This could get really deep

This may be my most real and raw blog yet. I know it will be hard for me to publish this.
  As a child I was severely abused. Some know this. Some may find it shocking. A lot of you know my dad. Maybe its just something you can't see him doing. That's not shocking to me. Years ago I opened up to one of my sisters. I told her the things our dad had done that she was not aware of. First she told me I ruined her life. Then she told me she didn't believe me. Maybe it was denial? I don't know. But I do know that it just reinforced the idea that I needed to keep it to myself. Not tell anyone, because its just another battle I don't want to have to navigate. Satan has fed into this.
  You see I was taught from a very young age to protect my parents. When my mom was driving around drunk and high with me, I was taught to lie to the police for her. I was taught that we tell the police nothing. And we had many encounteres with the police. I remember one time the police came to a hotel we had been staying at. Myself, my mom, one of her friends and 5 other kids. We had been there about a month. Us kids taking care of ourselves while our moms sat around and got high. The toilet had backed up. My moms friend called the front desk to get it taken care of. At some point it escalated into threats and the police getting called. They talked to my mom and her friend. Filed reports. But one of the police officers took me out into the hallway. He crouched down eye level with me. I can still picture his face in my mind.
He looked at me and asked me if I was ok. He wanted to know the last time I had eaten. I still remember the fear. I had been taught to NEVER talk to the police. But I was so hungry. And I wanted to go home to my Grammy. I knew she would be worried. He seemed so kind. I had witnessed cops that were the polar opposite. Mean, dirty cops. I just wanted to tell him everything. That I was hungry. And I wanted to go home. I wanted to tell him everything that had gone on with my mom. But I didn't. I said I was fine. Everything was good. I still remember the look of disapointment, but understanding on his face. I was 6.
  I was taught in the same way to protect my step mom. When I was 7 I went to live with my dad. My Grammy and my aunt Becky came up with this plan. When my mom went to prison, they would convince her to send me to stay with my dad. Once she got out I would go back with her. But their plan was to send me away to him and he would not give me back. And that's what happened. At first I got to talk to my mom. We didn't have a phone in the house. So we would get into the truck and drive to a payphone at a scheduled time. I'd call my mom and talk for a little bit. My mom was angry and jealous. She was worried my dad would turn me against her. Her fears were valid.
  One day I talked to my mom. I don't remember the context of the conversation. But I do remember it upset me. I came back to the car upset. My dad asked if she had upset me. I said yes. He subtly said "doesn't that make you not want to talk to her anymore...you don't have to talk to her" I knew what he wanted to hear. And I wanted to make him happy. So I said no I didn't want to. I never talked to my mom again. Not until I was in my early 20's. I was 8.
  After that, my dad and step mom had free reign. No one to check on me. No one to hold them accountable. Life changed. My dad got meaner. My step mom still seemed to be completely disconnected from me. But now she had a mean spirit to her. She was cold. No affection. No love. I could never do anything right. Somehow I was always in trouble and I didn't know why. I remember the first time she hit me. We had just moved into a house. I had my own room for the first time in my life. For some reason I got sent to my bed. I had to lay there and stare at the wall. I was there for maybe an hour. She came in out of nowhere. Sat down on the floor next to my bed. And then she started punching me over and over. All over my body. She was crying. Screaming " I hate you, I hate you, I hate you" suddenly she just stopped. Got up and walked out.
  She did these things often. I was told not to bring it up to my dad. She said if I did he would just get mad again and I'd get punished again. As the years progressed it got worse. After one particular explosive incident of her beating me all day, naked, with a large leather belt, pushing me behind doors, slamming them on me. My siblings running around. Literally jumping on the bed as I'm bent over it getting beat, she told me that if I told my dad, I would be taken to foster care. A threat that had been made against me before, but that was used even more blatantly that day.
  On a pretty regular basis my dad and step mom would make me pack all of my things into trash bags. They would put me in the car. The whole time telling me I was going to foster care. To live with people I didn't know. That i'd never see my family again. They would hurt me. So it was pretty ingrained in me that they would get rid of me.
