Michael hurt us bad in the bad place. We tried to be good but we couldn't be. Mommy didn't love us because we were bad. Little girls should be dead....

These are the words of the chant I have said over and over since I was a little girl. Sometimes, like this morning, I wake up whispering them to myself.

All I wanted when I was little was to be loved. To be seen as good in the eyes of adults, especially my mother. Mistakes were unforgiveable, tallied and paid in full. Leather, bare hands, objects within hand reach, running rope, branches from apple trees, cords, knives, brooms, toliet plungers... so many tools that were used to hurt, punish, break. I really thought my parents didn't love me. As I type this, I look at my crooked fingers from the blows I tried block with my hands.

I was sexually abused by a teacher's son for over a year from the second grade thru most of the third grade. It started with hide-and-seek. I felt so proud that he wanted to hide with me... He being six years older than me, I felt grown up to be his hiding partner. We hid in my bedroom closet. I remember sitting on the floor and him reaching over and unzipping my pants. Fear hit my stomach. I asked him what he was doing. He began to touch me. I felt frozen, confused, so very confused. I remember looking in the corner of the closet as he touched me... staring at my white church shoes. His sister opened the door and saw me with my pants down. In shame, I pulled them on and he told her not to tell. He told me not to tell. There was such defeat in her eyes, such weight. I didn't know at the time that he was abusing her as well.

It happened everywhere: the school library, the staircase, his father's car while his dad drove, abandoned buildings, the shower, the basement in the dark, the fake leather couch down stairs, in the woods.

Michael hurt us bad. Michael doesn't love us. I am a bad little girl. Little girls deserved to be hurt bad in the bad place bc we were dirty. Dirty little girls deserve to be hurt. Michael hurt. If I was a good little girl it wouldn't have happened, but I was bad...

I will share more later. Triggered...

Well done Antoinette, please keep this going.

I struggle with the little girl within. For so long I worked to punish her, even kill her. I wanted her and her experiences to be seperate from mine. I wanted to exorcise her like some night-demon that deserved worse than death for "what she did" and what she wanted.

A part of me "chose" to seek out Michael's attentions bc it was the closest to love I felt ever at that point in my life. I craved attention. And he gave it to me. I felt special. The abuse came to an end when I drew a picture for my third grade teacher. At that point, Michael wouldn't leave me alone... or I should say my body. It was like my body wasn't mine anymore. It had become this thing that he did with what he wanted, when he wanted, how much, however hurtful.

When he tried to rape me, I knew something that to change. I felt that immediate sense of danger... that if the abuse didn't stop, I would be emotionally taken to a place way way way out of my grasp. If that makes any sense.

My teacher had a conference with Michael's parents (both worked at the school I had attended... we met them in the first place bc his mother was impressed with my intellect and curiosity... our families became fast friends), my parents and the principal. Mrs. Ford, my teacher, had met with me for several mornings and taped what I had shared with her. Details of the abuse and my feelings of fear. I will never forget that look of confusion and question in my mother's eyes are they walked to the meeting. I wasn't there.... I felt bad that they were going to find out my dirty little secret... but I just couldn't handle it alone anymore.

My grandfather, mother's dad, was visiting us at the time. He picked me up from school. He talked about loose women back in Trinidad (where my parents are from) what made them that way. I remember feeling ashamed. Like I had done something wrong... and I would never be right again.

That night, my parents had his parents, Michael and his sister Tia over to our house. Again, I wasn't at the meeting. I later found out that my mother had wanted to press charges, but my dad and Michael's mother pleaded with her not to do so. They were afraid of the community back lash. So my mother consented to not having any contact with his family, not in private or public circumstances and Michael was to never speak to me or approach me.

The next morning, my mother told me that Michael said that I had enjoyed the abuse. I told her no. I knew enough to lie and say that I didn't bc there would be no understanding or redemption.

