I was a child, I spilled my cereal, you beat me, I cried
now that you are old and feeble, spilling your cereal
on the breakfast table, I will not treat you like that...
I was a child, put my feet over the arms of the chair,
you hit me, called me names, screaming in my face,
causing me fear and shame....
now that you are old and feeble, with your feet upon
the coffee table, I will not treat you like that.....
I was a child, who mommy and daddy could not love,
you hurt me, you beat me, threw me to the ground,
I cried out in pain, but you did not care, you left me
in a pile on the floor....gasping for air....
now that you are old and feeble, needing love and
support, I will not grab you and choke you by the
throat...I will not treat you like that.....
I was a child, you caused me to fear, for my own
life and for my brothers and sister so dear...
the nightmares you caused me were my day to day
reality, no where to turn, no hope in sight...day after
day subjected to your might, abused and confused..
now that you are old and feeble, your own fears
and doubts, afraid of the dark and the strange sounds
needing someone to rescue you from the reality of
growing old and confused....
I will not treat you like that......
Your seven children who you tortured and beat,
shoved into walls, fists to our bodies, your words hit
even harder then that, as they disfigured our hearts
and minds, and your disdain and hatred caused us all to
consider ending our lives...
and now that you are old and feeble, needing our help
to survive....we know what you did, although you don't
remember the pain that you caused or even consider..
as you complain that your children are not treating you
right...did you ever consider what we went through all
of our lives...the hell we endured at your hands
and now you cry out...and do not understand...
but we will not treat you like that......
Copyright Laurie Ann Smith June 2010
Please see the original link of the video below that was graciously read by John Harrison who I am forever thankful for!
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. My mom had passed away, and I stayed for the funeral. My dad's behaviour was extremely bizarre at this time. He was acting like he had just lost the most precious thing in his life. He was running around, falling on the floor and acting like he just loved her so much, and that he had just lost his best friend. My sister Kathi and myself noticed this, but decided that he must be dealing with his wife's death the best he could. My dad took Kathi and me with him to the funeral home to pick out a casket and get things set up for her burial. I told him that our mother wanted to be cremated, and she had asked me to make sure that he did not change it to a burial because of his own beliefs. My dad became upset when I mentioned that to him, raised his voice and began to yell at me, becoming very upset. I told him not to be upset, that I was just telling him what she told me, and my dad began to shout at me and to become very upset. I began yelling back at him and cursing at him. He was too old to hit me now, and I was no longer that small girl who he could abuse. I was too old and too big. I decided to tell him exactly what I thought. My sister was telling us to calm down and relax and the funeral director came in and heard our family argument going on, and left the room embarrassed. I decided to calm down. I told my dad that he could try fooling people by putting on a $20,000 funeral for my mom, but that there were too many of us that knew the real reality of the way he had treated her. My dad finished preparing the funeral arrangements and we went to her funeral. There were so many people there, they were all so sad and crying for the loss of my mom. They would approach me and tell me how sorry they were that she passed away, and I would think to myself, "I'm sorry too, but at least the abuse is over now", but I would not tell them that. This funeral was hard for me because my mom was my abuser and I had a hard time trying to look sad about her death. I was actually relieved, she was at peace, which brought me some relief, and the fact that she would never be able to hurt me ever again brought me even more peace. After the funeral I visited with some friends and then went back to Canada. I did not go back to Tofino, and instead went to Calgary. I stayed with a friend of my brother's for 3 weeks, got a job right away at a busy pub, and saved my money to get an apartment. It was the first week of May, and for the last 5 months I had been under a lot of stress, I lost my baby in January, I left Cecil and ended our relationship, was working in Tofino, Vancouver Island, in British Columbia and then in April my mom died, and during this time had no real place to live. It had been a difficult period of time for me, but I was determined to make it. I got an apartment in Calgary, and as I got my keys and went inside and closed the door, I finally felt like I could relax and breath a bit, but at the same time, it was actually just the beginning of a new nightmare.