Never Feeling Safe: Another Person Abused

By Cindy O'Brien

I never felt safe as a child. For years I slept
under my bed feeling alone in this world.
Never Feeling Safe: Another Person Abused
is my true life story.
I was sexually and emotionally abused by the hands of many
of my relatives and I charged them when I was a child.
Being abused affected my deepest core. Every
part of my body and psyche was hurt and affected.
I share with you
my childhood experience of charging my relatives for abusing
me, being a teenage runaway and living in shelters and feeling
immobilized by my deepest fears.
I share how I triumphed over depression, bulimia, isolation,
guilt, shame, anger and mistrust with specific tools you can apply
to your life.
I am on a journey to find happiness and emotional freedom,
journey with me, one moment at a time.
Find Hope and be inspired.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9780993876318

Book preview

O’Brien

Prologue

This book is a true story, my story. Some of the people’s names have been changed. I am dedicating this book to all the survivors of abuse and the people that care about those survivors. I dedicate my book to you. To the people and organizations that have helped me in my journey, Betty Ann Goulding, child protection services, Children’s Aid Society, Kids Help Phone, Child Find and all shelters including Patrick House in St. John’s (now called Naomi House) and Covenant House in Toronto.

Of course to the love of my life, Frank, I thank you. With his inspiration and support, I find the courage to write this book. To my amazing, beautiful kids, Laura and Kyle, who taught me to love unconditionally, I love them with all my heart. I did my best to allow my kids to do things for themselves, to be resilient. Letting them have life experiences and seeing them believe in themselves means everything to me. Thank you for your gift of unconditional love.

To both my brothers and their families. I love you immensely.

Tonight I lay on my bed, unable to sleep, many horrific memories race through my mind. Like many others, I have been through a tremendous amount in my life.

In spite of these memories tonight I feel good, even as the tears roll down my eyes. Tonight I feel safe; feeling safe feels so good that it makes me want to cry.

I am surrounded with scented candles, I breathe in a soft warm smell. I breathe in peaceful, gentle, loving words to myself. I breathe them out, to you, the reader. Tonight, I breathe in, I love you. I hope in my heart that you whisper loving words to yourself as you sleep, as you are in my thoughts. My only hope is that this book brings you the reader a fragment of hope.

No. Don’t give up hope just yet. It’s the last thing to go. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. And when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak, there is always hope. Pittacus Lore

Know that you are beautiful in every way possible.

CHAPTER 1

Frozen in Time

This is my story, I own what happened to me in my life. Like many others, I feel that I have been to hell and back. There is hope… I am proof of it. I share my story with you, with the hope that my personal story encourages you to share your personal story. I’m not a writer, I write only for healing and to provide some hope.

Like all kids, I had nightmares as a child. Unlike most kids however, my night terrors were not in my sleep, they were actually happening. I recall as if it was yesterday having nightmares of being sexually abused, then horrifically waking up and actually being sexually abused.

For years, my life was terrifying. In grade one, I wished I would wake up and find out it was all just a night terror. I wanted with every fiber of my being to discover that what was happening to me was a bad dream. Wishing my life wasn’t real. But it was real and I couldn’t change it. I remember wishing to go to sleep like Sleeping Beauty did. I wanted to be woken up by someone that was going to save me. Unlike the movies or fairy tales…no one ever saved me, except maybe I saved myself.

No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path. Buddha

I woke up in morning knowing that I was going to relive my nightmares over and over again. My path was inescapable. I wanted to live a life worth living. I hated my life at 6 years of age.

My prayers were,

God please take me.

I can’t do this anymore.

My prayers were never answered.

Where are you God, are you listening?

I’m sorry God if I did something bad.

I’m a bad little girl, I promise I will stop being bad. Just take me away from here.

Is that why you are not listening to me God?

Do I deserve this?

I have had enough of this life God.

