TW: rape, SH, domestic violence, abuse, swearing, name calling, gaslighting

I always feel on the brink of denial about my family. I’m worried that distance may make this feeling worse, so this a reminder, for when I am in doubt:

My family is abusive.

It is not safe with them, and I cannot return to living with them.

They put me through hell and will do so again.

I dislike the name Becky because they gave it to me, and I associate it with too much negativity.

I’ll include a list of reasons/proof that they are abusive. If in doubt, then please read.

Remember; it isn’t, wasn’t and never will be ok or my fault.

There is nothing to feel guilty for.

I deserve love and kindness, rest and compassion.

It is ok to estrange from my parents.

My situation is valid

I can get through this.

It does not matter if people have had/have it worse. It is still good and valid to ask for help.

If my family are kind or giving, that does not reduce or undo abuse either historical or present. I have the right not to forgive. This is valid.

Removing contact is just setting a firm boundary.

It is not petty, cruel, immature or immortal.

As children my parents used to smack us. It was legal, but I know that doesn’t make it okay. Dad has always had a short fuse and when he gets angry it scares/scared me.

Mum has admitted it is bad parenting but said that I wouldn’t have been able to not smack me either because I was a pain in the arse and I had it coming.

When we were kids, she asked us once whether we would rather be smacked or sent to our rooms when we misbehaved. My siblings said smacked. I don’t remember how I answered but I remember thinking that I don’t like either option. The hurt and rejection was bad either way.

Ben often wound me up on purpose to get a reaction so he could tell mum and get me in trouble. He always has and still does look gleeful when I get in trouble. He likes to push the most painful buttons, morals such as my vegetarianism, my sexuality, my friends, my personality. I used to lash out and when my parents told me off I would tell them

 but you hit us so why is this any worse and weirdos can hurt more than hitting and kicking anyway.

They didn’t have a good argument in response.

When I was around 8-9 I were anally raped by Gabriel, my nextdoor neighbour. He was just a young teen himself. I blocked out the memory and trauma for a few years. When I hit puberty I began to regain memories. Mum was caring for Grandma and Jean, my great aunt. I didn’t tell anyone for a while, but eventually I told some friends at school. I did not tell my parents.

Grandma and Jean developed dementia. Jean regressed, but grandma became violent. She yelled and screamed and hit people. This was mostly aimed at mum. Sometimes mum tried to make me help too and I ran from it and hid. Mum was stressed, tired, angry, upset. So was I. I was traumatised, I needed love, support and kindness, but I was too scared to talk about it. Sometimes I lashed out, saying things like “I hate you”

Mum said cruel things too:

“you’re a monster”

“selfish”

“lazy”

“bitch”

mostly in anger but sometimes coldly like waiting in the car outside the chippy “sometimes I just think you are a monster” that felt unprovoked.

Sometimes it was on days my mental health was too bad to get out of bed and she’d call me a

“Lazy selfish bitch”

I was just sad.

Other times she asked me to help around the house doing tidying, cleaning or gardening. If I didn’t help, she told me I was lazy, selfish, a bitch, not contributing, never do anything or a burden. If I did help then I was told I was being deliberately slow, lazy, selfish, manipulative. Everything had to be done for her, in her way, at her time and at her pace.

They found out about the CSA by reading my diary. They laughed about parts of the diary, making fun and I heard them, and it was humiliating. The part where I mentioned having nightmares about memories they asked about over and over. They ambushed me to make me tell them about it during times I couldn’t get away, like in the car while dad was driving, and in my bedroom while they blocked the bedroom door. I could not run away. When I tried to hide, they pulled away the quilt. When I hid or ran, they found me.

During this time I had episodes of extreme anger and fear. They pinned me down and yelled back. One time I locked myself in the bathroom and mum broke the lock on the door. I was hysterical and I yelled and screamed for them to leave me alone. I didn’t want anyone near me, so I hit and kicked out, screaming for them to leave me alone, not to touch me, to go away. In response they pinned me down. I kept fighting back. While they both held me down mum told me she loves me, that  everyone loves me. This did not feel like love. This felt terrifying. I hyperventilated and sobbed and screamed into a state of complete exhaustion, too tired to move or talk for a while. They said they did this to defend themselves or to keep me safe but you only when there too be alone. This kind of thing happened several times.

