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I grew up in Missouri with my older brother Jacob and younger sister Renée. My parents were extremely awful; in fact, they drank a lot and were always high on some type of drug. My father was a big man and he worked at a construction company. My mother didn't work at all, and she would constantly leave town for weeks at a time.
My father was extremely abusive. We would get a beating almost every night. I was always the one who got targeted the most because I was "bad luck". Jacob tried so hard to protect me, but he just wasn't strong enough. He always ended up getting us both in deeper hell. Renée was young so she was, at least in a sense, forgotten about.
I remember going to school and the teachers would see the bruises and gashes, but they never asked. I went to school crying. One time, a secretary asked me, "Why are you crying? Are you okay? Do you need to go home?" I replied, "NO! I-I-I'm fine. Please don't call my parents!" She just walked off! I grew up telling lies about the night before.
My siblings and I would hide in our room for hours, and then we would hear footsteps out the door. We would always hold each other close and pray for him not to come in, but he did, every time. My sadistic father would grab one of us and then repeatedly hit us as hard as he could. He would beat us with whatever he could reach: belts, sticks, cords, certain rods, broken pieces of wood, anything.
He loved to hear us cry and he would beat us until we just gave out while he then just sat back and laughed at us. I remember he beat me with an ice cane (an ice cane is a thin leather strap with knots in it that is wet) until I passed out. I woke up with gashes in my back and three of my ribs had been shattered. I was in the hospital for two weeks. Then they made me go back home!
One night, my dad came home and he picked me first. He slammed me against the wall with that horrible grin on his face. All I remember is pain so bad that I just wanted him to kill me. Three hours later, after my dad had left, my brother found me lying in the kitchen half dead, so he called the cops. The ambulance rushed to the house and picked me up.
At the hospital, when I woke up from a coma, the police officer informed me that they found my little sister Renée dead, beaten to death. Jacob suffered a skull fracture and was in another room. I could almost see his reaction when he got the news.
I was fifteen years old that fateful day and Jacob was seventeen. Little Renée was just eight years old.
I am now eighteen years old, and I still have scars from my past, both emotional and visible. My father was put in prison for life. To this day, I still can't understand how a man could take three innocent souls and crush them into dust and still live with himself.
We still love you Renée! You are my guardian angel!
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I've had a cruel parent/s too. I'm an abuse survivor. I'm sorry for what happened to you and your family. Your dad will pay in prison because they always find out why you're there.
ReplyI am sorry that this happened and your childhood was even worse than mine.
Reply