When I was 6 or 7 years old, my mom took my
brother and I to a
babysitter for almost a year.
During this time, the babysitter, named
Dean,
abused us
physically and
sexually. I remember Dean and her
boyfriend/
husband/live-in/
whatever doing some
Very Bad Things (tm) to myself and my brother.
I remember being locked in a
closet for 8 hours a day on some days, with nothing but a
plastic dog chew-toy shaped like a
steak. I remember being very thirsty and
dehydrated from crying and having
delusions where I could taste colors and concepts
(the darkness was a crimson color and tasted of stale crackers). I knew the steak wasn't real, that it was
plastic, but my delusions drove me to gnaw on it anyhow, which made me even more hungry. I cried to be let out, I begged, I pleaded.
I just knew I'd done something to deserve it.
I remember them making me take my clothes off and them burning my genitals with cigarettes,
I remember them beating me with belts,
I remember how they laughed when I screamed,
I remember them holding me down,
I remember them taking pictures.
I just knew I'd done something to deserve it.
I remember Dean making my brother take baths with her daughter; they (my brother and her daughter)were both 4 or 5,
she took pictures. She made my brother touch her daughter, she made her daughter touch my brother. She made me do the same.
These things I remember.
They were very
careful not to leave marks in
obvious spots, they were very careful to
screw up my brother and I
psychologically so that we would be
afraid to tell, so that we would know that
it was our fault, that
we caused it, that
we were to blame.