There was a time in my life when battle scars were all I thought I had to show for being alive. I was beaten by my alcoholic Dad for many years. I had bruises of all shapes and colors from his hands hitting me and his belt whipping me. In those days, no one ever called to report the abuse and no one ever stopped what was happening to me.
I have scars on my hands from breaking the glass on our front door. I smashed the glass with my hand because my Mom was leaving me home for the weekend while she took my younger sisters with her to my Grandma's. I would be left alone with my Dad. My reaction didn't change anything. No matter how much I cried or begged or pleaded - I was left home. I've blocked that memory.
You see, my Dad was my sexual abuser as well. My Mom told me the first time I was sexually abused was when I was four years old. She said I heard my Dad rape her and it wasn't just one time. Being the first born and having a strong protective personality, I would've wanted to protect my Mom and stop my Dad from hurting her but because of my size I was helpless.
This behavior went on for some time. My uncle sexually abused me at age 5. I was sexually abused by my Dad ages 6-8. A babysitter's son sexually abused me at age 8. The sexual abuse continued through age 13 by my Dad. I had more sexual abuse by 3-4 more people into my late 20's. My body has many scars and many stories to tell.
I started self-injuring before I was ten. I did it because it only effected me. In the back of my mind I still believe that to be true. It's very confusing when you've had so much abuse done to your body by people who were supposed to protect you. It's makes me wonder, "What was so wrong with me that you had to beat and abuse me so badly?
Well, I'll never have the answer to that question.
God may never give me that answer.
All I know is I have to heal despite never knowing what the answer could be.
Here's an organization that helps me when I feel really down and alone:
