Aged 1 to 5 years, my father would rape me with objects and from 6 till 12 he would rape me with his genitals. He only stopped raping me at twelve because that’s when I had my first period. My mother would violently beat me up, using herself and objects such as steel toe cap shoes, leather belts and slippers and anything of weight that would hurt me.
I had no one growing up. I had learned to fend for myself at an early age. I had realized that my so called parents either hated me that much that they point blank refused to look after me in any way possible or that I was just one very unloved and uncared for child, all I had every wanted was to be loved and to be happy but happiness in my life was very hard to come by. I felt so hopeless. Hopeless at the fact that I may never have a happy life and that I may never be able to be a child.
Being happy was the one thing I had wanted the most out of my miserable life. I wanted to know what it was like and how being happy felt. I wanted to be like other children. I could never play at home. I was not allowed to laugh or show excitement. My home was never a place of safety. My life was made of acting and pretending that everything was alright. I had to fool and play on others into making and believing that I was a happy and loved child when I had no clue as to what any of those feelings meant. I had to copy and mimics other children so that the adults would be clueless to the hell that was happening a home.
Every time I was around my parents, my skin would crawl so hard and fast it was like it was desperately trying to get away from my. My skin was my barrier and my protector but it could only protect my little life for so long. Skin was not meant to handle such severe pain day in – day out and soon enough it would collapse like every ounce of good in my life. I was held capacitive by my parents. I was a prisoner in my own room. I would either barricade myself in to protect myself from danger and torture and mostly from more other such hell. My parents would lock me in from the outside of the heavily made door. I knew when they did it, every time they would lock the door, all I could hear was the clashing off chains being pulled along the steel metal bar, and the tens of thousands of bolts being smashed and crammed into each other ensuring that no matter what I would try and do I would never get out and escape from the room. I knew that when I was inside of the room I was safe and protected from the evil that was outside the door of doom and misery. I knew I could cry silent tears and show some sort of emotions from my emotionless life inside the house. It was hell knowing that being treated in such as horrible manner made me appreciate and understand the somewhat safety of my room. I knew my parents were the pure evil of evils and that they were vindictive. They were beastly and destructive people. They were vile and vicious and unfortunately I was the only one who could see their dark side, I was the only one who was allowed in to see the damage and poisonous life that they lived.
My father’s name is Albert. He would rape me every chance he was given. Albert never felt shame or guilt. Albert only felt pleasure and enjoyment. He would clean up after himself, hiding and destroying all evidence of what happened to me, he would always carry a lump of tissue in his back pocket for occasions such as this. He was always prepared for his fun time. He was always prepared to hurt me in every way that was possible. He would take advantage of me with no second thought. Maybe he thought that I might not remember if I was knocked out every night with no drugs just his fist. I wanted to be loved by him. He was my daddy. He was supposed to be my protector but instead he was my everyday abuser, my everyday rapist and my everyday belittler. If there was something I could do to make him stop, I would do it in an instant. He would do unthinkable things to me, he would hurt me in ways that no one had ever seemed to realize.
On my last day of nursery, I fell asleep at the bottom of an oak tree and took off my socks and shoes, and my red jacket. My teacher saw me and came over and saw something very disturbing, something that she has not seen before. She had no choice in the matter she had to wake me up. She got down on her knees to my level and spoke gently to me asking me loads of questions. First with the usual questions asking about my parents, what they did and life at home.
The teacher said “I know what is going on at home”, my teacher then went and asked me why my arms and legs were a deep painful purple with a tinge of navy blue. I knew my mistake, both mummy and daddy told me in the morning not to undress, to not take anything off and to go to the bathroom on my own. On my skin you could see quite clearly see hand imprints. I pleaded and pleaded with the teacher to not say a word. I did not want anyone to know, not my parents or any of the teachers, I just wanted my bruises to be forgotten about like they were never seen or discovered. This was the first time that someone had even suspected or seen real proof of what actually happened to me. However, she did not take it any further and retired a few years later. I told her my parents would kill me if anyone was to ever find out and she swore to never say a word as long as I promised to keep strong and that one day the pain will finally end.
This was my life until I spoke out and told my high school everything one being that my father had been arrested for sexual assault in Birmingham in a psychiatric unit based in a hospital and was struck of the NHS due to gross misconduct and was a Mental Health Nurse. She later died due to injuries suffered and prior health in which she had a brain tumor. He was accused prior to that and was suspected of 5 separate incidents at a London Mental Health Asylum including a death of a patient whilst others were rape and assault charges. After speaking out to the school, I was issued a social worker. April 1st 2010, I was granted a care order which removed me from the home and placed me into emergency care and then I received my full care order meaning I stayed in the care system till I was 18. I had 3 emergency placements, 1 short term, 1 long term and a children’s home.