for the record

One of the first memories I have is of my afather holding my older brother up against a wall by his neck --he was about four at the time --and me standing there sceaming because I was frightened he was hurting him .M af turned round and shouted at me that he would give me somethnig to cry about if I carried on screaming .He would go purple with rage and his eyes would bulge ,and then he would let loose on us. He continued to hit, spank, whip and throw us down stairs until we left home. He also would wash me in the bath, rubbing soap between my legs ,until I was about 12, and looking back I can see that he had an erection while doing this. My amother wanted a perfect little girl ,a doll to dress up, and I was a big disappointment to her. She liked my brother but not me. She always told me I was a nutter, a weirdo, and no one would like me when I grew up. She was critical of eveything I did, I couldnt do anything right. When I got older she would say I was dirty an smelly ,and not allow me to bring any freinds home -she was a snob and only allowed me to play with children of her friends who she approved of. In the summers , I was sent out with some crackers and cream cheese and told not to come home til late. In the winters, I just had to stay out of the way .She was scared of my afather, what he might do to us ,I think . When I was two I used to have nightmares --my aparents locked me in my bedroom so I couldn't get out of the dark room when I woke up--this wasn't intentional cruelty, as they were trying to stop me throwing myself down the stairs which I did regularly--but it's stuck with me and I'm still terrified of the dark. Memories keep surfacing now and I wonder what else  I have forgotten. I can half remember afather sexually abusing me at a very young age, but I'm not sure if this is a real memory or not. When I was 12, a boy who lived next door sexually abused me --I didn't remember this until  recently-and I'm 100% sure this happened. When I was a teenager I started to drink to blot things out --came home very drunk most nights and got beaten up by afather. Ran away three times and got picked up by the police and brought back. Began to look for approval in other men, had first sex at 13 with a much older man. Got thrown out when I was 16 by afather. I had a lot of bad relatonships in adulthood, attahcment problems, self esteem issues --my ex husband is a sex addict and abusive . I have disowned my aparents now and don't have any contact with them. Working through things now,slowly,and see a life someday free of pain and guilt.

*adoptive mother (am) *adoptive father (af) *Adopted brother (ab) *Step-Father (sf) I was adopted when I was 17 days old. According to my *am, she and my *af had asked the agency for a boy. When they called her to tell her they had a girl available, they decided to adopt me with the understanding that they would also wait for their boy. My *am told me they only took me because a boy wasn’t available and they had waited 10 years to adopt a child. She made it very clear that I wasn’t really wanted. My *am was disappointed that I cried a lot, not understanding that a baby is grieving when it is taken from its mommy, and she was angry because I would not let her comfort me. My *af was the one that I bonded with and it was obvious that he adored me by looking at the photos of him and me. He always had a look of pride on his face and I looked so safe and content in his arms. 13 months after I was adopted they adopted my brother (not my birth brother). My mom finally had her boy and was thrilled with him joining our family! Sadly, when I was almost 5 and my brother was 3 ½, my adoptive father was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. My mom went back to her teaching job right way and really didn’t know what to do without my dad. She made it clear that we were not to talk about our daddy anymore and decided to put all of his pictures in our home away. I was on my own at the age of 5 with the grief of losing both my birthmother and my adoptive father that I adored, all with no adult help. It was not until I was an adult that I began grieving my daddy’s death and looking at pictures of him and me when I was a baby. My mom withdrew emotionally and left my brother and me with sitters, and sometimes she did not come home at night. The real abuse started when my *am married my *sf when I was 7. We were not allowed to attend their wedding and I was told that my *sf did not want kids so we were to be “seen but not heard”. He was very violent when we got too noisy and whipped us with his belt if we were out of line. I was so afraid of my *sf that I began staying outside (I built a fort in some bushes in the backyard and even had a coffee can as a toilet so I did not need to go in the house at all). As I grew older my *sf began yelling terrible things at me and said it was because no one wanted me that I was adopted. He always blamed me for his abusive behavior and could never bring himself to admit his abuse. My mom never got in his way and would watch the abuse, sometimes afterwards she would even say that she was angry with him for what he did to me. My *am had a friend that she would visit that did not allow children (including her own) inside the house. I believe she had 3. They would lock the door and we were left to ourselves all day. I don’t remember when we ate, but I know I was frightened and felt very alone. Another painful experience with my *am was not being allowed to have a voice to say anything that would make her feel like she wasn’t “the perfect mother”. I desperately wanted to live in truth and talk about our problems. Instead of listening to me, my *am would start crying and saying that I was accusing her of not being a good mother. It would therefore be about her feelings and never about mine. If I talked about truthful things that were hurting me she would shut me out emotionally and not acknowledge me. If I asked her why she was angry she would tell me in her angry voice that she wasn’t angry and shut me out until I would give in by accepting responsibility for the problem and tell her how wonderful she was. I so longed for her love that I was willing to take the blame over and over throughout the years. She allowed my brother to beat me up and do whatever he wanted to me, and when I would tell her I was afraid she would say that we needed to “fight our own battles”. At the age of 11 I was molested by our neighbor.  My *am couldn’t bring herself to do anything about this, so I went to my to my neighbor’s wife to tell her about the abuse. 