After that the abuse wasn't mentioned... not to me. My parents openly talked about it to my aunt Marva... in front of me. I remember standing in the kitchen feeling paralyzed by the conversation, so embarressed... feeling invisible. I remember finally being abe to move and leaving the room without saying anything or looking at anyone.

Years later when I was a silly boy crazy kid in middle school, and my mother had found a letter a friend had written to one of my guy friends... she called me a whore. "Maybe Mrs. Brown was right, that you seduced Michael." I WAS STUNNED. I will never ever forget that day. I still see the dim light in the kitchen.. the way it hit the wallpaper, her stance near the bird cage. The disgust in her voice. When I think of it, I want to hurt myself, to mask some of the pain.

My parents beat the shit out of me through out my childhood... my mother was constantly hitting for something, anything. Then her father gave her the grand idea of letting my "wrongs" Pile up. Meaning, after I had committed a certain number of wrongs, I would get a resounding beating. Sometimes my mother would have my dad do it. Sometimes she would start (she sometimes tired very easily...sometimes she would start and then take a break) and my dad would finish hours later when he got home in the evening. I spent so much of my elementary and middle school years in constant fear.... terrified to do something wrong. Believing more and more that they would kill me someday. There have been many times when I wish they had.

By the seventh grade, I hated myself. I was one of those kids in school teachers hate. I was constantly forgetful. Daydreamer, left books and homework at home constantly. Forget to study for tests or do major projects. I spent most of my waking hours (and some hours when I should have been asleep) reading... immersing myself in the story, so much so I would cry when I would finish certain books... bc the close of the cover meant that I was left to be present in my world. I resented the lonliness. I started having flashbacks and nightmares about Michael coming to rape and kill me.

After failing another test, I decided to kill myself. My mother had warned me that the next test I failed, I would be beaten to a pulp. Up to that point, my parents' beatings were unforgettable. [ The most memorable being in 5th grade when my middle finger was broken by the rods my dad used to beat me. Several other of my fingers were bruised. They are crooked to this day and have started to give my problems.] I was so scared to come home. I felt like I couldn't face another beating. So, I took a bunch of pills. I did get very dizzy and my heart was racing... I got so scared I woke up my mom. I remember her crying "my baby, my first born." I was shocked that she was so upset. I lied to the doctor telling him that I had only taken a few pills.... he sent me home. My mother later scolded me for just wanting to get attention when she saw my test (I altered the grade so she would sign it). I was convinced that she didn't love me.

Antoinette, can you please tell me on a scale of 1 - 10, where your self esteem lay please? In other words, how much praise do you give yourself, and how easily is anothers words accepted by you as hurting?

How old where you at the time of the sexual abuse?

When did the beating from your parents begin? Was it after the shit hit the fan in regard to the abuse?

My self-esteem.... around a 6 I think. But it can drop really quickly (when I make a mistake. I HATE making mistakes. Sometimes on my new job I catch myself saying that I woud rather be dead than make a mistake... and I feel the anxiety of a beating hanging over my head. I have even taken a strap to myself in the past).

In terms of praise, I really don't. I have really high expectations and fierce demans on myself. They have gotten better esp since I am not counseling anymore (for a career). My boss is really impressed with me and it feels good to hear positive things... but I just take it in stride... and then fight the nagging voice that says," enjoy the praise now. You are still new... wait until you make a mistake... how great to you think they will think you are then.... just wait." Just even typing the words my heart is racing and a part of me wants to escape.

When I am hurting very little positive gets through.. when the positive gets through it's bc I let me myself just take it in and not think about it. I punish myself worse than anyone could at this point in my life... psychologically.

I get wounded easily. Not as easily as a few years ago. But things cut deep and settle there for a while... even if I pretend that things are fine and tell myself I am okay, it still hurts long after. I am very very sensitive to "criticism... even though I expect criticism more than praise or me having done a good enough job." I tend to feel lost if my husband and I have a falling out or his mood is off.... and I feel apart from him emotionally.

