My parent’s divorced when I was 9 months, because my father was abusive. My mother struggled to raise my brother and I and we stayed at a women’s refuge, we spent Christmas there. My mother met her boyfriend when I was barely two. He helped her out financially, but also caused a lot of problems for all of us. He was aggressive and volatile, abusive to my mother and sometimes to my brother and I. I had one best friend at school at age six. I had a very intense relationship with her, very possessive and insecure. I was afraid someone would steal her from me, and I’d lose her forever. I hurt her out of jealousy and fear if she was nice to other kids. She was mine, nobody else was allowed to have her. I even hurt other kids who would try to be friendly with her. Eventually, her mother told the school I was no longer allowed to be around her daughter. After almost breaking another girl’s nose for being friendly with MY friend, I was separated from the rest of the class and sat by myself in a corner of the classroom. I was now an outsider, being punished for something I didn't understand. Sometimes I would sneak by my old table with the rest of the girls, but my teacher would notice and send me back to my corner. I remember spending most of the time wandering around the playground by myself. I still tried to hurt the kids that were now friends with my old friend. I was very confused and withdrawn.
At age seven, we moved house and I went to a new school. Around this time I started to gain a lot of weight. I didn’t make friends, I was afraid of the other kids and all of the teachers. In class photographs I would hide behind another kid’s head because I didn’t want anybody to see me. I knew I was different, because I was bigger than all the other little girls, and I could only fit into teen and women’s clothes. I thought I was the only child in the world with divorced parents. Everyone else seemed to have a mother and father. I was ashamed and embarrassed that my parent’s divorced and my mother’s boyfriend was not my father as everyone would assume and I had to correct
them.
At home my mother and her boyfriend got into fights and huge arguments fuelled by alcohol. One time he came to his mothers house in the early hours, where she was babysitting my brother and I. He was with the police and had blood all over his hands. I thought he had killed my mother. The police took us in the car and we were too afraid to ask anything. I assumed they were taking us to a foster home. She kept taking him back even though he was abusive to all of us, and is still with him 21 years later.
My father was sadistic. He seemed to enjoy hurting my brother and I and seeing me in distress. He would give me Chinese burns with a grin on his face as I’d beg him to stop. We had play fights where he would hold me down, lie on top of me and lick my face. He made me feel dirty and ashamed. I hated weekends, and sometimes begged my mother if I could stay home. I never felt safe around him. He called me fatty and made me go to the end of the store to get something, and then ran away and thought it was funny that I was in a big supermarket on a Saturday frantically searching for my father and fearing I’d never see my family again.
One time he grabbed me and jokingly dangled me inches away from a ditch of bramble bushes. I cried and was terrified he would drop me. He laughed and asked why I was crying. I was too afraid to use the bathroom because there was no lock on the door, and I feared he would come bursting in. I held it for as long as I physically could and would then muster up the courage to finally go. I was too embarrassed and ashamed to ever tell Him I was hungry or ask for food, so I often went hungry until he made dinner. I didn’t like him to see me eat, either so I would try to eat as much as I could when he wasn’t at home.
I saw mothers and fathers with their children and wish that I was their child, part of a secure family. I could only dream.
At age 11, I moved to another, bigger school. I found it overwhelming and terrifying. I had full blown panic attacks during class and would get horrible depersonalization/derealisation. Every morning my stomach was in knots, dreading the school day. I was humiliated by a few girls, especially during P.E. At 13 I could no longer deal with school , I felt like everyday was hell. I took an overdose as a cry for help and partly because I wanted so badly to no longer have to go to school. The education welfare officer told my mother I had to go to school otherwise she would face prosecution. I cried and cried and went into school late the next morning. My eyes were still red and puffy and I felt incredibly fragile. I walked into my class and everyone stared at me. At the end of class the teacher announced to everyone with a grin on her face if somebody would accompany me to my next lesson because I had no friends. One girl volunteered and the teacher asked me if I was going to go with the girl or ‘chicken out’ and stay in her office by myself. I told her I wanted to stay. It spread like wildfire and somebody in the next class I was
supposed to go to told the teacher and whole class I wouldn’t come to this lesson because I had no friends. Everyone then asked me why I wasn’t in the lesson during lunch and laughed at me.
I came home and took another overdose. I wanted to die. Nobody took me seriously, I was trapped and desperate. I was finally taken out of school and taken to a learning centre for kids with mental health problems. I disliked being there but it was better than school. I was still depressed and suicidal and took another overdose at 14. A few months later I took another when my mother informed me that I had to stay with her boyfriends sister whom I barely knew. I was scared and couldn’t see a way out of anything. My mother took me to the ER along with her boyfriends sister who screamed at me and told me I’d end up in a mental hospital. My mother knew I hated to be left alone, so for punishment she left me there overnight and came to get me in the morning. Meanwhile, they went back home and all had Mcdonald’s and happily told me about it the next day. I tried different types of therapy but none of them worked.
I then went to a learning centre to have one on one tuition. I kept having panic attacks, and would come into the class in tears. My teacher would get angry with me when I didn’t understand something or gave the wrong answer and shouted at me. It was difficult for me to focus on anything because I kept having full blown panic attacks and depersonalization. I finally left school at 16.
I'm 24 now but still struggling, still living at home with my mother and her boyfriend who are both functioning alcoholics.