The house that I lived in consisted of 3 rooms, kitchen, TV room and bedroom. Each room was 10 feet x 15 feet. We had one door in our house. It was the front door. At night I often hid in the back corner under my bed. I can still smell smoke from down the hall and hear the clink of beer bottles and the sounds of my parents talking with the relatives that were sexually abusing me. We had 4 windows in our house. We had no bathroom or closets and no privacy. Most of our windows were made out of Plexiglas. The windows were being broken too often during my parents’ raging and drinking episodes. Plexiglas was harder to break. As a child, I was ashamed of my house, I felt disgusted with myself.

I am 7 years old and feel dirty. I am disgusted with myself thinking about my relatives touching me even though they weren’t around, I hid under my bed, fearing the sound of an abusers’ voice. I tried to listen to my senses and know when they were close by. Our house was small so it was easy to find me. Whenever I heard my parents talking, I listened. When I was 11 years old I heard my cousin Chris tell my parents to put me on birth control, I did not understand what he was saying at that time. My parents often talked about when my abusers were coming over. I spent most days outside and it was often cold and dark outside when I came home. My parents never said anything to me when I came home late.

It was very late at night and I was under my bed sleeping. I woke up to hear a knock on the door. It was one of my abusive cousins, Carl. I lay awake on the cold floor in fear. I hear the rattle of the case of beer being put on the table and I begin to shiver as I hear the sounds of Carl’s footsteps slowly walking around in the hall. I knew he was looking for me.

I quietly opened the window near my bed and climbed through. This night I escaped the abuse. I walk to my secret place. My childhood friend Shelly (my only friend) and I would sometimes go there. We called it Tomahot Rock. I loved to feel my fingertips on Tomahot Rock, feeling the rough edges of granite and the warmth of the sun-heated stone. But at night the rock was cold.

I missed Shelly being with me. Shelly was 2 years younger than me. Together we would sit on our rock and Shelly would talk about her life, her dreams and her problems. I (tragically) pretended to have the same dreams and problems as her. I pretended to have dreams. We played Jack’s and Miss Mary Max. Sometimes Shelly would bring her dolls and we would pretend. My one and only dream was to be out of the life I was living. Shelly was more like a sister than a friend. I love Shelly. As we grew, we grew apart but she will always be a friend. I would do anything for her.

This evening, while Shelly was likely to be sleeping in her bed, I was walking to our secret place. It was very dark; the moon was my only source of light as I walked. There were no roads to get to the secret place. I walked along the train track. There were usually no trains running at night. Our secret place was deep in the woods. We made a path to get there. I arrive at Tomahot rock and I sit in the forest alone. I sit on the ground next to the big rock that I called home. It was the biggest rock I have even seen. Tomahot Rock was a place to go to cry and be alone. When I no longer had tears left, I would feel hollow inside. Being hollow and numb felt better then crying.

I climbed to the top of the rock; I could see most of Topsail and Three Island Pond from the highest point. I sit on the rock and look up at all the stars in the sky, and pray,

Please let me die God; I want to be in heaven with my little sister Jaclyn.

I sit and think about some of my abusive cousins, Vince, Carl, Jason and Randy. They were brothers and they were recently threatening to hurt me if I didn’t do what they wanted sexually. I hated thinking about them. With all my abusers, the abuse began gradually and increased over time. Carl, Jason Randy and Vince were using force, tricks and pressure to get me to perform oral sex on them, using me for their sexual pleasure. On separate occasions, separately, with every available opportunity, Carl, Jason, Randy and Vince were abusing me. They were touching, fondling and exposing me to adult sexual activity.

They tried to control me, acting like they were entitled to hold power and control over me. My cousins were constantly checking up on me, keeping me from playing outside, controlling where I went and what I did. My abusers were depriving me of safety and autonomy, using abusive tactics to maintain control over me. I felt that they had full control over my thoughts and beliefs.

Keeping me in a prison of fearful obedience, saying,

You will be sorry if you say anything.

I will kill your family if you say anything.

If you say anything, no one will believe you.

This is our secret.

Randy appeared the most normal compared to the others. Randy would come over to my house and visit my parents before he would bring over alcohol and have a few drinks with my parents before he would repeatedly sexually abuse me. Randy pretended to be friendly and attentive to others, even to his partner and kids. I can only figure that the abuse began with me by first being friendly and attentive to me, eventually becoming over friendly, simply another term for molesting me. He knew I was vulnerable.