  I learned to protect her from my dad and from the world. I was told that I better never talk to anyone about this because people already hated me enough. They already heard what a horrible child I was. They were angry. And if I told anyone else, they would feel the same way. So my general view of people around me was that they hated me. They thought I was horrible. They thought my treatment was justified.
  I would hear my step mom talking to her sister on the phone. Her sister would suggest I go to foster care. She would talk for hours about how horrible I was. How hard it was to live with me. Never mentioning how I would be starved for a week. Locked in my room. How I was not allowed to walk through the house. But if I had to I was not allowed to look at anyone. If I glanced up I got yelled at. Or hit. My step mom taught my toddler sister to say things like " mom she's staring at us with her ugly face"
When people would come over and I would walk with my head down, they would blow it off and make remarks like " she likes to act abused so people feel sorry for her. Look what her mom taught her. We have so much to deal with because of her mom"
  Sometimes we would go to family parties with my step moms family. My step moms sister was always very cold. Barely acknowledged I was there. Left me out of pictures. It just reinforced that I was hated. Years later my step moms mother died. The family came together. She was there. We went out to eat. She didn't talk to me. Looked right through me. Acted like I didn't exist. Looked at my dad and talked ABOUT me, using the wrong name and saying or whatever her name is.
  I felt I had nowhere to turn....
In middle school I opened up to a friend. She was in a similar home life. One of our other friends called cps. They came and talked to me at school. I refused to talk to them. I got in trouble from my parents. Eventually they came to our home. I was pushed into lying. My dad also pushed me into writing a false letter stating that my friend and I made it up for attention. Cps left. Life got worse. It made me bury my secrets even more. It made me angry. Depressed. I felt alone. I was isolated.
  The day that my step mom beat me all day with a belt naked was a turning point in my life. And its probably the hardest part about my story to share. Its hard because I was conditioned my whole life to protect these people. Protect my abusers. In 31 now. I have been out of my childhood home since I was 18. I have 5 kids. I'm married. I have overcome so much. I have shared my story with others. Some in my family know. But a part of myself, a part I'm working so hard to defeat, still feels the need to protect my dad. Because I was brainwashed. Because of all the times that those around me reinforced the idea that I needed to remain silent. Because I'm so TERRIFIED of the storm this could create in my family. EVEN THOUGH they are not in my life. EVEN THOUGH they wrote me off and deleted me.
  On the flip side I'm TERRIFIED that no one will care.
  But I need to heal. I need to trust God. I need to get this weight off of me. The people that matter to me, they will still be there. " When you go through deep waters, I will be with you." The ones that I'm worrying about protecting have never been there for me. Have never done a thing for me or my kids. They were not there when we were living in a tent. They have not even acknowledged me. I can no longer be a slave to these people.
  The day that my step mom beat me all day didn't start off any different. I had to go do my chores. It was summer. No school. That consisted of going in the backyard and picking up dog crap. I couldn't miss anything. This always took hours. Because after being done I got inspected. Anything that may have been part of dog poop, or even a small pebble that may be dog crap was a no pass. I had to clean my room. Things that shouldn't take long, but took hours because I was set up to fail. I was not allowed to wash dishes or anything like that. Because I was considered contaminated. When I touched doorknobs or walls it was immediately sprayed with Lysol. Not because our house was super clean or anything. It was a pigsty most of the time. But just because I touched it. If I touched a blanket that was not mine it got thrown in the wash right away.
  I don't remember how the abuse started. But it always did. Everyday. Without fail. I had my skull cracked open, twice. I usually got dragged down the hall by my hair resulting in tons if hair loss. You name it. But this day it started and did not stop. All day. My step mom would take breaks to eat and pee. All that. She would leave me bent over her bed naked. Then she would come back in and beat me. She would beat me with the belt. Her fists.
