on as normal, nothing was said. A few months later my mom had my brother, nothing had happened since that night so I thought it was all over.

It was coming up to summer and Mark my step dad decided we should go camping; my mom wasn’t too keen on it especially with a baby just a few months old. I remember her saying she didn’t want to go so he decided to take me and my bigger brother.

I was excited, what child wouldn’t be? We were going snorkelling on a little camping holiday; this was going to be great. The holiday approached and I sadly left without my mum, just me my brother and our step dad.

That night I was woken again by something tickling my leg, I instantly reached down to scratch it, I remember feeling scared and thinking it was a spider.  Instead I found a stem of a flower and my step dad’s hand.

He stuck his hand over my mouth and told me it was OK. That is was just a game of tickles, he insisted that I relax and go to sleep.

This time though I felt scared.  I knew this wasn’t right.

Why’s he doing this to me why when I’m sleeping?

Why isn’t he playing a game of tickles with my brother in the other section on the tent? 

My Stepdad Asked Me To Touch Him I Was Scared And Wanted My Mum

My mind started racing, I started to cry.  I wanted to go home I missed my mom I cried to him, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Don’t cry” he told me “You take this stick and rub it up and down my legs” he said. “Make sure you go all the way up to the top and poke me here with it” he instructed me, pointing at his privates.

“If you do that I’ll give you   five pounds tomorrow for the shop”

I cried that I didn’t want to do it, to touch him and I didn’t want five pounds, I just wanted to go home.

He placed the stick in my hand and started moving my hand up and down. I look back now and I wish I screamed. I wish I woke my brother and still to this day I don’t know why I didn’t do that.

He slipped his hand down my pants and there he abused me again.

This is where the depression started.  I’d cry myself to sleep, started bunking of school and self-harming.  I’d smash glass bottles and scrape the sharp glass down my arms till they bled, why? Because the relief it gave me was immense.

The abuse took place on a weekly basis.

My mom was also expecting a 2nd child with this man, another brother for me. I was supposed to be happy but I was petrified. This was it; we would never get away now.

School started reporting my behavior to my mom who was called in about it, I was sat down with both my mom and step dad in the room and asked why I was doing it. I looked across and he stared at me with pure evil in his eyes. A look I’ll never forget and I just couldn’t say a word.

Self-harming became my only escape. My mom saw the marks on my arm and marched me to the doctors. I was referred to councillors who visited and took me out for the day once a week.

I wanted to scream and cry and tell this lady what was going on but I was scared because no one would believe me right?

This is just as much my fault as his because that’s what he told me so it must be true?

Everything carried on as the years past.

I was going on 13 and I was severely depressed and on the verge of just wanting to do anything to die.  Mum and Mark were arguing loads and things in the house were always heated, they were in middle of a full blown row when I collapsed, I just passed out.

Everything from then on is a blur; till I come round and paramedics were there with a paper bag. I was hyperventilating and struggling to breathe.

“Please just let me die” I thought. “Let me go because I can’t take this anymore”.

The police turned up and Mark was taken away.  I overheard mom telling a friend he raped her.

We were moving away to yet another refuge. I was relieved, this was it I was free of this man but I was definitely not free of the depression and mental scars he left with me.

I continued to hide the truth from my mum, I fought really hard with depression and continued to have blackouts which after brain scans the doctors put down to epilepsy, a form of it that’s caused by stress and change of hormones.

I was put onto Epilem Chrono tablets; here I was in a new town again trying to settle in. We finally got our own house and started to make new friends. Our surnames were changed through deed pole so we couldn’t be found and slowly we started to move on.

I was 15 before I openly told my mom about what happened, she was shocked but supported me. She tried to push me to report him but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t go through with it, we were away safe that’s all that mattered.

My depression continued and nearly 3 weeks before my 16^th birthday I overdosed, don’t remember much about it. I woke up after 3 days in hospital, told I was lucky to be here, lucky? Who were they kidding?