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. Living with Cecil in Edmonton was a new experience for me. I had only been away from my abuser parents for 6 months and here I was, living with a guy I had met at work, I still had a soft cast on my wrist, and things were going good in our relationship. Cecil was scheduled to have surgery within a couple of months and I began looking for an office job, something I could do with my injured wrist. At the age of 29, just a few months from my 30th birthday, I discovered that I was pregnant. This was a huge surprise for me, because I was told that I would probably never be able to become pregnant or even carry a child. I went to the doctor to find out and sure enough, I was pregnant. I was very happy about being pregnant and it had always been a dream of mine to have children. I was nervous though because it would be my first and with the scar tissue and damage to my uterus, the doctors had told me to be prepared, just in case I could not carry the baby. I was hopeful that it would all be okay and began to enjoy having Cecil's and my baby in my womb and the feeling of being a mother for the first time flooded me with immense joy and inner happiness. Cecil was not overly happy about the situation. He had already raised two sons with his ex wife in England, and even though his relationship was estranged with them, he loved his sons very much. He was not overly enthusiastic about having children at this stage in his life, but he could see how happy I was about the situation, and was happy to be the father of this baby in my womb. We decided that we could handle anything that would come our way, including raising a child together. I turned 30 in December and by the first week of January I began to spot and was feeling quite sick. I had a feeling something was wrong and at this point I was 4 1/2 months into the pregnancy, mid-term. I began to bleed more and more and at this time Cecil had recovered from his surgery and was offered a contract job up north in the Yukon. It would be his first opportunity to work since the summer before and he felt he needed to take the job. I did not want him to go, because I was bleeding and might possibly lose the baby, I wanted Cecil to be with me. We did not know anyone in Edmonton and there was no one I could rely on for support there. Cecil took the job and left me to deal with being sick and aborting the baby. I called my doctor and she advised that if the bleeding became more serious, to get to the hospital. I did not go to the hospital and over the weekend, 2 days after Cecil went to work, I went into full labour and aborted the baby. I was so sick and so emotionally ill and did not cope at all. I just dealt with it at the apartment by myself. A few days later I went to my doctor and they did not have to do a DNC, as the baby had gone down the toilet. My heart was broken, I was angry about Cecil not being there for me, I was so devastated about losing the baby, and I was very much alone. I began to question my decision making processes, and wondered how I had even let myself get into the situation I was in. I phoned Cecil at the oil drilling camp in the Yukon and told him that he had 4 hours to get home to me or I was leaving him. Cecil pleaded with me to give him time to get home, and not to leave him. I gave him no choice, knowing that there was no possible way for him to get home to me within 4 hours. After we hung up, I immediately shut everything down, packed my few belongings, called my brother to tell him I needed to stay with him until I could get myself situated and within 4 hours, I was gone. I went to Tofino, Vancouver Island, BC, and worked there for a few weeks. I needed to collect myself, to heal from losing our baby, and try to get stabilised. While I was in Tofino, I phoned Cecil to tell him that our relationship was over and he was free to move on and to have a good life. Cecil was so hurt that I left him, he agreed with me. Another couple of weeks passed by and my dad called to tell me that my mom was very sick, in the hospital and was dying. I went down to New Mexico, and saw her for a few hours before she went into a coma. She was happy to see me, held my hand in hers and told me that she was sorry I had lost the baby. It was hard to know that she was probably dying and this time she would not be coming home from the hospital, but would be moving on to her eternal home. She said very few words, but kept repeating over and over, "I was just a horrible mother" and looking so sad and downtrodden. Irene, Kathi and myself, her three daughters tried to comfort her as best we could. I told her that all of her children loved her very much and she just kept repeating that she was such a horrible mother. My sister Irene suggested that Kathi and myself go to get some supper and let our mother rest, and when we came back an hour later my mom had slipped into a coma. She passed away a few days later. My sisters, me and my dad all went to say our last words and goodbyes to our mother who had passed on. I went to sit outside in the sunshine, and as I sat there, a strange calm came over me. Never again would my mother be able to hurt me. She would never ever be able to hurt me in any way, shape or form, the abuse from her was over, it was over, I thought to myself. She would never be able to hurt me again.
