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Here is my story,

I was six years old when my parents got divorced. That summer my mom sent my brothers, sisters and I down to visit my dad in Georgia. I thought that it was going to wonderful. It was anything but wonderful. I did not enjoy my summers as a child.

One day I remember my dad calling me names that made me want to cry. He called me names such as a little pudge ball, little pig, beached whale, and fat Karen. I felt so bad after he called me those names. I was overweight as a child. This is how all of the abuse began. After he started calling me names he gave me chores to do. I had to clean the house, make the beds, cook meals for the family, wash the dishes, and do the laundry all at the age of six. When I didn't clean as well as he wanted it done he would hit me. He would make me pull down my pants and he would take off his belt and hit me in front of my brothers and sisters. I was so embarassed. If I didn't wash the dishes fast enough he would throw me into the refrigerator.

I felt like Cinderella. My brothers and sisters never had to do anything. They got to enjoy their summer vacation. They would just laugh at me and ask me what I did to deserve this. I would say that I did not do anything to deserve this.

Then came the worse part. One night he came into my room after everyone went to sleep and asked me to take off my clothes. I asked him why and he said that I should just do what he wanted me to do. When I told him that I didn't feel comfortable he said that if I wasn't going to take my clothes off than he would do it for me and that is what he did. He said that he wanted to see how my body was developing. Then he would poke me with anything that he could find that was sharp. He started poking my chest. He then looked at my vagina, and after he looked at it he stuck the sharp object into my vagina. He would then lay on top of me and stick his penis into my vagina. It hurt so much that I wanted to scream, he told me that I couldn't because I would wake up the other children.

At some point he would take us to visit my grandparents in Alabama. He would leave my brothers and sister's for two weeks, but said I could not stay because he needed my help. When the two of us were alone he would really abuse me. This lasted for seven years, I hated going to see him but I didn't have a choice.

I told my mom about the abuse two years in a row but she didn't care. She kept sending me to visit him. I stopped telling her because she didn't care about what was happening to me. I never told anyone else fearing that they would think the same way. I hated myself for letting this happen to me. I hated my brothers and sisters for telling me that it was my fault. If I did what he asked me to do better than this wouldn't have happened. They said that if I wasn't as overweight he wouldn't have called me names. I hated my mom for sending me every year even after she knew what happened. Most of all I hated my father for doing this to me. Aren't our parents suppose to protect their children? So how could my father do this to his own child. How could he hurt me so much? It has taken me ten years to be able to write this story and it is still hard to talk about.

Thanks for reading my story. I hope it helps someone.

Karen Belles