I was around late 6 early 7 yrs old when the sexual abuse started. And lasted for about a year. The beatings were always there. Earliest I can remember is 3 yrs old. Belt, slippers, leather jumping ropes, extension cords, wooden switches, broom handles. Beatings were at it's peak in middle school between grade 5 and 7. And the length and severity depended on the wrong I did (or perceived wrong), parent and what shit was going on the individual's life.

Antoinette, there is more than meets the eye going on here. If your parents started beating you early in life, then chances are this is what started PTSD, hence why you were then looking for attention as such, being that you thought Michael wanting to hide with you was great, being he that much older than you, up until the abuse obviously started. The beatings from your parents have more to do with your PTSD than just the sexual abuse I believe. When you describe above about the sexual abuse, you also have now outlined that you where being beaten beforehand, and after the abuse all surfaced.

Regardless what you did, your parents would beat you. What can you tell me about your parents Antoinette? What did they do for employment when you where little? What do you know, if any, of their lives as children, their parents and raising?

You are right, Anthony. This past year when I was in an outpatient PTSD program, I learned that my PTSD stemms from my parents... and the sexual abuse was the icing on the cake. That really rocked my world to learn... but I know that it is true... esp from my mom.

I will share more later must catch the bus to work!

Since I was always afraid of my parents, I looked to make others happy and happy with me. Any kind attention people gave me I drank in. To get attention without being negative was a gift each and ever time. I was starving for feeling loved and being good.... since I questioned if my parents really loved me and if I got do anything right in their eyes. Michael's attention was welcomed (to a certain degree)until he got violent. I figured it was a decent trade off for "love:" pain for attention. A part of me still operates this way.

My parents... are from Trinidad and raised me in the West Indian tradition: spare the rod spoil the child. Excel in school, always do your best, let know one make you feel less than. So the three qualities I just mentioned sound like good things parents would want for their kids... but it is the way in which these qualities were beaten into my head. When I think about it, the way they raised me was counterproductive: I didn't excel in school (in middle school mostly) bc I believed I was stupid and couldn't do anything right thus I couldn't do my best (which equaled perfection in my house growing up- my mother admits that she wanted me to be perfect) and I thought I wasn't worth much (esp in their eyes) and thus felt less than in relation to everyone.

My parents are both educators. My mother had been at 24... went to school full time and worked full time. She taught computer programming and math both in middle and high schools. It seemed like any and everything she did turned into instant success, gold. She was the 5th of 9 children. Her father beat the crackers of his kids, beat my grandmother and had many many affairs. He was a kingpin in his community. Well-to-family, respected highly in the community. He settled for nothing less than doing his best at his job and taught his children to do the same. My mother was the apple of my grandfather's eye. His self in female form. Then my mother f'd things up by marrying my dad (as at least that's how my grandfather saw it). My dad is from a history of poor, uneducated people who are violent, evil (using black magic, voodo, etc) and bent on bringing about the demise of others. Both of his parents cheated on each other. My grandfather begged my mom not to marry my dad, since he felt nothing positive could come from such a union. Trinidad is a class-based society. My mother was upper and my dad was lower.

So their marriage was fraught with tension. My dad eventually came to resent my mother. He was jealous that things seemed to come easy to and for her... my mother worked her ass off. One of my earliest memories as a child was when my mother had packed to leave. They were yelling... I stood in the middle of them, looking at both of them (I must have been 2 or 3). Then suddenly they looked down at me. My mother unpacked.... I rarely thought of my parents as a happy couple. I didn't understand how they worked together... such opposities. My father abruptly left my mother about 5 years ago and called to tell us that he wasn't coming back. I was 23 at the time.

By the end of their relationship both of my parenta worked in the correctional system. My mother runs the equiv of a computer and business managment program for incarcerated women (so they have job skills when they leave) and my dad worked in juvee teaching middle and high school males as well as the GED program. My dad is now a middle school teacher.