"I HATE YOU!!!" "I HATE YOU!!!" "YOU ROTTEN CUNT!!!", the words rolled around in my head, I winced as I remembered the reason why my face was stinging. I had nearly been knocked unconscious and opened my eyes to see my mom's feet walking across the kitchen. I could hear the sound of dishes being thrown into the sink, CRASH! BANG! My mother was opening the kitchen cabinet doors and slamming them with all her might. I winced, I was still lying on the kitchen floor on my side and did not want her to think about me, "maybe she will forget about me" my inner voice was crying in my head. "maybe she won't come over here and kick me or beat me some more" I was fighting back the tears because I knew if she saw me crying it would give her a really good reason to continue her rage and tyrannical abuse on me and my poor body. She continued her rant, screaming at the top of her lungs "I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS!! I NEVER WANTED THIS GOD DAMN LIFE!! YOU CAN ALL GO TO HELL AS FAR AS I'M CONCERNED, YOU STUPID ROTTEN NO GOOD PIECES OF SHIT!!!". She was in one of her bad moods again, violent, raging, screeching moods that could happen at any time, day or night. I was hoping I would not have to lay there much longer. I dared not move as I was afraid that she would see me down on the floor on the other side of the table and remind herself that she still had plenty to be mad at me for and decide that I had not had a good enough beating. My mother turned around to face me, looking at me with such hatred in her eyes, such absolute hatred and rage all mixed together with years of mental anguish and torment showing on her face and said to me harshly, "GET THAT LOOK OFF YOUR FACE RIGHT NOW!!" I knew what she was going to do to me, she had always done this to me, beat me, hurt me, practically kill me and then tell me to put a smile on my face. I found it hard to change the look of fear and complete confusion on my face. I was in pain, I was trembling and wincing and flinching with my back against the kitchen wall. I sat up and tried to put a smile on my face. My mind was racing, "mommy, why do you hurt me like this? I love you mommy" all rolling around in my brain. I used to tell her these things but the beatings and verbal assaults continued. I could not understand why she would treat me this way and hurt me so bad; so bad that it made me submissive to her power, her all mighty reign over me. Instead of becoming defiant, I knew I had to be submissive or she would kill me. "GOD DAMN YOU!! DO YOU WANT ME TO COME OVER THERE AND TAKE YOUR GOD DAMN HEAD OFF!! " "I WILL DO IT! BY GOD IT'S MY RIGHT!! I BORE YOU!! YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT RAPE CHILD!! THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE!! A RAPE CHILD!! I NEVER WANTED YOU ANY WAY YOU GOD DAMN INGRATE!!" I could see her feet starting to quickly move around the table and she towered over me. "No mommy!! Don't!! No" …I was as far back against the wall as I could get, my body conforming to it, I had my legs curled up to my body. She was going to kill me this time. She did exactly what I knew she would, grabbed a belt that was hanging on a nail with 3 other belts on the kitchen wall, pulled it up and around her wrist and hand and with her other hand grabbed my arm and yanked me forward onto my stomach. "Pleaaaaaaaaassseeee mommy!! Pleaaaaaaaaaaaassseeee!! Don't hit me..I'm sorry!!" I begged her, I pleaded with her, I had no idea what mercy was, but I was begging her for mercy. She was not listening, and was intent on hurting me that day. Intent on making me pay!! Someone had to PAY!! The belt whipped through the air down onto my back and the back of my legs. She gave me a good whipping, cursing me all the while, sputtering and spitting as she went. I took my beating as usual, like a good sport. No tears would fall, no screams would escape my throat. I was 5 years old had been trained since birth to take what I had coming to me, and to take it with silence and a stone face. It is after all, what I deserved. I was a bad kid. I needed to be whipped. I needed to be slapped. I needed to be "taught" a lesson. I was always asking for it, I was told. I never once remember asking for a beating, but that is what they told me, so it must have been true.
