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The Phoenix's Incest Story

This portion of my story takes place between 1973 and 1980.

I was adopted as an infant into a family. I was one years old when the adoption process was complete and I went home to live with them. By the time I was four or five years of age the first incest attack that I can remember occurred. As an infant I did develop the same bonds with my mom and dad as if they had actually been my birth parents.

The incest assaults were all very brutal, gradually as I got older even more and more painful, my father used cruel malicious mental mind games on me and twisted the truth and twisted my thoughts to suit his needs. I was beaten unconscious on many occasions, on 3 separate occasions he beat me so severely I believed I was dying.

He had 2 natural born children and at one point he put a shot gun to my brother’s head and said he was going to blow his brains out. We including mom, were beaten and abused every single day. I will not speak of specifics only generalities.

For the first 3 or 4 years of my life I like to believe it was normal. For the next 8 years I lived through unspeakable horrors at the hands of a Psychopath Pedophile. As a pre-teen I would fight him and curse him and he would beat me mercilessly. I ran away several times and each time I was returned home, once by police and once by a concerned family. The severity and the duration of this level of abuse broke me inside, it fractured me mentally into a million different pieces all of those pieces were damaged and had his mind manipulations stamped into them.

At 12 years of age the last incest assault on me ended the reign of terror because my father moved to California to work for an elementary school as a bus driver. Tragic really to think of the trail of devastation he must have left behind him.

During the 8 years of incest my only goal was to survive to be an adult so I could escape and be free. (I did not know at the time that being free would mean 8 years of hard work in intensive therapy sessions.) As a child I clung to the belief that somewhere, somehow I could find a place and people who would love me and not abuse me. I clung to that belief; it helped protect my sanity and that incredible hope also helped to keep me alive.

When I was very young and the incest assaults would occur I would repress the memory of it as soon as the assault stopped. I did not remember it had happened. I became increasingly wary and terrified of something trying to destroy me but I couldn't tell you what it was. As the incest assaults continued I learned how to disassociate from my body completely and even at times I would remember a floating sensation and looking down on the scene.

I became a very light sleeper and the tiniest of sounds would wake me instantly. Gradually the full weight and burden of the memories and uncountable incest assaults came into full consciousness and I began an impossible task of suppressing the thoughts and trying to maintain control of the absolute chaos in my mind. At this time my drinking began in earnest.

Disassociating from my body during the abuse was some relief and helped me to survive but slowly I realized that I was maintaining a level of disassociation from my body all the times. This was a problem cause someone once or twice held my hand and I would look down at the sensation of a sudden awareness that I had a hand and it was so tiny and warm in their hand. This is an example of how a survival skill becomes a trap and I will talk more on this in Survival Skills - Beneficial or Harmful.

I tried as a child to make the abuse stop by telling friends, strangers and teachers. I told a police officer in Louisiana that I was being abused and he did nothing to help me other tell me that everyone has things they have to go through in life. When the officer took me home my father saw me delivered to the house in a police car and later beat me to unconsciousness trying to find out what I had blabbed to the officer. I told my mom, grandmother, and neighbors I was being abused no-one helped me they turned their back on me and my grandmother beat me so badly blaming me as she was yelling at me. I was so alone. (Sidebar here: if a child tells you they are being abused by their dad the last person you call is the dad or the family. You are endangering that child's very life cause in my case my father took special pleasure in beating me so severely on those occasions I thought he was killing me I was blacking out and thought I was dying.)

So when a concerned person I had told I was being abused, called Child Welfare, I was well into high school and when I got pulled out of class to the counselor's office I was in such fear for my life then my first and only intervention came way too late...because at one point my father had held a shotgun to my brothers head and told my brother he was going to blow his brains out, so I decided that this man would probably kill one or all of us.

So I did what I felt I had to do and I denied everything, sobbing hysterically; that the social worker begged me to step forward and they would protect me, but I didn't see how and my fears were so ingrained in me and since I had lived this long why risk that evil man murdering me when I am so close to freedom so I denied everything, in tears, in absolute fear for my life. It was too late.

At 17 I moved out of my home town and out of all of those people's lives for nine years I never spoke to anyone in my family. As for my father, I chose to never to speak to him ever again. Enduring his presence would send me over the edge there is no way I could be around him.

So if you find yourself in the midst of abuse seek help, you deserve to be safe and from the 70's/80's, when I was trying to get help to now, there is a greater awareness of incest and more facilities to reach out to for help. I hope my writings help to give you hope for your journey of healing. Please fully understand my information I share with you is not meant to replace professional counseling it is meant to be used in conjunction with professional counseling.

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