She pushed me behind her bathroom door and slammed it on me until it broke off from the hinges. She started to do the same with her bedroom door. She dragged me by my hair. Bloodied my nose. Smashed my head into the wall. All day. I was weak. Shaking. Covered in tears, blood, urine and sweat. All of this went on while my siblings ran around us laughing. Jumping up and down. They were 8,5, 4 and 4. She told them to point and laugh.
  I thought it would never end. But at some point she composed herself and calmly told me to go clean myself off. I did. I was still weak and shaky. She told me to go clean my room. She kept coming in to explain to me how she had talked to my dad already. If I didn't want to go to foster care I better not even bring it up. She was threatening me. She looked worried. I knew he didn't know. But I didn't plan on telling him.
  My dad came home. I always went outside to greet him. I didn't want to that day. But I knew if I didn't it would be even more suspicious. So I went out side. I was walking slowly. I was injured..and shaky. I think he noticed, because he didn't get out. He just watched me. I went around to the drivers side. I said " hi daddy" He just looked at me. He said " what's wrong?!" I said "nothing" His face got stone hard. I could see the anger. I was so scared. Terrified. He looked at me and said " get in the car now" I knew I was done. I should have acted better.
  I climbed in the car and he said " tell me right now what happened" I was shaking uncontrollably now. So scared. But I knew I needed to explain myself. What I had done. So I started to tell him. He listened. Asked me questions. Told me that my face was covered in bruises. I can only imagine what was going on in my step moms head as we sat out there in the car.
Then my dad said " stay here and don't move" Then he got out of the car and went inside.
  I sat in the car for probably 15 minutes. I felt sick. I felt like I was going to pass out. So I went inside. I heard my dad screaming and yelling at my step mom. He told her to never touch me again. Stay away from me. She was no longer allowed to be involved in parenting me at all. Needless to say, its not what I expected. But it was life changing. I wish I could say for the best.
  My dad wasn't a saint. Its not like he didn't hit me, or abuse me in other ways on a normal basis. He had just never gone AS FAR as her. After that she had no authority over me. She was still very child like. She would snoop in my room. Tattle to my dad about every little thing. Hide things she didn't want me to use. It was like living in a mad house. My dad would come home and discipline me after my step mom gave him a laundry list of horrible things I did. Things changed.
  It all started with my dad having me come in and nap with him. He worked grave yards and slept in the day. He would talk to me about how horrible she was. Say I was so much nicer about waking him. He didn't want to be around her. He would rub me. I felt uncomfortable, but wanted love.
Later it progressed to more. One day he sent me to his room to await my beating. He would strip me naked and bend me over his bed and beat me with the leather belt. But one day he said " do you want to get out of this?" Of course I said yes. He pulled me over to the bathroom. Pulled down his pants and said" all you have to do is put this in your mouth" I looked at him scared. Worried. He said it was ok. It wasn't bad. It was hard to decipher good and bad. I had spent my first 7 years watching my mom have sex. She would have sex with random men with me in the bed. I didn't want to be beat anymore. So I did it. I cried. He shoved it down my throat until I choked. It was horrible, but in my mind better than being beat. I was 11.
  This went on for years. It progressed. Things got worse. I got worse. I wanted to die. I've talked to my dad through the years. He has told me that the only thing he did wrong was love me too much. God has brought me so far. Most people can't imagine the person I was before I had Jesus. "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."  That's the very first promise God ever gave me. And I didn't believe him. I told him I didn't believe him. But I also told him that I would give him a chance. Every time I felt anger, I felt pain, every time I needed something to cling to...I quoted this verse. Eventually I started healing. I still have more healing to do. I have come SO FAR. But I have so far to go.
  ALL of this in my background is why I have allowed so much abuse as an adult.I have justified it on my mind that it was nothing compared to my childhood.  Even now I want to trash this blog and protect my dad. Keep all my struggles private.. And that is what I have been battling.
God is my strength. And he's helping me to be stronger. But I needed to get the weight off of me...

"The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him."