They pressured me for a long time, weeks probably. It broke me. Eventually I told them that I had been raped, they guessed details and worked them out based on my reaction because I had gone non-verbal. Over the next few years I started to self harm, cutting myself and punching walls until my fists bled. I stopped going into school as often, though some days I went in to get away from my family and stayed late to avoid going home.

Mum talked about me being raped or about “what happened” as she referred to it whenever she needed to even when I insisted that I needed not to talk about it. She went on to pressure me to let her tell the whole family about me being sexually assaulted – exactly what happened. She told me over and over that she needed to tell everyone because she needed to be able to talk to people because it was affecting her really badly. She told me that she needed to tell everyone because she needed to explain why I was angry and bad so that everyone didn’t think terribly of me. Eventually I agreed so that she’d shut up. She took this as a free pass to talk about it whenever she needed to my family as well. My mother took ownership of my trauma because she “has second-hand trauma.” This took control away from me and over time I began to get dissociative amnesia again. I still do. I can’t remember the rape. My memory is hazy about everything. My visual memory or ‘mind’s eye’ does not work and I have blocked out a lot of traumatic memories of my family as well.

When I was living at home before university it was still bad. Mum would make me do things for her like mending things, making things and playing nurse, listening to her troubles and stories and how everything is emotionally horrible for her and even slicing verrucas from under her toenails. If I said I didn’t want to she would call me selfish and mean, say I was the only person who could, say I was lazy, pathetic, immature, useless and would come to nothing.

She would embarrass me in public, making comments about my clothes; that they are scruffy, make me look fat or that I “look like a fat bitch lesbian”, she commented on my behaviour, my attitude, they have all said that when I am happy and enthusiastic while in public, or if I sing or dance and have fun that I am embarrassing. Now I know that’s probably ADHD, but it’s also who I am. Mum would ask if I wanted something buying and then make a big deal about how expensive I was and impulsive and needy. My mum made me feel guilty about existing.

She also made me feel inadequate, that I could do nothing and be nothing. She called me “broken” many times. She always blamed this on the SA, saying “he broke you” and even “he broke you, took you and now you’re his.”

When I express life goals like to build my own house and to move out or to get a job everyone in my family would laugh, mocking me and telling me all the reasons I can never do it because, they said I am weak, crazy, idealist, impulsive, never finish anything, immature, too lazy, can’t do it.

Jenny calls me a burden too. They called me a burden because I wasn’t achieving what they expected from me. I wasn’t earning money, and they said I cost everyone too much. They said I always needed attention and I embarrassed them. They did not try to understand what I was going through, either from trauma or my ADHD or their parenting…

They tell me to shut up a lot.

Ben calls me a bitch most these days. He says it regularly. He is excused because he has autism. He has misophonia so if someone burps, farts or sings or listens to music he says they are a bitch, beast, monster, not even human, evil, disgusting, that they should die and he hates us. He mostly takes his anger out on me.

When he looked up child pornography and made inappropriate drawings they decided it’s because he is autistic. They didn’t even investigate whether he had been through the same trauma – I uncovered he had when I reported his drawings to the police.

He gets away with saying cruel things to me under his breath a lot because mum is hard of hearing and because he is autistic.

Mum sows confusion and self-doubt.

I don’t know if it’s deliberate, but she justifies her behaviour very rationally. She says she loves me. She gaslights me by telling me I’m misremembering it because I have amnesia. Because of this I started keeping written records and audio recordings. But I have learnt to gaslight myself, saying they aren’t so bad, that it’s normal and that Jim the problem. I am not the problem. I am being scapegoated. I am strong and I will read this as many times as I need to for it to sink in.

I am a good person. I am generous, creative, resourceful, selfless, hardworking, brave, strong, intelligent.