Pedophiles look for a victim who seems in some way vulnerable. All my abusers became part of my life by filling a need. I had many needs to be filled but none of them involved being sexually abused. My abusers knew my family was very poor and they provided free alcohol and babysitting. I was lonely and afraid and my pedophile abusers acted as a friend and said, I am here to protect and look after you.

My cousin Vince pretended to be playful and came to my house to play games with me and when we were alone these games often involved getting undressed. Vince knew I was being pushed to the side and neglected. I think Vince was 18 or 19 at the time. Vince pretended to be my savior and appeared to be helping my parents the most. On the outside he appeared to be the most giving, willing, helpful, kind and available free babysitter. He seemed to always be around and was too aware of what and where I was and what I was doing. This made me more vulnerable.

Now, I’m not vulnerable to them anymore. In this book, I’m telling Our secret as I see it. After too much silence and shame. I tell it as I see it, my truth, from my heart. When I was little, I tried to block out being abused but I couldn’t. There was no erasing the abuse from my mind.

My feelings are mine. As a child, I never felt safe. I remember crying like it was ‘just yesterday’. Crying even when there were no tears left in my eyes. At 7, I wondered, How is this possible. I always cried alone or with my cats as I felt too afraid to cry around anyone.

Arriving home late at night and leaning my ear next to the door, listening for the sounds of the voices of my abusers. I hear nothing. My abuser left. I go behind the house and climb back through the window and lie under my bed. Under my bed I would cry thinking,

I wish I wasn’t a kid.

Not being able to breathe, feeling,

No one loves me.

No one is going to save me.

I’m alone in this world.

I talked to the walls, If these walls could talk what would they say to me?

Being told regularly,

You better not be crying because I will give you something to cry about.

I thought and believed,

Being dead would be so much better than living this life.

My parents were always drunk, violently drunk and I was neglected. I was either left alone in the house or with my abusers when my parents were out drinking. My abusers always knew when I was home alone. They would come over to the house and say, I’m checking up on you.

I was terrified at 6, always anticipating my abusers hurting me. I felt unwanted and unloved. I was ashamed of my life; ashamed of the house I lived in, and most sadly, ashamed of myself. I always felt so dirty.

Epidemic of Abuse

There is an epidemic when it comes to all forms of abuse. In my opinion, every person has been abused in some form. Research says that 1 in 3 or 4 women and 1 in 6 men are victims of sexual abuse. I think the numbers are substantially higher for both sexes. Men and women are too ashamed to talk about it. Sexual abuse occurs in all religions, races, ages, classes, educational levels, occupations and cultures. No man or woman is immune.

Sexual predators are devious, they prey on the vulnerable. They might say things such as, Don’t talk to strangers, but it’s them that you have to worry about.

Up to 90% of sexual abuse occurs by someone the victim has an established close relationship with.

Teaching children about Stranger Danger is well meaning but in reality it’s very misleading.

In my opinion, most people that are sexually abused know their abuser(s).

My Sexual Abuse

I don’t remember how old I was when my perpetrators started to sexually abuse me. I only know that they started abusing me when I was very young. Shockingly, I was sexually abused as far back as I can remember. The earliest childhood memories I have are of me being sexually abused.

When I was a child I was always pretending to be a normal happy child, but most days I would spend hours crying. No one should cry as much as I did as a child or be as sad as when I was 7. I hated being alive but I pretended I didn’t. I was always putting on a mask.

When I was 7, Vince came to my house to take me somewhere. I didn’t want to go anywhere with him. He took my hand. In my mind, I was thinking, I hate you.

I don’t want any part of me touched by you.

You feel slimy.

As he grabbed my hand, I told my parents,

I don’t want to go anywhere with him.

What I said didn’t matter; they yelled at me and told me,

Go with him.

