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My Story...Not Exactly a Question

        So I guess I start with saying my name and age... My name is Renee, and I'm 15. Wow, I have no clue where to go from here. Let me just start with the elephant in the room; I was emotionally abused by my ex-stepmother from age 9-14. Five long years, I still can't believe it was that long.

        So, I guess emotional abuse isn't as bad as physical abuse. I wasn't hit. I was maybe dragged out of the house or out of my room a few times, but that's about it. I was called names, though. I was called a brat and a ***** and a liar. Most of these names stuck since my ex-stepmom called me these thing at the age where I didn't know any better. I think it did more damage than any blow or slap could. I had no privacy. Everything was looked at and used as if it was in the court of law. My journals, diaries, even drawings. She would walk into the bathroom while I was in the shower and just rip open the shower curtain, she'd come in my room whenever she liked, she would randomly stand outside my door during the night to see if I was still awake or reading when I should have been in bed. And a bunch of other unpleasant things.

        A little bit of backtracking, my mother neglected me. Her and my father divorced when I was 9 and my father and I moved into my ex-stepmom's house maybe a month after the divorce, giving me no time to get over the divorce.

        As I got older, I became more bitter and depressed. I had no clue why I was so sad. And my step-mom would get mad at me for being depressed, sometimes I would get in trouble for crying too loudly. My stepmom told me that it was my fault that I was depressed and that I did it to myself. I make myself miserable. And the funny thing is I believed it. I became withdrawn, pushing people away and only having a few friends. I started to loose interest in things and stop feeling happy. I became numb. She had broken me, she won.

        Naturally, I tried seeking help in my father. But he never believed his loving wife would do such a thing. I tried so hard for him to understand how much I hurt, to get anyone to notice how much I was hurting. I believed that my ex-stepmother had him brainwashed, because he would see no reason. Hopeless, I suffered alone. I was uncertain if I should even tell anyone about it.

        I started talking to my mom, brother and sister. They promised me my life would be better if I lived with them. That's the hope I clung onto. That maybe I could go live with them and be happy again. But that never happened. I knew in my heart that it would be a bad decision because my mother was so unstable, but a girl could dream, right? I never ended up going with them, but my father and stepmom caught wind of my plan. They refused to let me see them, even when it was court ordered. Not that my mom and them really tried that hard to see me anyway. My step-mother would put down my family a lot, calling my mom a stupid ***** and a *****. She told me that she never wanted anything to do with them and that I wasn't allowed to talk about them. Oh, and she had two sons who were allowed to call my family names as well. I was powerless to stop them.

        Yes, he two sons. Adrian and Cam. Cam was usually never home, but that's okay. Adrian was a real pain in the ***. And my step-mother always favored Adrian. While I was getting good grades, staying out of trouble and out of the way, he was doing drugs, having sex, stealing, and getting horrible grades. He was a year younger than me too. But who took the blame? Me. Always my fault.

        A lot of those years I blocked out, so lets's fast-forward. My father divorced my step-mother last year. We moved around a lot after that, and he had already found a girlfriend less than two weeks after him and my stepmother split up. We moved to a new town away from my friends, and he promptly got his new girlfriend pregnant and she just had her baby. He wastes no time. He doesn't realize that I need time before he goes and does these kind of things. He thinks of nothing but himself.

        So back to the present, here I am. I'm writing this because I need someone to know my story. I don't know who else to tell. I have no one. I have now friends because of the social anxiety and the wall I've built around myself. I don't know who I am anymore. I've withdrawn and isolated myself to the point where I can't even talk to people on the phone. I feel inferior and alien compared to other people. I'm trying to heal, but I have no one to support me. Counseling that I'm in helps a little bit, but I need a constant support. My father isn't there because he's wrapped up in his own problems. Sometimes I wish to die. I'm alone and I feel like no one cares about me, that I'm not worth anyone's trouble. I can't talk to anyone about my feelings, I don't know how. I hurt, I hurt, I hurt and I don't know how to be okay again....

        I just want to be okay again.

1 Responses
3149845 tn?1506627771
Hi Renee, well what can i say, some of us have it worse and some better and some were in the world trade center when it collapsed. Life is a test and a challange and it is up to each one of us to make sense of our lives.
The thing about life is that some families raise there children to learn a profession and become doctors others dont give a hoot what happens to their children.
My fathers only advise to me at 15 was not to hurt my back as i will need it. But the one thing that has always been with me was ME. The only person who can lead you in the right direction is YOU and the clues of how to get there are seen  though out nature and society.

The thing to be thankful for and the thing that motivates us is that no matter what is behind us we have life, and life is what makes our future dreams to come true.
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