Indestructible puzzle pieces that make up my own personal hell.

Approximately 5 children die from child abuse, daily.

1 out of 3 girls and 1 out of 5 boys will be sexually abused before they are 18 years old.

90% of child sexual abuse victims know thee perpetrator in some way. 68% are abused by a family member.

“Childhood should be carefree, playing in the sun; not living a nightmare in the darkness of the soul.”

From birth til’ I was nine going on ten years old(before I was taken away by the state) I lived with a single, homeless, abusive, drug addict, woman aka my biological “mother”. I was the oldest of three children: my little brother one year younger than I and my baby sister 8 years younger. I was responsible for them as well as myself.
Abuse was the “norm” of which I experienced throughout those most important years of my life. I may have been too young to recognize it all, but it was there. My personal hell is a giant puzzle, here are a few of it’s pieces:

Age 4: I remember this far very clearly as it was the night of my 4th birthday. My “grandmother” was making homemade strawberry ice cream cake. We were at my “aunt” and “uncle”s house. I was watching a childhood favorite show called “Gumby and Pokey” I believe. My “uncle” went into the kitchen to get himself a glass of hot tea. I was sitting on the couch in the living room where I could hear him and he sounded angry. I remember feeling frightened. He was blaming me for something, I cannot recall what that something was though.(probably just him being wacked out on speed)He came rushing into the living room telling at me with the tea in his hand. He dumped the scout hong hot tea on my chest. I screamed at the top of my lungs as it immediately blistered up. We all thought it would leave a scar for rest of my life. Well needless to say it did, just not as everyone thought it would. I have no physical mark on my chest, no trace of a scar whatsoever. However, I do have much worse, a vivid memory of that exact insistent of abuse engraved in my mind, forever.

Age 5: I was at my “aunt” and “uncle”a house. The same “uncle” whom dumped the scolding tea on my chest. It was night time. I had fallen asleep on my cousin’a bed. My “uncle” came into the room to move me to another bed. In the process he had put his hands on my vagina and grabbed me inappropriately. I later tell my “mother” and at age 5 I had my first run in with state workers/child protective services who questioned me about the whole situation and I was scared and unsure if it was intentional or not. At age 5 I had experienced my first memory of sexual abuse.

Age 8: It was day time, I was at the house of one of my “mother”s ex-boyfriend’s father’s house. We would stay here time to time. At the time there was this woman who had red hair and a son who was 12-13 years old named Andrew. He was mine and my little brother’s buddy. Andrew loved magic and would show us lots of tricks. He played on the computer and we were very fond of him(my brother and I). Later that day, we were inside Andrew’s room with him watching him play on the computer. He then began to show up images of naked woman. My brother and I didn’t want to see these and told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He then took me into the other room and made me watch porn. I told him I didn’t want to and that I would “tell on him” he threatened me so I didn’t say a word. He than took me back into his room where my brother was, he began to master are in front of us and then told me to suck on it I refused, but again he threatened me and so I began to, but stopped seconds later. He then forced my little brother to!! I was 8 years old being forced to suck on another kid’s genitals, and even worse to watch my little brother do the same! We never told a soul. To this day it is devastating and brings tears to my eyes. I’m not sure my brother remembers the day, I sure hope he doesn’t. We never speak of it.

Age 9: My “mother” had a “friend”. He was an older hippie-looking man who drove a fan. He was a painter I believe. He really favored me. He would take me around in his van and buy me food and anything I wanted. He would rub my legs while driving which made me feel very uncomfortable, but I never said anything because he fed me and was overly nice to me. He began to spend more and more time with me always the same buying me stuff, rubbing my thighs, telling me I was pretty and stuff. One night my “mother”, brother, and I were sleeping in the back of this broken down van on someone’s property, it was late at night and I had just been on 24hrs of antibiotics for strep throat. I was cold and starving, we were all 3 cold and starving. He had called and wanted to come see us(me) and he offered to bring us McDonalds, my “mother” said yes. He showed up with our food and sat in the back of this broken down van. He say right next to and he put his legs and hands under the blanket. He slowly moved his hands finding my legs, he began to rub my legs and thighs while we all were talking, he slowly moved his hands to my vagina and began to rub it and then into my pants and underwear, he touched me and made me feel so strange. I had never experienced that feeling before, I didn’t want him to stop, but at the same time I knew it was wrong. He then left that night. He began to hang around and bring me places, bought me stuff, rubbed my thighs, ect. Then he offered me a “job” to help him and this lady he knew move plants because she was moving. I helped him move these plants. He & I shared a vacant room with this lady’s son. We all three slept on the floor. I was in the middle. After the son fell asleep, he reached over and began to touch me and he pulled me closer and rubbed some sticky stuff on my vagina area, he tried to bring my hands to touch his genitals, but I pulled away and moved closer to the son. He stopped touching me. That was the last time I remember seeing this man. I was almost raped that night. If that woman’s son wasn’t in that room, I’m sure I would have been raped, instead of just molested.

Note: coincidentally, after the above at age 9, almost 10, I was taken away from my “mother” by the state and put into a group home. Reason I was taken away? Drugs and being homeless(same thing it’s all DRUGS) I went into one foster family, then to the next where I was adopted along with my 2 younger siblings. I wish I could say it was a holy ending, but it truly wasn’t for many reasons I will not get into today, however, one incident from after the adoption is also a puzzle piece to my personal hell.

Age 13(ish): It was 6th grade and I had this best friend named Kayla. I hung out with her almost daily. She lived with her mother, but on weekends would go to her dad’s. This was one of the weekends where she was at her dad’s. She invited me to come over for a sleep over so I agreed. Mage was telling me how her cousins where going driving here from somewhere far to visit, but they would arrive when we were asleep. So that night I heard some laughing and talking coming from her dad and the other adults. I was in bed with Kayla, we were sharing a bed. Later I was awakened by this man next to the bed, it was Kayla’s dad. He was drunk, I believe. I didn’t look at him and pretended to remain asleep. He began to rub my butt, and put his hands in my pants and kept trying to get me to roll over. I wouldn’t budge. I didn’t know what to do, panic began to set in as it always does in these situations. I tried to roll closer to Kayla as if I was sleeping so I “accidentally” kneed her back in hopes to wake her up, she woke up a bit and said Dad what are you doing? He left the room and she went right back to sleep. Again, I never told anyone about this. It was after all the bad things were supposed to be over and it was too familiar to me so I didn’t say a word. This was the last time I had been sexually abused/molested.

I feel as though I have healed from these abuse examples as well as all the ones not shared today. The reason I feel as though I have healed is because I can share my story without crying or being fearful. I have permanent emotional scars from each and every one of these experiences as well as many other ones to match. I had been a victim of just about every type of abuse on a number of different occasions.
I was lucky enough to make it through this and become a stronger person today. Not everyone who has been through similar abuse can say that today. Not all abuse victims live, and the one who do usually don’t live “normally” and never will.
These emotional scars will last a life time. It’s like being in your own personal hell. You remember every incident as if it happened yesterday. Nothing you do will make you forget. The damage has already been done. These are the puzzle pieces that create your living hell. Indestructible puzzle pieces. One must live with this until the day they physically die. Your own personal horror movie only it’s a documentary and no ones acting. It’s a hell we carry around with us no matter how hard we try to lose it along the way, it remains.

It has been said that time heals all wounds, I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting it’s sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessons, but it is never gone.