Have you ever got to the point that you feel all the life has been sucked away from you and you are too weak to go on?
That is how I feel everyday. I walk around with a smile on my face, but I am not happy at all. Everyday I wish I would just die.
When I was three my mother moved in with my step-father; he is an awful man. He would pour his urine into my bed to make it look like I wet the bed; and when my mom got up, she would beat me for wetting the bed. He did a number of things like that; he would set me up so my mom would beat me. He would tie me up and tape my mouth shut while he beat me when my mom went to the store. Sometimes my mom went away for the weekend, and he only give me crumbs to eat, literally crumbs. We lived with my sister, who was half his, and his two children from another marriage; he would give me the crumbs that they left, like I was a dog.
I grew up hating it everytime my father called or going to see my father, because he would beat me until he could, because he was affraid that I would tell my father. I caught an attitude with my father anytime he called me and I regretted everytime he gave me a gift, because I knew I would have to pay for it. When my father died it was almost a relief because I did not have to worry about getting beat for talking with my father anymore. I told my mother a number of times what my step-father did, but she never believed me. My step-father's daughter even knew about some of the abuse, she was only two years older than me. She told my mom about some of the abuse, but my mom did not care. I was three years old telling her that I had been beaten while she was gone and that I had been tied up, and although my head was bleeding, she did not care.
My mother did not care much about me. She made fun of me for wearing glasses, needing braces (which she never got me), for having darker skin, curly hair, and for looking the way that I do. My mother, sister, step-father, and everyone else that I lived with made me feel so ugly. Although, whenever we went out in public, everyone would tell me how beautiful I was. My mom made me hate everything about me, and she still finds ways to make me hate myself.
When I was 15 I finally got the strength to leave. I lived in a homeless shelter for teens. I went to the hospital after my step-father left me a few bruises, my mother lied to the police and said that my wounds were self-inflicted and that he only hit me whenever I would attack him. My mother betrayed me and there is not a day that goes by that I wish I were dead. I go to college right next to some train tracks, and I think about throwing myself out in front of that train often, almost everyday.
I pray for hope and strength.
That is how I feel everyday. I walk around with a smile on my face, but I am not happy at all. Everyday I wish I would just die.
When I was three my mother moved in with my step-father; he is an awful man. He would pour his urine into my bed to make it look like I wet the bed; and when my mom got up, she would beat me for wetting the bed. He did a number of things like that; he would set me up so my mom would beat me. He would tie me up and tape my mouth shut while he beat me when my mom went to the store. Sometimes my mom went away for the weekend, and he only give me crumbs to eat, literally crumbs. We lived with my sister, who was half his, and his two children from another marriage; he would give me the crumbs that they left, like I was a dog.
I grew up hating it everytime my father called or going to see my father, because he would beat me until he could, because he was affraid that I would tell my father. I caught an attitude with my father anytime he called me and I regretted everytime he gave me a gift, because I knew I would have to pay for it. When my father died it was almost a relief because I did not have to worry about getting beat for talking with my father anymore. I told my mother a number of times what my step-father did, but she never believed me. My step-father's daughter even knew about some of the abuse, she was only two years older than me. She told my mom about some of the abuse, but my mom did not care. I was three years old telling her that I had been beaten while she was gone and that I had been tied up, and although my head was bleeding, she did not care.
My mother did not care much about me. She made fun of me for wearing glasses, needing braces (which she never got me), for having darker skin, curly hair, and for looking the way that I do. My mother, sister, step-father, and everyone else that I lived with made me feel so ugly. Although, whenever we went out in public, everyone would tell me how beautiful I was. My mom made me hate everything about me, and she still finds ways to make me hate myself.
When I was 15 I finally got the strength to leave. I lived in a homeless shelter for teens. I went to the hospital after my step-father left me a few bruises, my mother lied to the police and said that my wounds were self-inflicted and that he only hit me whenever I would attack him. My mother betrayed me and there is not a day that goes by that I wish I were dead. I go to college right next to some train tracks, and I think about throwing myself out in front of that train often, almost everyday.
I pray for hope and strength.
for you. And you can pm me to..........but I'm not a counselor..... but I can be a friend.
