The Last Months of My Life
written by Account Terminated
This will be my last journal I will ever write. Trigger warnings: -Death-Self Harm-Rape-Abuse-Cancer-Depression-Panic Attacks
Last Updated
05/31/21
Chapters
8
Reads
719
Day 40 14/8/2017
Chapter 6
Dear Red John,
I know it has been a while but this part took long to write. It was very hard and emotional for me. Sometimes I needed a break for days. But now I finished it.
This chapter will be about my parents.
Well, I was born in 1993. In 1994 I got adopted because my biological mother didn’t want me. Which means I was for a year in hospital or in an orphanage. I can’t remember what my non-biological parents told me. But I should learn that this one year, wherever I was, was the best year of my life. After my parents adopted me the real torture begun.
In court, they admitted that they abused me even as a baby. They would beat me, showering me too hot or too cold, break my bones.
Now you may ask yourself: How could go this unnoticed?
Well, they were good at laying and they were so manipulative. Every doctor believed them that it was an accident.
They also said that they would leave me alone for hours at home and have their fun. We lived in a not so good neighbourhood, so it wasn’t uncommon that a baby cries for hours. Nobody asked what goes wrong in our flat. They all cared about themselves. Maybe if somebody asked I would be out of this hell.
Till the age of five I can’t remember a thing. Maybe it is a protecting mechanism from my brain.
I should learn that these were the easy years. I don’t remember these years. The worst ones are those which I remember and my parents “punishments” got more creative and crueller.
The memories start around the age of six or seven. They had the idea to lock me into our basement whenever I did something wrong. It could be anything. I guess they made stuff up which I did wrong. Sometimes it was that I left the lights on or the door open. On other days, it was that I forgot something or that I cried. I knew the basement better than my own room.
I had to be very quiet in the basement because our neighbours could have noticed that I was down there.
So, why didn’t you scream, you may ask now. Well, if I had done that I have gotten in big trouble and I didn’t want to get in big trouble. So, I shut my mouth and kept quiet.
But the worst nights were when my parents came home drunk. They would beat me up for no reason. Just because they can.
In that nights, I just wished that they would beat me to death and I’m gone.
In that nights, I had so much panic attacks.
In that nights, I would cut myself just to flee from the pain my parents would give me.
When those nights begun, I was only eight years old and then from that those nights were twice a week or more.
In that nights, they would punch me, kick me, putting their cigarettes. Once they tied me down on a chair and I had to watch a pornographic movie.
Another time they took a knife and started to cut me. Not deep but deep enough to leave scars.
Then with the age of 12 the real horror begun. At my 12 birthday, I had somewhat of a birthday party with my parents. I wondered why. Because normally my birthday was just a day to them and nothing special happens.
So, I had a bad feeling this day as they woke me up with cake. As the day went by and it got darker outside my parents got weirder. My mother went out with some friends of her and my father stayed with me at home. I should have known that this can’t have a happy end.
I was on the sofa and watched some TV. Which was strange then normally I wasn’t allowed to watch anything. Then my father sat next to me and begun to touch my legs. He said, that I was a woman now and I’m his.
He then tried to kiss me but I pushed him away. For that I earned a slap on my cheek.
Well, we can all think how that ended… I really don’t want to describe it further.
With 19 I had enough from my parents shit and ran away. I lived on the streets for four years. I got addicted to drugs and earned my money with other things…
A year ago I found an apartment and a job. A really good friend of mine helped me out of this hell.
I'm okay now. I mean I still have nightmares, depression, cutting and suicide thoughts but I have a place which I can call home. I have some friends and a good job.
Now with 24 I went to court against them because I still have a little brother living with them and it is just hard...
On the second day of the trail I was so scared and down. I couldn't really speak so we took a break and as I walked out to the toilet my father started screaming at me. I was glad that the police took him and shut him up. But we needed to end it because I was so shocked.
After some weeks the trail ended and they are now in prison and I never have to see them again.
So, that would be all for today.
I’m tired and exhausted now.
I will write in a few days again.
I know it has been a while but this part took long to write. It was very hard and emotional for me. Sometimes I needed a break for days. But now I finished it.
This chapter will be about my parents.
Well, I was born in 1993. In 1994 I got adopted because my biological mother didn’t want me. Which means I was for a year in hospital or in an orphanage. I can’t remember what my non-biological parents told me. But I should learn that this one year, wherever I was, was the best year of my life. After my parents adopted me the real torture begun.
In court, they admitted that they abused me even as a baby. They would beat me, showering me too hot or too cold, break my bones.
Now you may ask yourself: How could go this unnoticed?
Well, they were good at laying and they were so manipulative. Every doctor believed them that it was an accident.
They also said that they would leave me alone for hours at home and have their fun. We lived in a not so good neighbourhood, so it wasn’t uncommon that a baby cries for hours. Nobody asked what goes wrong in our flat. They all cared about themselves. Maybe if somebody asked I would be out of this hell.
Till the age of five I can’t remember a thing. Maybe it is a protecting mechanism from my brain.
I should learn that these were the easy years. I don’t remember these years. The worst ones are those which I remember and my parents “punishments” got more creative and crueller.
The memories start around the age of six or seven. They had the idea to lock me into our basement whenever I did something wrong. It could be anything. I guess they made stuff up which I did wrong. Sometimes it was that I left the lights on or the door open. On other days, it was that I forgot something or that I cried. I knew the basement better than my own room.
I had to be very quiet in the basement because our neighbours could have noticed that I was down there.
So, why didn’t you scream, you may ask now. Well, if I had done that I have gotten in big trouble and I didn’t want to get in big trouble. So, I shut my mouth and kept quiet.
But the worst nights were when my parents came home drunk. They would beat me up for no reason. Just because they can.
In that nights, I just wished that they would beat me to death and I’m gone.
In that nights, I had so much panic attacks.
In that nights, I would cut myself just to flee from the pain my parents would give me.
When those nights begun, I was only eight years old and then from that those nights were twice a week or more.
In that nights, they would punch me, kick me, putting their cigarettes. Once they tied me down on a chair and I had to watch a pornographic movie.
Another time they took a knife and started to cut me. Not deep but deep enough to leave scars.
Then with the age of 12 the real horror begun. At my 12 birthday, I had somewhat of a birthday party with my parents. I wondered why. Because normally my birthday was just a day to them and nothing special happens.
So, I had a bad feeling this day as they woke me up with cake. As the day went by and it got darker outside my parents got weirder. My mother went out with some friends of her and my father stayed with me at home. I should have known that this can’t have a happy end.
I was on the sofa and watched some TV. Which was strange then normally I wasn’t allowed to watch anything. Then my father sat next to me and begun to touch my legs. He said, that I was a woman now and I’m his.
He then tried to kiss me but I pushed him away. For that I earned a slap on my cheek.
Well, we can all think how that ended… I really don’t want to describe it further.
With 19 I had enough from my parents shit and ran away. I lived on the streets for four years. I got addicted to drugs and earned my money with other things…
A year ago I found an apartment and a job. A really good friend of mine helped me out of this hell.
I'm okay now. I mean I still have nightmares, depression, cutting and suicide thoughts but I have a place which I can call home. I have some friends and a good job.
Now with 24 I went to court against them because I still have a little brother living with them and it is just hard...
On the second day of the trail I was so scared and down. I couldn't really speak so we took a break and as I walked out to the toilet my father started screaming at me. I was glad that the police took him and shut him up. But we needed to end it because I was so shocked.
After some weeks the trail ended and they are now in prison and I never have to see them again.
So, that would be all for today.
I’m tired and exhausted now.
I will write in a few days again.
