Post by feud937 on Oct 11, 2016 5:09:30 GMT -8
I know this is long. I have never told anyone all of this so I feel like I just need to get it all down.
I have never been able to find the right words to describe my childhood. It was all so confusing. My parents are in denial to this day and only on one occasion over text did my father ever acknowledge his own failures but even then it was a cop out. He apologized for his anger issues and claimed to be working on it when, in reality, his anger was simply the tip of the iceberg and he really had made no steps to improve himself.
My father was always violent. I can remember my high-school years especially being violent. I would come home and immediately lock myself in my room so he could not threaten me physically or be in my face-but do it solely through the door. He would scream and bang on the door for 5 minutes when he first got home but then give up. I usually only came out to eat once my mother was home. There were good and bad days. On the really bad days I would have to put myself in the line of fire to protect my younger brother because I know my mother would just sit and stare at the tv and pretend not to hear anything. How many nigets I held him while he cried hurt and scared. He once had to lock himself in the bathroom because my father chased him with a knife. He called me crying and I went hone terrified of walking into the house-of the possibilities-almost willing him to attack me so at least then he would be taken to jail for a temporary relief.
He would throw my things outside if I disagreed with him. Disagreeing for him was speaking. He would scream and chase me, constantly threatening to kill me. I use to lay on the floor of my bedroom most nights behind the bed and under a cover with my door bolted shut in some way so that I could sleep without fear. I cried for a long time, but eventually gained the coping mechanism or just pretend it isn't happening pretend you're somewhere else so that I could stop crying for long enough to sleep.
I had to sleep with my bedroom light on until I moved out at 18 because of the constant nightmares and night terrors. Intense, real dreams of being watched from the corner, of men's shadows standing over my bed, of the shadows touching me and watching me sleep. Since moving out I still have these but rarely.
When I was 12 one night, before things were bad, me my dad and brother were sitting in bed talking. There was nothing strange to this we had been moved across the country multiple times living in a sh*tty apartment in a new town and just trying to adjust. Plus for a long time me and my 5 year old brother has shared a room so it was an adjustment to having my own room. He told me I had to leave and go to my own bedroom because it was inappropriate for a 12 year old girl to be in the same bed as her father. I had no idea what he was talking about. He said other people would say weird things. I still did nothe understand.
At 15 my lock on my bedroom door broke and my father told me there was no way to fix it. He began walking into my room right when I got out of the shower and knew I was naked. It was not an accident. He did it every night. Be also began sleeping in my bed. He claimed it was sleepwalking. He would 'cuddle' up next to me. This time is fuzzy for me. I know I was 15 but all I can remember is thinking in my head the same thoughts-imagine yourself somewhere else. I can still remember the feeling of him pressed up against me, breathing on my neck, holding me so close I couldn't move. I hated it. I begged and cried to my mother to make him stop. She didn't. Eventually after years of begging she bought me a door bolt. I knew it was wrong but I was paralyzed. He was my father, but even my own father had earlier told me this kind of action was innapropriate.
He always complained to me about my mother. He would tell me of their marital problems, of her supposed mental health issues, of his regret of choosing this life. It always lead to arguments as I simply asked him to not talk to me about that kind of stuff.
He constantly commented on my body. On how I was overweight or out of shape. I was a dedicated athlete and distance runner-I know now my body was fine. I struggled with eating disorders, and to this day I am still tempted by them. Especially the purge of bulimia when I am feeling too emotional like I used to when younger.
At 19 I made the mistake of visiting with my backpack. My father went through it, found my journal, and him and my mom read it and then punished me for what I wrote. Most of my writings were of my struggle with depression, social anxiety, and my eating disorder. Writing was my safe space. I never felt so violated. For some time after every time I ate my dad would say why are you eating if you're just going to go throw it up.
I'm 23 now and have not lived at home for some time. I am reliant on my parents still for health insurance since I cannot afford my own and struggle with health issues unrelated to the abuse or my lifestyle choices. I hate having to rely on them. I hate having to answer their phone calls or texts or be threatened to be cut off. Or that I am a bad daughter.
Not sure what I am looking for by posting here. Maybe just someone to talk to since I have never told anyone the extent of what my childhood was like. I think I just need validation that all of this happened and that it was wrong. I have been reading articles and a few books on emotional abuse and covert incest and it has been helping but any suggestions or shared similar experiences would be appreciated.