I went with Vince. Like a good little girl, I listened. He grabbed my hand, I didn’t ask where I was going and neither did my parents. I felt scared. My parents saw me leave with him. Vince pulled me into the forest; it was across the road from where I lived. We walked for about 2 minutes in the forest, I cried as we walked. I cried as he held my hand tightly, he started pulling me harder as we walked. When we stopped, Vince started to take off my shirt. I tried to get away.

Vince said, "We are going to play a game.

I said, I don’t want to play any games with you."

Stop!

I want to go home!

Vince pushed me on the ground and straddled me. I felt that I was suffocating and couldn’t breathe. As he held my arms against the ground he started to take off my pants. While Vince was lying on top of me, I was sobbing, telling him to stop.

Please stop!

While holding me to the ground, he started taking down his pants. I was crying as he pinned me to the ground. Vince started trying to push his penis inside me. I was begging him to stop hurting me. This wasn’t the first time he had done this, but this time was different. He was angry, yelling at me to stay still. I was squirming so much he couldn’t penetrate me.

He said,

I will hurt you if you don’t stay still.

I could feel Vince rage and it terrified me.

He said, Stop moving around or I will hurt you.

I stopped moving. Vince began to penetrate me and the physical pain became unbearable. Emotionally I became frozen in time, feeling so powerless. I would have rather been dead.

Thinking,

God please take me; let me be with my dead sister Jaclyn.

I just can’t do this anymore.

I have had enough of this life God.

It was April; the Newfoundland ground still had a little frost on it. Others kids my age were thinking of the Easter Bunny. I didn’t realize at the time that I was going to spend Easter in the hospital. I was 7 years 4 months old and all I was thinking was that I was about to die. I did not want Vince penetrating me. I didn’t have a choice. It hurt, I was crying. After a few minutes of Vince raping me, he looked scared. I was covered in blood. He jumped off of me.

I could see blood pouring out of me. Vince ripped my vagina penetrating me. The bleeding wouldn’t stop. It was hard to keep my eyes open. The pain stopped and I felt sleepy. While I lay on the ground, Vince watched me bleeding and then shouted something as he bolted from the forest. I don’t recall what he said. I thought I was going to die in the forest that day, I didn’t care. Lying alone in the forest, my body stopped moving, my mind became thoughtless and frozen. That wasn’t the first time that Vince abused me but it was the last time.

Nine Relatives

Unfortunately Vince wasn’t the only one that was abusing me at that time. The list was very long, as 9 relatives sexually abused me as a child. I never knew what it felt like to be innocent. Worst, was losing my innocence without a choice. Feeling honoured as a child was not an option. This is what happened to me when I was a child.

Being so young and sexually abused was beyond terrifying. Growing up and only knowing a life of being physically, psychologically, emotionally abused isn’t the type of childhood anyone should have. I felt emotionally and permanently damaged.

For me, for many years, I was unable to create or develop any true emotional connection with anyone. As an adult, when I was intimate, I again felt frozen in time. I feared getting hurt by others. I made a decision as a child that I wouldn’t allow myself to love or trust anyone. Trust no one was my secret protective motto. I never had a true bond or felt loved by anyone. This left me feeling empty and numb.

In my adult relationships, I had developed a pattern that tested my partners’ love for me. I didn’t know at the time that this was what I was doing. In my late teens I would act out emotionally. I would tell the person I was dating about my past to push them away. I would sabotage the relationship by telling my partners about having homicidal thoughts about my abusers. I felt unworthy of love. I tried keeping my expectations of my partners low in a self-protective way so I didn’t get hurt.

Looking back, in most of my relationships, I was reacting from my feelings in the past and I didn’t know it. Never knowing what real love really was. I never saw it and never knew how love felt. I was never able to put any trust in anyone. Telling myself

I need to leave the first time my partner hurts me.

I didn’t follow that rule and made excuses for my partners.

Back in the Forest

Being left in the forest alone, I was shaking on the cold ground. Thinking,

Do I just lay here and wait to die?

Will I die here?

Please God let me die quickly.

I just don’t want to be afraid anymore.

I don’t want to cry anymore.

