********
We want to stress that we do not like or support any kind of abuse. If you know a person that is going through any kind of abuse or you are being abuse; contact someone to get help. Get them out of the situation or get yourself out of the siuation. This is the hot-line number for abuse you can contact to get help; 1-800-799-7233.
Warning!!!!!
this chapter contains abuse!!!
********
Angela Banner
I only remember bits and pieces of my childhood, the most traumatic events having prevalence. I remember watching in horror as my father killed my mother in a drunken rage, then threatened me and brother into silence. I was 4 years old and Bruce was 10.
A week after that my life took on a new form of hell. Bruce was forced to go back to school while I stayed home either alone or with my father. I was only four and didn’t know what he was doing.
My dad would get drunk when he stayed home with me. He would touch me in places that made me uncomfortable. He made me bleed from places I shouldn’t be bleeding from yet. He put things in me. He also liked my mouth.
I remember screaming and crying, begging for him to stop. I was only safe when Bruce was home to protect me. I never told him what happened because I knew he would blame himself.
I was grateful the abuse didn’t last for years though. My father had a problem with keeping his mouth shut. He ended up getting put in a mental institution for the criminally insane. I think they should have just shot him.
I grew up faster I should of. We moved in with my Aunt and Uncle, who raised us from that point on. I studied hard and graduated high school by the age of 12, then finished college by 18. I was so relieved school was over and done with. My graduation night was the greatest night of my life up to that point though. The next night ruined everything though.
I had to go to school the next night to gather up the last of my research. It was my molecular biology teacher, it jumped me and used the oh so popular chloroform method. I came to in a dingy hotel room, strapped to a bed. I was nude, and I felt like the same little 4 year old. The sexual torture lasted for hours.
Everything blurred and in a haze, I found myself set free in a ditch. I ran. I couldn’t face Bruce.
I moved to Florida and completely dropped off the map. I found a job and for two months, worked as a waitress. Then I met Matthew.
He seemed like the sweetest guy ever. He did have one bad habit though. Matthew Hardwick was a drug dealer. I quit my job to be with him. We shared a small one room apartment.
I started smoking at that point both cigarettes and marijuana. Before long he had me hooked on the harder drugs. I only remember bits and pieces after that. The abuse; physical, mental, verbal, spiritual and sexual, he broke me down to nothing. Then I had the miscarriage.
The miscarriage sent me running from him. I couldn’t live without my fixes though. I became a homeless whore. For two months I lived that life.
Then Bruce found me. I was horrified he saw me like that. A shell of my former self. He forced into the rehab the day after that. Rehab took six months of pain, sobbing, and clinging to my brother because he was the only rock I had.
I was lost when I finally got out. I did what my brother told me to do. After 7 years, I still don’t feel like I’m in charge of my own life.