I have never been able to find the right words to describe my childhood. It was all so confusing. My parents are in denial to this day and only on one occasion over text did my father ever acknowledge his own failures but even then it was a cop out. He apologized for his anger issues and claimed to be working on it when, in reality, his anger was simply the tip of the iceberg and he really had made no steps to improve himself.
My father was always violent. I can remember my high-school years especially being violent. I would come home and immediately lock myself in my room so he could not threaten me physically or be in my face-but do it solely through the door. He would scream and bang on the door for 5 minutes when he first got home but then give up. I usually only came out to eat once my mother was home. There were good and bad days. On the really bad days I would have to put myself in the line of fire to protect my younger brother because I know my mother would just sit and stare at the tv and pretend not to hear anything. How many nigets I held him while he cried hurt and scared. He once had to lock himself in the bathroom because my father chased him with a knife. He called me crying and I went hone terrified of walking into the house-of the possibilities-almost willing him to attack me so at least then he would be taken to jail for a temporary relief.
He would throw my things outside if I disagreed with him. Disagreeing for him was speaking. He would scream and chase me, constantly threatening to kill me. I use to lay on the floor of my bedroom most nights behind the bed and under a cover with my door bolted shut in some way so that I could sleep without fear. I cried for a long time, but eventually gained the coping mechanism or just pretend it isn't happening pretend you're somewhere else so that I could stop crying for long enough to sleep.
I had to sleep with my bedroom light on until I moved out at 18 because of the constant nightmares and night terrors. Intense, real dreams of being watched from the corner, of men's shadows standing over my bed, of the shadows touching me and watching me sleep. Since moving out I still have these but rarely.
When I was 12 one night, before things were bad, me my dad and brother were sitting in bed talking. There was nothing strange to this we had been moved across the country multiple times living in a sh*tty apartment in a new town and just trying to adjust. Plus for a long time me and my 5 year old brother has shared a room so it was an adjustment to having my own room. He told me I had to leave and go to my own bedroom because it was inappropriate for a 12 year old girl to be in the same bed as her father. I had no idea what he was talking about. He said other people would say weird things. I still did nothe understand.
At 15 my lock on my bedroom door broke and my father told me there was no way to fix it. He began walking into my room right when I got out of the shower and knew I was naked. It was not an accident. He did it every night. Be also began sleeping in my bed. He claimed it was sleepwalking. He would 'cuddle' up next to me. This time is fuzzy for me. I know I was 15 but all I can remember is thinking in my head the same thoughts-imagine yourself somewhere else. I can still remember the feeling of him pressed up against me, breathing on my neck, holding me so close I couldn't move. I hated it. I begged and cried to my mother to make him stop. She didn't. Eventually after years of begging she bought me a door bolt. I knew it was wrong but I was paralyzed. He was my father, but even my own father had earlier told me this kind of action was innapropriate.
He always complained to me about my mother. He would tell me of their marital problems, of her supposed mental health issues, of his regret of choosing this life. It always lead to arguments as I simply asked him to not talk to me about that kind of stuff.
He constantly commented on my body. On how I was overweight or out of shape. I was a dedicated athlete and distance runner-I know now my body was fine. I struggled with eating disorders, and to this day I am still tempted by them. Especially the purge of bulimia when I am feeling too emotional like I used to when younger.
At 19 I made the mistake of visiting with my backpack. My father went through it, found my journal, and him and my mom read it and then punished me for what I wrote. Most of my writings were of my struggle with depression, social anxiety, and my eating disorder. Writing was my safe space. I never felt so violated. For some time after every time I ate my dad would say why are you eating if you're just going to go throw it up.
I'm 23 now and have not lived at home for some time. I am reliant on my parents still for health insurance since I cannot afford my own and struggle with health issues unrelated to the abuse or my lifestyle choices. I hate having to rely on them. I hate having to answer their phone calls or texts or be threatened to be cut off. Or that I am a bad daughter.
Not sure what I am looking for by posting here. Maybe just someone to talk to since I have never told anyone the extent of what my childhood was like. I think I just need validation that all of this happened and that it was wrong. I have been reading articles and a few books on emotional abuse and covert incest and it has been helping but any suggestions or shared similar experiences would be appreciated.