Through the years my mother continued the beatings, the tyrannical rants, the abuse and always threw in that "you were asking for it", even after I confronted her about not stopping my brother from sexually abusing me at 8 years old, she just snarled and said, "you were just asking for it". I never asked for any of the abuse my family dished out on me, however, I did ask for love, for care, for compassion, for concern, for pity, for mercy, for love, which I never received. I guess a person doesn't always get what they ask for.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. After my mom had completely destroyed my heart, telling me that she never wanted any of us, we did not count, and that we did not matter to her, I decided I had to move far, far away. I decided to move to Canada, because I had dual citizenship and I proceeded to get all my paperwork done, documentation complete and packed my few belongings in storage. I was ready to make my final cut, and move on and begin my life as an adult for the first time. I told my mom and dad I was moving to Canada and my mom was attempting to con me into staying. She could not use the old ploy of crying and pleading with me to stay and help keep my dad from raping her, because my dad was not attempting to rape her anymore. The only thing she could think of was to try and guilt me into staying in order to help her stay alive. She told me several times during the four months that passed while I was preparing to move that if I left, she would die because my dad would not help her get what she needed to stay alive. I did not fall for it. She did not want me to stay in order that we might build our relationship or learn to love each other and get along, she wanted me to stay so she could continue to use me. I told her I had to go. The day I was leaving for the airport, my mom was sitting at the kitchen table, not looking at me while I talked to her. I told her that I loved her, that I had always loved her. I told her that it was my turn now to get my life going and that I had to go. I kissed my mom on the top of her head because she would not look at me. I left, and arrived at the airport, boarded the plane, sat down and put my seat belt on, looked out the window, and breathed a heavy sigh. It had all been too much. All of the abuse, the manipulation, the con games, the torture of my mind and body had all been too much. I was tired, exhausted and emotionally drained. I went to Canada to stay with my brother and his wife in Alberta. I found a job within three weeks and was excited about getting my own life started for the first time at the age of 29 years old. Within a few weeks of working as a cook's helper on a railway tie maintenance crew train, I began to become attracted to the lead cook. He was handsome, friendly, very polite and very mature. We had been getting along so well at work and I knew he liked me too. We began seeing each other and after another few weeks rolled by, we were a "unit" and officially together. I felt that I could trust him, and because I had been sexually abused as a child, had difficulty allowing him to get close, but I was so needing to be held, to be loved, to be a woman. The CSA/incest that I suffered as a child caused me to break down and cry and become upset when Cecil would try to get close, and I had to fill him in a bit about the abuse because he knew I had been hurt by someone. He held me, consoled me, and treated me with kindness, love, care and was so gentle with me and my feelings. It was so good to have him in my life and we were really enjoying our time together. Within a month after we started seeing each other, we both were injured while working and had to get off the train to go to Edmonton for treatment. Cecil was going to have to stay in Edmonton and have surgery, and my wrist was in a soft cast from tendinitis and would be for about 3 months. Cecil wasn't sure if we should try and stay together in Edmonton or just go our separate ways. I wasn't sure either but we decided to split the cost of a motel near the hospital for one month to see how our relationship went. We really enjoyed each other's company so much. He was lonely before he met me, and I was so in need of someone to love me and just hold me and want to spend time with me. We knew that we cared about each other but were not sure if it was a lifetime relationship. The first week in the motel, I had a nightmare about my mom abusing me and woke up crying, shaking, and yelling out loud that my mom abused me. Cecil woke up and just held me, consoled me and listened to me as I told him about some of the abuse she inflicted on me. He had already seen some of the scars on my body, but he did not know the extent of the damage done. I really needed someone to hold me close, to comfort me, to not let me go. After our month at the motel was up, we decided to move into a furnished apartment together and give our relationship more time to develop. This was all new to me, but I was willing to give it a try.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. After my brother Howard's funeral, my mom's health went downhill. She had fallen and had a stroke and broke her hip and had to have hip replacement surgery. My mom was so miserable and depressed at this point that she reverted back to her old "self" and began to curse at me and my dad. She sat at the kitchen table, depressed, trying to recover from her surgery, she would not do her exercises and my dad and I were doing everything we could to help her out and nothing was good enough. Because my mom was hurting, she was going to make sure that we were hurting too. My dad tried to help her out at this time, and she picked fights with him every chance she got. One night, after dinner, my dad was doing the dishes and my mother began screaming at my dad and starting a fight with him. My mom began throwing things at my dad, cursing him. I was in the living room listening to them fight again, and I could not believe that they were still continuing on in their insane manic behaviour towards each other, and I got angry. I went to the kitchen and screamed at them, "LISTEN TO YOURSELVES, WOULD YOU JUST LISTEN TO YOURSELVES?!! