I tried to write in this topic before but my computer deleted what I wrote before I could post. At first, I took it as a sign that I shouldn't write this down but I know it will just continue to eat at me until there is nothing left. I don't if what happened to me would qualify as abuse. Me and the people who hurt me were all children, but I need to get this out anyway. When I was a kid so many bad things happened to me. I didn't like them or want them to happen but most of the time I just felt like I had no choice. The People who did those things to me were my brothers and their friends, and their ages ranged from a year younger than me to grown men. I wish I could forget this stuff but its sticks in my memory and I can't let it go. I was just a kid. I wasn't even in kindergarten when it started. My first time having sex was 5 or 6, and I can't exactly remember the age I was when I was first touched. I just remember how much I hated it I remember how I much I wanted to die or just disappear. I remember wishing God would just take me away and let live with him. I hated them and that stuff so much. I hated being touched and made to do those things. I hated being locked in the room with them and them making me touch them and them touching me and sticking their things inside me and taking turns. I hated the pain and I just wanted them to stop but they never did. I hate laying their own the couch as my brothers' friends laid on top of me and forced me to be with them. I never understood why she didn't come out of that room and stop them. Why she didn't save me. I hated her for it and I knew if I told her or anyone else they would just blame me. I was supposed to be the good girl in the family. I used to feel so sick afterwards and I remember one time when I nine or so that I thought I was pregnant. I didn't even know what that meant back then, but I knew where babies came from. I was so scared that I would get in trouble that I climbed to the top of my bump bed and threw myself off of it hoping to land on my stomach and make the baby go away. I knew what was happening was wrong and even when I got old enough to stop it, I couldn't because I was afraid. I was afraid everyone would hate me and think of me as a disgusting, horrible person so I never told. I would tell myself it was my fault and if I really wanted it to stop then it would have stopped, even though I know that is not true. The weird part is I still love my brothers to death. I can't be around them a lot because of the memories and have stopped talking to my entire family and live far away, but I still love them so much. I tell myself that we were all just kids and we had it rough growing up and they didn't know how bad they hurt me, but I can't stop the anger feel for them at times. I see them with my nieces on the rare occasions I do go back, and I am so afraid that they will hurt them like they hurt me, even though they seem like great fathers. We were just kids. I can't blame them, can I? Yet, I hate myself so much for it and so many more bad things have happened because of it. I lost my innocence and I can't get it back. It's hard for me to even believe that anyone can or will every love me. I feel like I am nothing and will always be nothing. What I really just can't understand is if we were all just kids, and we didn't know any better, why do I still feel this way all these years later?
Source: Sibling abuse/incest