My clothes were torn and bloody. As I lay on the ground, I cried. I was afraid that Vince may come back hurt me again. I slowly got up and started walking. I had nowhere to go since it wasn’t safe at home. As the blood continued to pour down my legs, I started walking out of the forest.

I can’t recall what else I was thinking other than I thought I was going to die. Should I say goodbye to people before I die? There wasn’t anyone I wanted to say goodbye to. I never even thought of my cats.

My body was vibrating. In my mind, when I was abused, I tried to go somewhere else. I would pretend that the abuse was over even when it wasn’t. I wanted to live in a house where I was happy. At 7, I felt jealous of kids that were able to sleep at night. I would daydream about being kissed goodnight, just like I saw on TV. I would daydream about living in a home where I wasn’t afraid to go to sleep.

Every day I felt afraid to wake up, very afraid. I was afraid to close my eyes. Sleeping under my bed was the only reality for me. I mostly stayed awake at night, hiding under my bed, crying. I quietly cried, so no one would know I was under the bed.

The scars I have run very deep. Looking closely, I can still see and feel them, wounds that many of us have. Love gone wrong left a huge wound inside me.

Childhood is not a time in life; it’s a state of mind. It’s supposed to be a time of play, of laughter, good times and bad. Childhood is a time of creativity, dreams and imagination. My childhood was a time of self-distrust, doubt, despair and pure terror. My happiest childhood memories were when I was with my cats.

Cat Friends

There was always a cat that lived outside our house. I don’t know where they came from, but there was always one there. I used to talk to my cats a lot. None of them lived very long maybe because they were never allowed inside the house. It was safer outside for them anyway. I knew that at 5.

Unfortunately, one by one the cats got killed or died. One froze to death, one killed by a train, some of them I just found dead, a few of them got hit by cars, and one was attacked by a dog. Some just went missing. Maybe they went to go live somewhere else, like I wanted to.

My cats were my best friends, my cats were my family. I trusted them. They gave me a purpose and a reason to live. I tried to feed them as much as I could. I told the cats that I was a bad girl. I cried and told them that I couldn’t love them because I wasn’t lovable. I tried to give them lots of love. Alone, I made a graveyard for the cats that died. The graveyard was by the train track, which was behind my house. There had to been to have been 9 cat graves there. I would pray at that graveyard regularly. I would tell the cats,

I’m sorry.

I wish I could have taken better care of you.

I blamed myself for each cat’s death. I thought I was jinxed. Telling each new cat that came to my house,

I can’t love you as much as I did the previous cat.

I’m sorry, I can’t.

Go away. It’s not safe being around me.

The cat that was killed by the dog had 4 kittens living under my house. The kittens were born that week. My parents gave me an ear dropper to feed the kittens, feeding them with canned milk. I loved my parents for that. None of the kittens’ eyes were open. My cat showed me her kittens when I came home from school that week. She was meowing at me when I came home and I followed her. I think they were born that day. They were so tiny and I loved them. At 7, I knew, not to touch them. I loved that cat. I was afraid the kittens would be found and put in a bag and drowned in the pond like the other kittens were. All of Snowballs’ kittens eventually died. One of them lived a few months. I couldn’t save them but I tried.

I called all my cats Snowball. It never mattered what color the cat was. As a child I would sometimes pretend that none of the cats died. That’s why I called each of them Snowball. We had at least 2 dogs growing up as well, we may have had more, one dog died and I heard my father say he got poisoned. The other one froze to death since they were never allowed inside in the winter.

A Real Easter Gift

Still bleeding, I somehow made it back to the house where I lived. I don’t even want to call it living, I just existed. I was just trying to breathe. There was an exchange of air, in and out. I tried not to think about my life but I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking about it.

The house where I lived in as a child is torn down now. Truth be told, as I said before, I don’t really consider it living. It got torn down when I was 15. I was happy when it did. Thank God.

The bleeding didn’t stop. I made myself stop crying because I knew I couldn’t go inside crying. I decided that I was going to go inside the house and lay down under the bed. I recall opening the front door and walking past my parents without saying anything. If I did say something I don’t remember. My parents saw that I