January 12, 1983 a baby girl was born to Sandra and Jim. The first child of 3. They named her Rebecca Lynn. This child would be me. What I would endure for the next 17 years would be a life of pure hell. From infancy to the middle of third grade I lived with my mom and dad in a rural home outside of a small farm town. All those years I was sexually abused by my father. I can't remember all that much because I don't have too many memories of this period of my life. I really don't care to. But lately, I feel as though I want to know exactly what went on during this period of my life. Perfectionism was instilled in me at an early age. Anything less than a perfect 100% in school work during elementary was unacceptable and I got yelled at and called names for this. I don't remember a lot of physical violence towards myself by my father, but there are patched up holes in the wall where his fist punched through. One incident I remember would be when he drug my mother outside after breaking her neck and left her crying in the driveway. She couldn't move, so I took my baby sister from her arms and ran her in the house. I remember running back outside and dad had gotten in his truck and it looked to me that he was going to run her over, so I drug her under the merry-go-round we had so he couldn't get to her. He took off down the road in enragement.
This is one of my early memories of my childhood. I have supressed a lot of it however. I remember many times just writing over and over...I hate my dad...one time when he wouldn't let me go with friends. I always had to stay home and rarely had babysitters because he was afraid they would find out that he sexually abused us kids. There are 2 sisters, both younger than me. I remember when mom and dad were fighting once, throwing my shoes on crying cause i was going to run away from it all. My mother found out about the sexual abuse when I was in the third grade. My youngest sister told her. We packed up our things and hid out and grandmas house. This is when the divorce started. I was too young to figure out all that was going on back then. The next few times we saw our dad was while he was living in a hotel in a nearby town "getting better." He also went to a rehab hospital for alcoholics for a month. The money that sent him through that was taken out of my own bank account. Every last cent was taken and I never did get it back. Then, all relations were cut off and I hadn't seen him in years up until court recently. My mother went into a deep depression then. She would lock herself in her room for days and not come out. That left three of us outside her room running around wild. In the years immediately following the divorce, we lived in many places, always fleeing for our lives. We went to Omaha to live with relatives and out to Colorado to stay in my grandparents condominium. We lived at a teachers' house. We camped in our camper in the hills. We were always on the go. Then we went back home to live. The house was always a terrible mess. I tried so hard as a child to clean it up and do the dishes and laundry, but with my mom in her room and my sisters making messes faster than i could clean them up, it was hard.
