I’m a survivor of childhood trauma. I was continually tortured and abused from the ages of 2-14. I don’t want to go into specific detail, as it is still hard for me to open up and talk about, but I am working on it.
When the abuse first started, I didn’t realize that this wasn’t normal. It started at such a young age that I didn’t know any better. I didn’t know yet that there were things such as right and wrong. I thought this happened to all little girls. I first realized something was wrong when it no longer was just my primary care-taker doing it, but his friends too. I have vivid memories of being passed around a large room. When they didn’t want to be bothered with me I would be put in a crate, no bigger than a footlocker, for hours and sometimes even over night.
I was ritualistically abused, gang abused, animals were forced on me. There didn’t seem to be an end to the sick and twisted things they came up with. I was horrified daily by the games that they would come up with to amuse themselves and to degrade me even more.
Before my 6th birthday I had already attempted suicide. I didn’t want to continue living if this is what life was supposed to look like. I dreaded waking up each morning. The thought of what I had to endure that day would make me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t cry anymore and it didn’t help anyways. I basically shut down. I somehow removed myself from the situation. I lived in my head where it was safe. Where I couldn’t be harmed and where no one could hurt me. The more I withdrew into myself the worse the abuse got. They liked seeing me in pain and miserable. When they didn’t get a reaction out of me they would get mad and the abuse escalated.
I resigned myself over to whatever they were going to do. I would look forward to being put in the crate. It was my escape. I learned to act up and be mean, the worse I acted the longer I would be placed in the crate, or so I thought. I turned into a mean and evil little child. Unloved and unwanted. But that’s all I knew. My idea of love was when I was touched gently instead of roughly. Happiness was isolation. I was so miserable.
I was introduced to drugs around 7 or 8. It quickly turned into my escape. I loved being high, whether it be speed, weed, cocaine. It didn’t matter. It was the one and only thing that took my pain and misery away. Anybody could do anything they wanted to me so long as I was high. That was the start of a 35 year drug addiction. It got me through those miserable years.
As I write this I am being overwhelmed with emotions . Sadness and grief for this poor lost little girl, Anger and rage towards the people that allowed it to happen. Bittereness at God for putting me in this world. But, I survived. I SURVIVED!