There has been an incredible amount of strength show here by those that have posted thier stories. Hopefully it is a helpful step towards their healing, and that of those who read it.
My own story is much less severe than most here. At times it makes me feel like I'm simply feeling sorry for myself. ("What right to I have to complain, I had it easy. These poor guys went through real hell.") Nevertheless, I shall put my story here and share with you all as you have shared.
Fair warning, THIS MAY BE TRIGGERING
Very recently I learned that I was abused when I around two years old by the man my mother was living with. I do not have any direct memories of this, but in disclosing the abuse I do remember to my mother she told me about it. Apparently when she was changing my diaper I flipped out and was yelling "No! No suck!" And my mother eventually got out of me who was doing it. When confronted he simply replied that I was lying. Thankfully my mother realized that a two year old would not have the ability to lie about such a think and promply left him and moved out.
I have no idea if this abuse affected me as a young child or not. I really don't recall much of my early childhood.
The abuse I do recall happened when I was about 8 or so. We had moved from New Jeresy when I was 7 and I did not adjust well to the move. I did poorly in school, and failed the second grade. My mother was working swing shifts, and was often away at really odd hours, so she would often leave me with her friend, who had four kids of her own.
I don't recall where the idea to go to school with her kids after the summer (it was a different school district, so a different elementry school) came from, but I remember I begged my mother to let me do it and she agreed.
This meant that I would spend many nights at thier house (the ones where my mom's schedule would not allow her to drop me off at school, which were a fair amount.) This suited me fine because it was other kids to play with. Kind of like having brothers and sisters.
Not long after I began staying there the eldest of the boys, whom I really looked up to like a big brother, began to abuse me. He was around 14-15 I think. It started small, he wanted to have a hickey to claim to his friends a girl gave it to him and could I help him out. I didn't want to, and told him so, but he convinced me to anyway.
To this day I wonder, if I had stuck to my guns and refused would it have stopped there? I don't know.
Eventually he began wanting to play "games." I still didn't want to, but I never voiced my objection these times. I just acquiesed. (sp?) He never threatened me or hurt me physically though, and would let me hang around with him and his friends. I was the "cool little kid." Unlike other little kids who were irritating.
Though this probably goes without saying I never told anyone about the abuse, but my mom has said that I used to tell her that the younger boy was picking on me and I didn't want to go back.
This went on for about a year, and then his father was killed in an accident. His mother (my mom's friend) understandibly could not even handle her own kids after that (I think she got family to help her with them) and I returned to my own home and school district.
Life went on, except that I my anger problems got much worse, and though my grades were okay, I got into quite a bit of trouble because of my anger. I was not a bully, though I was a target of a few at first. I kept to myself and read, but when someone would try to bully me or push me around I would snap and beat them up. I remember once in third grade someone said something to me and I threw and entire desk at her. (Thankfully I missed.)
My mom took me to a T, but she concluded that I was angry because my mom had boyfriends and wasn't spending enough time with me. A waste of money in my moms opinion, and the end of the T.
When I was fourteen my mother met a man and let him move in with us. I have mentioned that situation in the thread about staying in a marriage for the kids but I will copy it here again:
When I was fourteen years old my mother allowed her boyfriend to move in with her. He was an alcoholic, emotionally abusive and I fully belive would have been physically abusive towards my mother had I not stepped in. The one time he pushed her I beat the ever-loving shit out of him with a large club and informed him in no uncertian terms that I would kill him if he ever touched him again.
He lived with my mother for nine years, and I every day I spent in that house was a complete hell comprised of the most bitter, angry, drunken fights every single night of the week (on both sides. My mother would often drink out of anger and frustration of dealing with him.) Not a day went by after I beat him that I didn't kick myself for not killing him when I had the chance.
I was a very angry teenager, but by now everyone had learned to not to mess with me. Once in a while, someone would get the bright idea to give it a try, and a fist fight was usually the result. They were fairly minimal though, as word got around pretty quickly.
When I was sixteen I began to remember the abuse. I had never totally forgotten it, but I now realize that I had pushed it aside and ignored it. Probably in the hopes that it would go away.
Now that I was remembering the abuse in fullness I tried to just push it aside again. It did not work. I grew angrier and depressed. The situation at home was certainly not helping either. As I have mentioned previously on the board I tried to hang myself once during this time. The hook I secured the belt from was not very strong though, and it broke.
Eventually I went to college. Even though it was only twenty minutes from my house, I made it a point to live on campus. I knew that living in home would be intolerable.
Though nervous and frequently depressed, I began to do much better, and was angry far less. Once in a while if I get really riled up it's not pretty, but I don't get riled as easily anymore.
A my junior year I began to become incredibly depressed again, and the memories of my abuse began hitting me incredibly hard. Eventually, after several of my friends who were concerned I was going to hurt myself intervened I went to a school counseler and begin to confront my SA issues.
Last year the younger brother of the person who abused me died. I went to the viewing for a few minutes. I don't know why. I suppose I wanted to see my perp. To see what kind of man he grew into. But I chickened out and left before I saw him.
I didn't get the bright idea to check for online resources until this year, and I am so glad that I found this site.
I'm sorry this turned out so long. I'll shut up now.
Thank you for "listening."