This is my story one that I have never fully shared with anyone before except the people who went through it with me. It has taken me a long time to understand what I went through was abuse, even now I still can’t so those words out loud, they get caught in my throat. Maybe even some part of me doesn’t fully accept what happened yet. I don’t have much memories of my childhood, but the stuff I do remember out weighs the happy.

I guess my story is complicated, it is not black and white as movie tend to paint it to be, that the abuser is the villain of the story. I don’t believe mine was a villain rather a victim to the demon they internally battled every day of their life until those demon eventually won. I only had my mum for a short amount of time in my life, she killed herself when I was 14 on October the 1st, the day I am writing this. That was five years ago. Not a day has gone by that I don’t think about her or miss her. but my life has been easier since she been gone. I hated myself for a long time to actually think these words. It took me a long time to know that it is okay to feel like that. That I am not scared if I make the smallest mistake and be afraid of the repercussions, that I can do normal teenage thing without living in fear and I don’t have to walk on eggshell anymore.

My mother had a misdiagnosis of bipolar, she was diagnosed as a manic depressive, but the doctors never saw who she really was, not many people ever did. The way I see her as she had a heart of gold, but because of her demons she made some really bad choices. If she was still alive to this day I am terrified to know what my life would be like, because I know I would either be far away as possible from her or stuck under her mind games and control that I would not even have a life. There would be no middle ground.

I had suffered physical, mental and emotional abuse. The physical abuse wasn’t often thankfully, but the other two were constant. I don’t think she ever meant do what she did. She just wasn’t mentally well, and no one ever decided to get the help she needed but rather sweep it under the rug, but because of trying to hide her problem her husband and daughters suffered the most because of that choice.

When I realized that I was abused was when I saw how family were on tv and saw how different their families were, I noticed mine was different. I would have friends over but each time my mum would tell me to stop being friends with them and when I was younger I listened. She never liked one of them, she would always find one thing wrong with them, saying how different I was from them or how I would never properly fit in with them. So, in the end to avoid all of this I stopped having friends over and rarely went to other peoples houses. I was scared to ask her since she would have to meet them and judge them.

I remember the first time ever really fearing my mother, I would have been about 6 and I was told to clean my room. But like any 6-year-old I was taking my time and playing with my toys as I was cleaning. She came in with this look on her face that just terrified me, I didn’t know what she was going to do. Next thing I know she swung her arm at my shelves and just ripping everything off them because I wasn’t doing it faster enough and just yelling at me. And locked me in my room until I cleaned up everything, I was so scared and devastated as I had glass figurines and a lot of them broke because of that.  

The first memory of her laying a hand on me would be when I was about 9 I think. I wasn’t a bad kid, I never got in trouble at school and everyone would say I was good kid who listened. They only thing I can remember I did was argue a lot with my older sister who was four years older than me. I don’t even remember why we were in trouble. I just remember her somehow picking us up by the collar of our shirt in one hand and slapping us across the face in one go. I looked towards my dad who just sat there on the couch watching tv as this happened. And in that moment, I knew no one would ever help. But years later I finally understood why he didn’t do anything because if he did things could have been so much worse if he intervened.

I didn’t know mum was mentally ill, and because of that I could never fully understand her and why she did the things she did. It wasn’t until my oldest sister, (14 years older than me) told me “you do know mum is sick in the head.” I probably would have been 10, but she was the only person who ever told me the truth. She only said that to me because I accidently tripped over the mop bucket upstairs and I quickly cleaned it up, but mum lost it at me yelling at me. What my sister and I went through was nothing compared to my sister who is 14 years older me went through. She said after mum had each kid she just changed and got worse.

She had this control over that no one has ever before, as I grew into my younger teen years I knew this wasn’t right, so I did the only thing I could which was shut myself in my room by shutting everyone else out. I became really good at hiding what I was feeling and what was going on. It was easier to pretend everything was fine than facing the truth.  I couldn’t escape to another people’s house since if I got close to an aunty or someone she would pull back from them. Any chance I got I would stay at a family’s house on the holidays just to get a breather. But we weren’t allowed out by ourselves, we either stayed home on the holidays or went to a family member, but if we got close to them she would pull away. I enjoyed school because it was an escape I could breathe there.

My life when she was around was constant mind games, making me feel guilty or not good enough. I don’t know how many times I dreamed of just running away and never coming back. I made so many plans to go to university as far away as possible, even had budgets set up. Another trick she would do, she would hit the door or something so she could say, she was restraining from hitting us. She would play the card of separating my sister and I, so we would never see each other again, saying dad would take one and she would take the other. If we argued or did something she didn’t like.

When she had was having a bad low, she would pack her things, say goodbye and that she was never coming back taking the car with her. But she would go to the pub or something. Which resulted in the police ringing up and asking us to pick her up or she would be taken to the hospital. She even went to the mental ward a few times. When my oldest sister was younger she called DOCS (department of child safety), but my mum and nan forced her to recant her statement because they made her scared they would take me and my sister away and that she would never see us again since I was a baby and my other sister was a little kid.

This was my life for the first 14 years of my life, there was so many opportunities for someone to help, but no one ever did. But this isn’t everything that happened, just the main events. I don’t even know everything, and I lived it. There is so much of my childhood missing from my memories. Sadly, emotional and mental abuse is so over looked since there are really no physical signs for it, it is really hard to know if it is occurring. Only recently is it being broadcasted as abuse.

Abuse stories are so common within the Wattpad community that it ranges from abusive parent to an unknown abuse with a ‘hot guy’ who is possessive and controlling. It about being beaten but that not all abuse is.  These are stories that many young girls and boys are reading and interpreting as normal. In reality you aren’t going to be rescued from a knight and shining armor and magically all of your issues are solved. 5 years after my mums’ death I still flinch when someone raise a hand to do something, I get petrified if someone yells around me or when I make a simple mistake. It has taken me 5 years to admit I was abused, and still I can’t say those words aloud. Majority of the time no one is going to rescue you and it take years to be able to deal with the aftermath of abuse.

After all of that I believe that everything happens for reason, if I didn’t go through the challenges that I did I wouldn’t be where I am today, a 19-year-old girl studying a Bachelor of Social Work/Criminology and Justice at university as well as working part time. I am proud of how far I have come and the success I have had so far. I wouldn’t dedicate my career to helping people who are facing a troubling situation. What I went through lead me to where I am today. And I wouldn’t change a thing because after all of that I am happy as well I have a strong bond with my sisters. It taught me to appreciate the small things in life and be thankful. But I still would not wish anyone to go through what I did since everyone deals with things differently.

I just hope when people read this they understand that abuse is a complicated issue that a lot of people go through, but the abuser is not always a bad person. They need help, because some of the time there are reason why they do what they did. I miss my mum, I would go to her if I was having a bad day especially when I was younger. Because of her mental illness she has missed so much of my life and I could have really needed her in these past five years. The only regret I have is not getting her the help she needed than my life could have been so different.

Thank you for reading my story and know that you aren’t alone. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, sometimes it just takes awhile to find it. I know it took me awhile to find it. If you are going through talk to someone, anyone. I did, it was just the school’s chappy, and without him I don’t know where I would be.

Please remember to vote, comment and share the love