I think I’ve put this off long enough. Sooo here’s my “story.” I live with an insane, verbally, emotionally, (and used to be physically) abusive father. My mum is just kind of lost in the situation we’re in right now. My father found out that my mom and I don’t like him, ( no surprise there ) and he lost his shit. He started yelling and cussing at me. For some reason he likes to yell at me and be a dick when my mom isn’t around. He had his hissy-fit at me for an hour and then he shut up right before my mum woke up. When she came in the room he didn’t say shit, so neither did I. I think she saw that I had been crying, so she kept giving me a look like “what did he do to you?” but I kept shaking my head. My little brother was the one who ratted me out. He said something like, “mom. dad and sissy had a argument. and daddy yelled at sissy.” The poor thing is only 5 years old and he ended up being the one that told on my father. I’ve been kicking myself for that one…

Anyway, my mom got mad and started asking my father what happened and then they started fighting and talking about his pride and how she doesn’t listen and all the shit they always argue about. That went on for a while and like always, my father refused to apologize for beating me when I got molested at 8 years old, saying I needed it because I was, for a nicer way of saying it than he did, messing with girls at eight. It was a sleepover and the girl who was like, five or six years older than me had came to my house and we had to share the same bed. So like most of these stories go, she started touching me and other stuff that I’m not gonna talk about here. And when I confronted her about it the next day she pretty much told me if I didn’t let her come over again she would tell my father that I did what SHE did, and that she knew he would beat me for it…so it happened two more times. On the day after the third time she molested me, I told my mum, and she told my father..and I got beat. Like, stay-home-from-school beat.

My mum claims she didn’t know about all the times he beat me but I don’t believe her. It’s hard to believe someone who says they didn’t know you were beat when they were the one who held an ice-pack to your face for two days and heard you cry in your bedroom with your father in the room with you and the door closed. I know she heard the noise. The banging around. The closet door being slammed shut. My back hitting the metal frame of my bunk-bed. I know she heard it.. He had beat me before then. When I was about six. He had put on boxing gloves and asked if I though I was grown enough to fight him. All because I liked a boy at school. But I wasn’t the only he had beat. He beat my older brother. I only remember it happening once, but it might have happened more. My older brother only came to California to visit us. He lives in New York with his mom. He stopped visiting, and I get why. I remember my father grabbed a knife and made my brother take it and told him to swing at him if he wanted to. I could see how scared my brother was. He’s sixteen now and he hasn’t been back to visit for years. I wouldn’t either if I had a choice. My older sister just stopped coming without any announcement. She was always really distant from me. It wasn’t really a sisterly relationship between us. or any relationship. Maybe acquaintances. I really needed a sibling to help me out but I understand why they stopped visiting.

My family was surprised when I started hurting myself a few years back, and once again, my dad lost his shit. He basically told me I was copying a girl that went to my school. (No one at my school hurt themselves, unless you count drinking.) I had to commit perjury and basically tell him he was right so that he would stop yelling at me. Back then I had only dug my nails into my thighs. The second time, I broke a pen and started scratching my arm with it as hard as I could. My mum found out and we talked about it. As soon as my father came home my little brother ran and told him I had “a million cuts.” Of course, he had the same reaction as the last time. I used a lot of things to hurt myself over the past few years. Most recently I used razor blades. I cut my arm and my leg over and over again until I ran out of space. I wanted to kill myself..no..I planned to kill myself. I had it worked out, backup plan and all. But I thought, “hey, maybe I should give one more thing a shot so I don’t have to leave my brother yet.” So stupid me went to the student counselor and asked her, hypothetically, if i were hurting myself, what would happen if i told her. She said she’d have to tell my parents and possibly put me in a mental hospital. I told her I wasn’t and left her office. When I got picked up my mum told me to show her my arms and she saw my cuts. My father had found out as well and he told me I had cut my wrists wrong. He scratched me along my arm and left a mark. And he pointed at it and said “This is how you kill yourself. You cut from your wrist up your arm and no one can close it. You’ll bleed out.”

Now I’m having anxiety attacks when my father’s around and during school and just in general. I’ve been feeling completely alone. And it’s no one’s fault but mine. I have people offering to talk, but I can’t accept their offers. I don’t feel right doing that. I’m able to write this only because this is stuff that has already happened and I’m fine to talk about it. But once i come close to being emotional to someone, I tend to shut down. Protect myself. Or at least try to.

Anyway, there’s my long ass “story.”