They don’t know what it’s like living in my head, living with abuse, looking your two little brothers in the eye every day after what their dad had done. I wasn’t lucky. It was living torture.

It was the 7th of July and I’d got out hospital just in time for my birthday, I was sweet 16.

I had to get myself out this hole. I knew I did and I also knew it wouldn’t be easy, I started to ring child line who put me in touch with a few abuse centres people I could talk too.  I started to realize I was not alone.

Days after my 16th birthday day I was out with mates one night when my whole world came crashing right down before me again.

A so called friend locked me in a bathroom and violently raped me

Why me?

At that moment there and then I knew I should have died of that overdose

What is it with me?

 Do I bring this on myself?

 Do I deserve this?

I sank lower and lower into depression and self-harm, there was just no way out this black hole. It was impossible. I could see no end to all the crap inside my head.  I sat every night rocking back and forth on my bed in tears, just crying why me?

Come September my mom throws me out, can’t blame her really,  I was rebelling against her. I had to lash out at someone; she was supposed to protect me, why didn’t she see it? Why didn’t she know?

I was drinking loads and coming home drunk, my mom had enough so I was out. I was placed in homeless accommodation and continued to drink.

One night I decided to take some ecstasy with friends, the next morning I doubled over in agony, gushing with blood. I was taken straight to hospital to be told I was miscarrying. I was in total shock.

I cried and cried.  I hadn’t even known I was pregnant. It hit me like a ton of bricks, it was the kick I needed, the biggest kick of all, I did this, I killed my baby, that’s all I could think of. I hated myself more than ever before.

I knew if I didn’t change and soon I’d end up dead

I was depressed severely but did I want to die now? No was the answer, it was a great big cry for help , attention,  I wished when I said I’m okay someone would just say no you’re not, but no one was there, not one single person.

I’d got with a lad, depression ruled a major part of the relationship, we argued 24/ 7 and it was definitely far from stable, but in March 2007 my period was late.  I did a test and another and another, all positive .I knew in that moment I had to change fast but how?

I went to my doctor, got in touch with local groups.  I knew I was going to struggle being off such high amounts of antidepressant but I didn’t want to jeopardise this pregnancy.

I wanted to this for my baby and that alone was enough to push me through.  I got help, I saw a psychiatrist again and started to pull every bit of my life back that I had been stolen from me.

I had to not just for me now but for my unborn baby, it was hard and the temptation to self-harm was extremely high but I couldn’t do it with a baby inside of me.

In November 2007 I pushed my gorgeous baby boy into this world and I knew in that moment my life was not over and dead like I thought it had been, it was just beginning.  This baby was my saviour, he was perfect 6lb 14oz of perfection, being a mom came naturally.

I loved every minute, it kept me busy, it kept my head thinking of everything apart from my past. My life at home had calmed down and it was like everything fell together.

In 2010 I had my 2nd child, my princess, I couldn’t of wanted anything more. I had my prince and my princess and I knew I would do anything on this planet to keep both them safe.

After having my 2nd child I got diagnosed with PND, I struggle daily with depression especially nights when the children are in bed. I often sit and silently ask them questions that truth be told will never be answered.

I often cry myself to sleep but there’s one thing I can say I’ve never done and that is self-harm or attempt to take my own life again cause now I have a reason to live, two of them in fact and when I think of just how much of my life of my childhood was stolen from me I refuse to let anymore be taken.

So every day I will fight, fight to overcome this and fight to steal back my own life that they have taken from me, but I won’t be beaten and If anything I will learn from all of this and know exactly what to watch out for with my own kids.

I urge anyone who suffers abuse, rape or depression,  to speak out, please do not suffer in silence, , do not let any more of your life be taken by these vile cretins, do not let them win.

This inspirational post was written anonymously by a mom who is either a member of my Facebook mums group, a Twitter follower or has been submitted to me via email. I have full permission to share her story. If you can relate to this post and would like to share your own anonymous post please contact me. You could help us share the blogs love to helping others by sharing via the social sharing buttons.