Secrets That I Have to Tell.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
Basically this is my story, it's not done yet, but there's some violence involved, eventually some sex and some other little things. I'm letting you know about the violence and sex just as a warning. That's not all my story is about at all. Also, feel free to comment and let me know what you think.

There are things that have happened to me that have been amazing and wonderful; there are also things that have happened to me that have been horrible and traumatizing. I seem dramatic I know, and I don’t mean to be but I can’t help but feel that some of these things are my fault but all of them are fate. I have to believe in a lot of things to continue being the person I am. I have to believe in fate, I have to believe in love, and I have to believe in karma. I try to look at the positives in life but sometimes I can’t, sometimes it all gets too much for me to bear. Anyways I’m guessing you’re curious about my “story” or maybe you aren’t either way I have to tell someone.

Submitted: August 31, 2012

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Submitted: August 31, 2012

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I think what really fucked me up was my childhood. I’ve always had a wonderful father who’s always been there for me. You could easily call me a daddy’s girl. My mother on the other hand cheated on my dad when I was very little and they got a divorce and she moved out. I didn’t see her much during my childhood; I did see her sisters, my aunts, often though. They used to babysit me. Mainly though it was my aunt Stacey and her boyfriend, Chad. Stacey would stay with my brother and sister and Chad would watch me. They babysat the three of us for a few years before my grandparents moved in and helped my single father out. The years they babysat us may have been the worst of my life.

I don’t remember much, maybe I’ve blocked out most of it but can you blame me? When Chad would watch me, he would do more than watch me. I don’t remember him ever getting sexual with me but the physical abuse was more than memorable. I still have scars. His favorite thing to do was flick his cigarette ashes at me so they’d leave little burns, burns that looked like small cuts. He did really hit me, a few I can remember. I should’ve told someone, I know I should’ve but at the age of four I didn’t know any better. No one noticed because I was a clumsy adventurous child. I was always outside climbing and falling, the bruises and cuts went unnoticed.

A few years passed and I twisted the abuse into something I could deal with. I thought he hurt me because he cared about me. I thought this was his way of venting his anger and I was just there to take it. So I took it, and I dealt with it, and eventually part of me enjoyed it because I believed I was helping him. I believed that if he hurt me then he could be happy and then he’d be like a father figure to me while my dad was at work. I believed he was teaching me to be a good girl. So I didn’t scream, I didn’t cry, and I didn’t tell. I just took all of the abuse downstairs in the cellar of my home.

Finally Stacey and Chad stopped coming over. I got put into pre-school, and I didn’t see Chad again. I suspect he began hitting Stacey again and she dumped him, but who knows. The problem was I became angry. I started feeling like I didn’t belong, like I wasn’t cared for anymore because no one was hurting me. I even made a “who doesn’t belong” poster and hung it on the front door of my house. I almost ran away that day. My dad saw the poster I made and talked to me, I told him nothing of Chad but I did tell him that I felt I didn’t belong in the family. My hair color was different, I had a rounder face than everyone, and my main insecurity was me “cow eyes”. My brother and sister constantly picked on my big brown eyes; they called them “cow eyes”

I started facing the typical sibling abuse that every youngest sibling receives. I was blamed for things I didn’t do, I was picked on, and I was pushed, hit, bitten, you name it; my siblings fought dirty. That was okay with me, if I got one good thing out of the abuse from Chad it was that I got a very high pain tolerance. Even today I can take a beating like a champ, not that I get hit often, or at all really but when I get hurt I’m totally okay. Mind over matter right? Anyways through pre-school and elementary school I started thinking boys aren’t “icky” and “cootie infested”. The boys I started to like weren’t nice to me, they were the mean ones, but they were the ones that I could easily hangout with and be “one of the guys”. A bit early for that I know, but I craved the attention of boys. This attention craving may stem from Chad or from my mom and the way she acted, she was girly and a flirt and everything I wasn’t. I just wanted to be able to have something in common with my mom, and then maybe she’d be around more.

I was naïve, this I know. I still thought maybe my parents would get back together. These hopes and dreams were squashed when my mom married the guy she cheated on my dad with, Greg. I should resent my stepdad but I don’t. I would never call him dad, but I like him. He’s a nice guy and we get along okay. He’s always kind of been awkward around me when we’re along. I assume it’s because he’s the stepdad and assumes I hate him, which I don’t at all. But every time I leave my mom’s he gives me the biggest hugs, it’s sweet. (I got off on a tangent, I know; one of my many flaws). Anyways, elementary school was good for me. I made two best friends who I still keep in touch with, and they’re both really good friends still. During the summer between my fourth and fifth year of school I moved away to a new town. I had to start all over again.

That summer I did go to England, that was fun but it was also during the London bombings. If you’ve never been I suggest you go, it a lovely country. I stayed with family on my mom’s side, well also my dad’s side. I’m gunna confuse you again. My dad’s mother (after she divorced) married my mom’s grandfather (after his first wife died). Yup, that means that my dad can be my great uncle and my mom can be my cousin. The only relation is through marriage, no incest I promise. But that marriage combined both sides of the family in a way. Not like we all get together and have big family celebrations, nothing close to that has ever happened. I barely saw my mom’s side after the years of babysitting, and after Stacey and a different boyfriend and a child moved in with my dad, brother, sister and I for a year. My dad’s a really nice guy; he took in his ex-wife’s sister, boyfriend and kid, and didn’t make them pay rent. I wish I had as good of a heart as he does.


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