There are pages and pages of pain and abuse to be written here. Someday I hope to write a book about my story as I have been encouraged to do so over and over from my therapists throughout the years. I thank God for the strength he has given me to find a path towards healing in spite of my abusers never being able to own up or acknowledge

My adoptive father sexually abused me from the age of 4 until 14 years old.  He continued to emotionally abuse me until shortly before his death in 1993. My adoptive mother not only failed to protect me after I told her about the abuse, but she also harshly criticized me as well.  Her inactions and neglect negatively affected me as much as her actions.  I was 26 when she took responsibility for her actions, but I still dont feel that she has fully recognized her role as the abuser or accomplice.

Having spent the first seven months of my life in the Infant Home, I would need to be placed with a family where the adults had the ability to patiently nurture me in order to bond.  You could not have picked a person more the opposite than my amother.  She could be that person in doses, but usually saved those doses for her bio kids.  For me she saved her hate and venom, telling me repeatedly from the time I was 4 or 5 that I was stupid, retarded, that I had my brains in my ass, and that she knew I didn't love her.  (She repeated the last one following my wedding.)  She hated that I was a tomboy and told me to grow up and act like a girl should. 

She wouldn't wait until I actually did something wrong to beat on me.  If she had a bad day, she would seek me out.  Punching, kicking, grabbing me by the neck, ripping out my hair, etc.  I didn't even have to say anything to get my face slapped out of the blue.  She would just say that I should wipe the look off my face.  There were times when my afather would stop speaking to me and looking at me for weeks and then explode and beat me in a fit of rage.  It seemed to happen periodically, at least once a year.  The last time was when I was 16. He tearfully apologized the next morning, and never beat me again.  I am still not sure what those incidents were about.

My amother was convinced I was going to become pregnant before graduating high school like my bmom.  She never said this outright, but controlled my every move (I had a 9 pm curfew until I was a senior in high school.  Then it was 10 pm.), who my friends could be, and my "sex" talk at 16 was if I got pregnant, I was not allowed to have an abortion, they would not raise the baby and that I would not be allowed to raise it in their house.  All the isolation, control, verbal and physical crap drove me to enlist in the Navy when I was 17 just to get away from her.  I knew if I stayed I would commit suicide just to escape her insults, her rages, and her control.  I had already tried several times by then.

From as early as I remember (before my adoption) I was subjected to emotional, psychological, verbal and physical abuse by my foster mom who later became my adopted mom.  Both parents drank alcohol daily and believed in corporal punishment. My father hit me also. But not nearly as bad as she did. And she constantly put me down, let me know I wasn't good enough.

My worst beating occured during the summer I was 13. My mother beat me with a board so badly that my backside was black & blue from top to bottom and side to side. I had difficulty sitting down for several days.  One friend saw the bruises, but I swore her to secrecy.  All she could say was, "Oh my God, Robin!" 

Police officers came to my junior high. They asked me if my parents hit me; did I had any bruises & could I show them.  Fortunately, I didn't have any bruises. "Fortunately".  Of course I denied that my parents hit me. I was scared to death that when my parents found out I'd 'really get it!'    

I got pregnant at 16 by the only boy I'd ever dated. My adopted mom told me I was a "tramp & a whore, just like your mother!"

Two days after my dad died, my mom disowned me by leaving a message on my voice mail.

I was subjected to physical and mental abuse at the hands of my adoptive parents From June 1974 to December 1981.  The mental abuse continued from my adoptive mother from June 1974 and continued up to February 1993.  I also suffered sexual abuse from my adoptive parent's oldest biological son from 1977 to 1980.

From April 1978 until October 1984 I was sexually and physcially abused by my adopted parents. They both had been found mentally unfit to adopt me but through private adoption were able to get me. I was kept in an attic with no light which was freezing cold in the winter and stiffling hot in the summer. I was starved alot of times as well. I was not allowed in the living room or kitchen except to clean. My life was such a nightmare that sleep became my only friend.