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO YOUR CHILDREN!!" I began to name all of my siblings from my sister Irene, Kevin, Rob, Ches, Howard, Kathi down to me. I wanted them to see the damage they had done to us through our lives and take responsibility for it, own up to it. I was so tired of listening to my mom screaming at my dad, and my dad cursing at my mom. I was so tired of listening to their sick and twisted sexual banter between them. I started throwing my own things around the living room and breaking my things to make a point. My dad came into the living room to see if he could get me to calm down. I told him to leave the living room because I did not want to hurt him, like he hurt me. He left the room. I continued to trash the living room, while my mom sat in the kitchen wailing and balling and crying her eyes out. I finished breaking my stuff and went to my room to calm down. My mom went to her room and laid down and sobbed. I gave her some time to calm down and went into see if she was okay. My mom said to me that she hated her life and should have just killed herself years before and I had heard this from the time I was cognitive, at the age of 4. I wanted to console my mom but at the same time I wanted her to own up to whether or not she truly loved her children and wanted us. I told my mom that there had to be something in this life that made it worthwhile; that her children should count for something. My mom rolled over and looked at me and said she never wanted any of us. I had heard her say to me that she did not want me my whole life, I was a worthless, piece of shit rape child she never wanted in the first place. I told her that all of her children loved her very much, and she turned and looked at me and said we were all worthless and none of us meant "a shit" to her. I was becoming more and more angry by the minute. I could not believe that she and my dad had put us through all of this abuse for nothing. I told her to "tell me that we counted", and she looked at me and said, "none of you counted". My mom and dad could have let us go when they were arrested on child abuse charges. My mom used to dangle this in front of us, that she had "begged the courts not to take her children from her, they were all she had" and it turned out that she never wanted us in the first place, and the only reason she kept us around was so she wouldn't look like a bad mother. She wanted the courts to think she was a good mother who wanted her children. She beat and tortured, burned, punched, kicked and pounded me for nothing, allowed my brother to rape me for a year and got me no medical attention ever from the sexual assaults, from the beatings she gave me, from my head being caved in as I was thrown into walls and cabinets. I realised at this time that what I had known all along was TRUE, she really did hate my fucking guts, and I was really just a punching bag for her. What angered me was that none of my siblings meant anything to her. She was just using us. I left the house for the night and went to a hotel. I phoned my sister to tell her what had happened and in the middle of the night at the hotel room, I get a call from my dad that my mom had hurt herself and had to go to the hospital and I should meet them there. I went to the hospital and my mom was in a wheelchair, with a towel on her head. My sister and dad were standing by her, and my mom looked at me and said, "I'm going to tell them YOU did it!" and I looked at her and said to her, "Go AHEAD! I'll tell them about what you did to me!" and she replied, "they won't believe you, they'll believe me, I'm an old lady" with a smirk on her face. My dad told the doctors the truth. After I left the house, my mom got up from her bed and threw herself into her dresser and hurt herself. I realised at this time that my mom was truly my enemy, and began to love her less and less every waking moment. I could not believe the years I had spent trying to help my mother, adult years that I should have been getting my own life together, trying to help her, and trying to win her love and care. She used me, she used all of us, and we were nothing to her but what she could get out of us. We had been played, and betrayed, the ultimate betrayal.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. After returning back home from working in the Grand Canyon, I found another job, and was getting ready to go back to cooking school to complete the program and graduate a Red Seal chef. I was working and saving money, and trying to help my mom around the house as much as possible. I was a loner, and had very little contact with people and no real friends to hang out with. I was not seeing anyone and not looking to go out on dates. I was still so shut down from the child sexual abuse and still hated my body and hated being a woman, and still trusted no one. My parents were still arguing and fighting but they were seniors now and my dad had stopped abusing my mom and trying to rape her. He left her alone, while my mom continued to throw things at my dad and curse him every chance she got. My mom was still getting her "digs" in with me when she could, and she enjoyed berating me and running me down, that had never changed. My brother Howard died in a homeless shelter in Calgary, Canada from a drug overdose. He died on his birthday, April 8th, alone, unwanted and unloved. Four months earlier he had phoned. I answered the phone and was surprised to hear my brother's