I am aware of that fact that my parents raised me as they had been raised. My mother realizes, to a certain degree, that she didn't do right by me. I haven't spoken to my father in several years. Last time I saw him was at my wedding in 2002. He called me several weeks ago, and I listened to his message but did not return his phone call. I don't know what to say to him. I don't know how I feel about him. But a part of me does miss him.

Yep, about what I expected to hear actually, your parents simply carrying on their upbringing upon you. That is usually the case until someone breaks the chain and moves in a different direction, love rather than pain. Whilst your sexual abuse as we both agree, being the icing on the PTSD cake as such, I think even more stemmed from your beatings after the fact, being you felt as though your parents were now punishing you for telling them about the abuse from Michael. That would make everything just that much worse nearly than the abuse itself. Do the right thing and report abuse, get punished and beaten for doing it, then told rubbish like "you deserved it" and phrases to that effect, or even "you wanted it." These are the typical type phrases that come from people afterwards, when things are known. Not exactly the moral boosting self esteem words any person needs to listen, let alone said enough to believe, need or want.

Antoinette, the pain you are suffering as a result of your parents, is merely them attempting to shift some of their pain upon you from their upbringing. It works, hence why people continue the cycle, though it never really heals the pain to begin with. People simply become angry, and hide all their emotions and feelings behind anger, often which they simply forget how to feel and only show anger, hatred and rage.

Whilst your self esteem is ok when things are going good for you, but lowers the moment you do something wrong, that means I would actually put your self esteem around a 3 - 4, not a 6. Why? Because self esteem overall is about the positives and negatives, its about how much confidence you truly have within yourself, its about how you function and react during both good and bad times. If your self esteem was a constant 6, then when you made a mistake it wouldn't lower at all, you would simply accept that you made a mistake, learn from it, and continue on. The reason you would do that, is because you would believe the facts, being that your only human and only capable of so much. You do your best and that is all you can give. You cannot give something that you do not have in anothers eyes. If what you give is not good enough for another, then it is the other that is asking too much from you, not you failing to achieve as such, in relation to self esteem. Self esteem really is about confidence, and that confidence is prominent when your an assertive person. I don't see this within you yet, because there are too many unknowns, however; you know yourself better than I know you, so you could tell me if I'm saying more realistic and factual aspects your self perception or not!

How is your relationship with your Mother now Antoinette?

Now your father is interesting. You hate him, but love him. That is about right from someone who has been abused. Some people say they just hate a parent or sibling as an abuser, then if that abuser dies, they then feel guilty for never talking with them, or asking them for some sort off resolution whilst alive. I think your feelings are very accurate, in that because blood is thicker than water, and even when abuse stems from family, you still have a genetic tie too them, which makes it a love hate relationship. You love them because you have had good memories with them, you hate them for the bad things they have done and the end result you now live with. Its a delicate balance.

Honestly though, nobody can tell you which way you should feel in relation to your parents, abuser or another in general. This is something that to help you with your decision to contact him or forget him, is really about looking at the emotional facts and reasoning. If you have a pain inside you that wants to contact him, then often that is the right thing to do. If you have a pain inside you that wants answers, then often that is the right thing to do, being go ask them from the person themselves. Often people either don't have the chance to ask an abuser, family or not, or they leave it too late until death or something else has occured, then they add guilt to their list of feelings because they never acted.

I would encourage you to do what your heart tells you to do. This way, you will find out for yourself whether to move to love or hate, lessen or more one to out favour the other from the conversation you have with them.

Lets look at things realistically. Regardless of the bad things we do, people can and do change. Just look at all off us here who have done bad things in our lives, though we learnt from them and used them as experience to learning how to become better within ourselves. Some people just don't learn, hence it makes a decision easier when talking with them, ie. "they haven't changed and I don't see it happening anytime soon." Simple open and shut case emotionally for us. It helps us heal to know though which way to feel, opposed to being internally emotionally tossed about between love and hate.

I think this is something you need to think about, and discuss with your parents to how your past is going to make you feel with them into your future.

I don't know how to describe my relationship with my mother. I don't know how to feel about her.