Secrets In My Father’s House

As a child I was physically and emotionally abused by the one person I looked up to the most: my father. The abuse started when I arrived from Jamaica at the age of eleven, and the abuse continued for nine years. As a teenager there would come a time where my brother would come into my bedroom and touch me. This would take place mostly on the weekend when my parents were out for the evening. I begged my brother to stop coming into my bedroom. He would continue to come in my room, and I would pretend to be asleep. I felt dirty and ashamed, as this was my brother who was molesting me. My father told me one time after that I wouldn’t amount to anything, so I believed him. The two important men in my life made me feel unworthy. I never thought a man would want me or love me unconditionally because I was damaged, and no one would truly want me if they knew what I endured throughout my life. I’m here to share my story: I survived the hell I endured at the hand of my father and brother. I still battle depression, and that will always be a work in progress. I have a beautiful life with my son and husband, who tells me how much I’m loved and valued every day. I would like to say to anyone who is out there suffering from abuse of any kind, young or old: please trust someone and ask for help. As an eleven-year-old child from a third-world country, I knew no one and was mentally beat down