voice. I had not spoken with him since he left for Canada when I was still a teen. He wanted to come home for Christmas and I set the phone down to see if my mom would pay for half of the plane ticket and I would pay for the other half. He was homeless most of the time his whole adult life in Canada and had a rough life, was a major pill popper and overdosed several times. My mom told me that she was not going to allow him to come home because she could not control him and he would just cause her trouble. I told my brother that we did not have the money for his plane ticket to come home. It broke my heart. I did not want to tell him that his mom did not want to speak to him, did not want him home. He was sad and told me to take care of myself and hung up. My brother Howard witnessed most of the beatings I took from my mom and had tried to intervene twice to save me from her. I loved my brother so much. He died alone, knowing that his mom and dad did not care if he was alive or dead. They abused him, allowed him to use drugs as a young boy, allowed him to drop out of school, continued to beat him and mistreat him. He had stepped in as a young boy to protect my mom from my dad and was beaten for it. He had gone out to the freeway as a young teen to stop my dad from killing himself. My parents, however, had done nothing but hurt him, abuse him, and set him up for a horrible adult life. He was dead. My brother Kevin had called, I answered the phone and he told me that Howard had died of an overdose in a shelter, and gave us the funeral date and information. I had to go tell my mom at her workplace, knowing how this would affect her. She was so upset and crying her eyes out, of course, because she could cry, we were not allowed to cry, only her. I was angry because we could all come up with the money for the plane tickets to go to his funeral, but my mom would not cough up the other half of a plane ticket for my brother to come home for Christmas, which I think would have saved my brother's life. I did not press the issue, because I was trying extremely hard not to be "my mother". My dad, mom, sister Kathi and myself went to Canada for his funeral. When we came home, the very first night back, my mom was up in the middle of the night getting a glass of water, had a stroke, fell and broke her hip. Her health was so bad at this time, she was 67 years old, and I knew this whole thing would take a toll on her health.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. This is part two, a continuation from Ages 21 to 27. My dream of my "perfect man" was over within a year. I had turned 22 years old, and my relationship with Mark had turned sour. I found out that he had been sexually abused by his dad when he was a child and physically abused as well. He began to abuse me verbally after the first 6 months we were together and he also began to become violent around me, hitting cupboard cabinets in his camper when we were out on weekend trips together. He never hit me, but he wanted to, so instead he punched the cabinet by my head. I had never dealt with my own anger issues and I began cursing him, calling him names, and throwing things around the camper. We decide to call it quits as he felt he was going to hurt me. He drove off, never looking back and my heart was broken. My dream of my "perfect one" was over. I continued to live at home with my abuser parents, and working with my mom until I hit the age of 25. I went to cooking school for one year and then at the age of 26 got a job in the Grand Canyon, Arizona for a one year contract. I went to the Grand Canyon with the idea that I could end it all. I could end the pain. I rarely talked to anyone while working there and had almost committed suicide several times. It was just a matter of stepping on the gas peddle of my car and going over the edge, never to return. Something always stopped me, and so I sat outside after my shifts late at night, on a tiny balcony looking at the stars, and cried, grieved and hated myself, hated my life, hated what my parents did to me, to each other, to my siblings. I hated my body, I hated being a woman, I hated being vulnerable. I hated the abuse I suffered, and the body memories of my brother raping me as a child. My contract came to an end and I went back home to New Mexico to my old abuser's place.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. My brother Rob had committed suicide when I was 20 years old, he was 33 years old. I did not go to the funeral and I discuss in this video that I was continuing to do massive amounts of drugs, was partying all the time, and working full time. I still wasn't taking care of myself and was still living at home with my abuser parents. My parents were less physically violent toward each other at this time due to their age, but they continued to verbally batter each other and scream and shout at each other. My mom's health at this time was very bad and I tried to help my mom out as much as possible. My best friend Di is still living with her abusive boyfriend, and after a bad violent night out partying, I decided that I needed to get off the drugs. I was 21 years old and had been smoking pot since I was 12 years old, doing heavy drugs since I was 15 years old and I was tired of the violence and started to feel that my life would end up the same as my brother Rob, either I would commit suicide or I would end up a drug user in the gutter as an adult. I decided to tell my friends that I could no longer hang around with them because I would continue to use drugs and I broke off from them. I stayed home and watched television, travel logs, and began to become drug free. It took me a year to get off the drugs. I met a guy through a pen pal club, and we hit it off. We talked on the phone and we corresponded for about 6 months and he decided