If anyone knew who I was I would have to just disappear. I've spent so much time trying to forget that I almost succeeded, but now I realize that I have to face it.
I don't remember when or how it started, but my earliest memories of my childhood are of my older sister molesting me. I knew it was wrong and I wanted so badly to make it stop. I didn't know how. She touched my all over my body and inside, and made me touch her. I remember hating the way she smelled when she was turned on. When she took my hand and forced it to her ugly snatch I wanted to puke. The feel of her public hair was horrid. I spent so much time just wishing to die. To stop breathing by some miracle. She was stronger than me and would kick me in the stomach until I couldn't do anything but gasp for air. This went on until I was 12.

By this time, she was a teenager and sexually actively. She tried to drag me into it, but I was sure to have other plans so I wasn't able to meet her. My mother sent me to bring her home from her friends' house. On the way I was attacked by 4 men who held me up by my armpits while they took turns raping me until there was blood running down my legs. Then they dropped me in a filthy mud filled ditch, where I sliced my led on a broken culvert pipe. To keep me quiet, they said if I spoke up they would do the same to my sister. Somehow I felt the need to protect her, despite what she'd done to me. I'd known something was wrong with her mind since I was 8.
I found out 7 years ago that she had orchestrated the whole thing.

I was raised in an extremely emotionally abusive household, where I was taught that any feelings I had of either happiness, anger, or depression were selfish and bad. I was to never show emotion and was made to feel guilty all the time. I remember being in Sunday school at 10. There were visiting missionaries who offered a chance to confess. Feeling a horrendous guilt, I took the opportunity. Once apart from the group, one chance I might have gotten help, and I could only cry. I couldn't even speak. I concluded that there was nothing to believe in anymore. No one was going to help me.
In sixth grade I broke down in the hallway after being pulled out of my class for my increasingly antisocial behavior, and spilled the beans that my mother hadn't spoken to me in weeks. I had no idea what I had done. Still no help.

So now I am 26. Over 2 decades of emotional, physical and sexually abuse that I have never told anyone. I have been in very abusive relationships because I am afraid of people being mad at me. I have a son whose father will never know about him. I have had sex with so many men I can't even remember, always just searching for a feeling that I've been missing all my life. My sister is now on disability for mental illnesses. She phones me constantly. I listen to her talk about her sad sad life and counsel her because I am the only one who can calm her down.
I hate her. I secretly wish her all the suffering I had to endure. I feel the same about my parents. One day I will have power of attorney over each of them, because I am the only mentally stable kin. Laughable.

I've been on medication to keep my brain from thinking too deeply and to control the anxiety and panic attacks. I can't keep a job. I have a lot of migraines. This is killing me slowly like a parasite in my head.
My only goal in life is to make sure that my son never feels the way I did growing up. I'll never have more children. No sibling will hurt him. No one will touch my boy. We are learning about feelings together. We laugh and cry together, because it is okay to FEEL. It is okay to show those feelings. He will grow up so different than I did. He will have a chance.

So this is what becomes of survivors of extreme family abuse.
And I still can only talk about it anonymously.

Be good to your children.
They choose your nursing home.