he was going to come down to New Mexico to spend time with me to see how our relationship would go. I was so excited about this relationship and decided I needed to get on the pill just in case we decided to have sexual relations. I went to the gynaecologist for my first check up in order to get on the pill. The lady gynaecologist during the exam was getting angry, becoming upset, walking away and then coming back, and I was thinking she was a horrible doctor and rude and I was angry at the way she was behaving toward me. After the exam was over and I got dressed, she brought my chart with the results of the exam and she began to talk to me. She said "So, you wrote here on your chart that you are a virgin?" and I said, "Yes, I'm a virgin, I've never had sex with anyone" and she said, "well, honey, I got news for you, you are no virgin. You can say that all you want to, you are an adult, 21 years old and if you want to say you are a virgin, that's up to you. We see the damage, the scar tissue, it's child sexual abuse, rape, and you have so much scar tissue that you will probably never be able to become pregnant. You can get on the pill, it's probably a good idea, but the chances of you becoming pregnant, it's just not going to happen. If you do become pregnant by some miracle, you will probably not be able to carry the baby without having reconstructive surgery. If you want to press charges, that is up to you, but we are reporting it as CSA." I was sitting there listening to this, upset, but not crying. I told her that it was my brother who was 21 years old, I was 8 and he raped me for a year. I told her I would possibly have pressed charges after hearing this from her, but my brother who did this to me had killed himself the year before when I was 20 years old, and he was 33. She just touched my shoulder, was practically crying. I told her that it was just my life, and I would be okay and deal with it. I left, got my pills, and went home to my abuser parents apartment that we had moved into after leaving the La Veta block behind at age 19. I went to my room and did not tell anyone about the gynaecology check up. I just closed my bedroom door, and the tears began to flow, silent tears. As the next few weeks rolled by I was very excited about this guy coming to see me. I felt in my heart that I loved him and I hadn't met him in person, but we became so close just talking on the phone. When he arrived, it was all I thought it would be.
This video is part of the video series Born in Hell. This video contains graphic and explicit material. Please listen at your own discretion. If the topics of abuse of any kind, domestic violence, child sexual abuse, or violence bother you, please do not watch this video. I discuss in this video that after my car wreck I focused on working, paying my bills off, getting a used car because I had wrecked my Chevy Nova at age 18. During these two years I worked 2 and then 3 jobs, while on crutches. In order to do this, I had to use massive amounts of speed to stay awake. I only slept about two to three hours a night because I was working a day job, a graveyard job, and a weekend job. I was still partying with my friends and still living at home with my abuser parents. My friend Di moved in with her new boyfriend who was abused as a child and had severe anger issues. He was a serious drug user, shooting up speed balls and we began to do massive amounts of drugs that he supplied. They did not get along and fought all the time and my friend Di's boyfriend became physically abusive toward her, beating on her. My friend Di was tough, grew up in an abusive home as well and she fought back. She was still getting the worst end of the beatings. I feared for my friends life, but she was determined to stay with him. After a serious drug party went bad, I decided that I had had enough of the abuse and violence as her boyfriend threatened to kill me, slamming me up against a wall, choking me and threatening to kill me. I told him to go ahead and kill me, because he couldn't kill me, I was already dead. I turned 20 and my brother Rob who had sexually abused me committed suicide. He hung himself. He was a cocaine user, but that was not his main problem. His main problem was that he was born to two parents who held him in their hands and told him, "welcome to our hell" at birth. I was not surprised that he killed himself, as he had attempted suicide many times before and he finally made it. My mom was upset because I did not show any emotion after she told me they found his body and it was suicide. I told her that it was their (my mom and dad's) fault that he was dead. They allowed him to do drugs as a young boy, they abused him, they beat him and that it was just a little too late for tears. My mom did not make an issue about me not going to my brother's funeral. I had put all that child sexual abuse in a drawer, and it was still there and I did not care at this time that my brother killed himself. I did not care about him at all. My brother raped me for a year from 8 to 9 years old, tied me up, gagged me, put tape over my mouth, raped me, sodomized me, and used me as his own personal sex toy for a year, ripping my vagina, damaging my uterus, and causing me to have an infection that could have killed me. I bled for months and he continued to rape me, even knowing that I was in so much pain and bleeding, and that my hip was out of place from my dad dragging me by my leg and twisting my hip out of socket when I was 6 years old, he made it even worse. He caused me so much pain and caused me to hate my body, hate being a woman, hate sexuality, and caused me to shut down, no one touches me, no one gets close... ever... I did not care that he killed himself, because he did not care that he killed me.
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