I'm brand new to this and honestly am completely unsure about how I feel telling people. There are three people that know, my boyfriend of four years, an old therapist I had, and a wonderful man I spoke to when I thought about killing myself and called a crisis hotline. Each time telling the actual story gets a bit easier, but for whatever reason the pain never seems to go away. So I guess here's my story. ***I am going to describe a little of what happened because I need to get it fully out, so this may be a triggering story for someone. Please discontinue if descriptions of sexual situations are a trigger***

I can't tell you exactly when it started. I know I was between around 7 when the very first incident happened. My father asked me to come downstairs and lock the gate at the top of the steps so my brother and sister couldn't come down. And he had me sit on the couch with him while he laid down and watched a movie. Then he lowered the volume and said "Listen, I will give you 50 dollars if....you'll suck......my thumb" I thought that was kind of a silly thing. And of course I agreed because it was fifty dollars and a thumb was just a thumb. But then he got up, went to the bathroom, and came out with a blindfold. He told me I had to put it on to do what he asked. My father never showed me affection-- or any kind of attention other than the negative kind, so I obeyed. And I panicked. I got a horrible feeling in my stomach and he made me orally please him. I complained because it was wet. And I tried to stall. I asked when mom would be home. And when he got up to go to the bathroom, I got up on the couch and pretended to fall asleep. He finally came out and told me I could go back up stairs after "waking me up." 

My situation wasn't typical. For me, it didn't happen every single day. He would pick and choose when he knew we could be alone the longest--and I wondered day in and day out why it was only me? I know that sounds selfish. But when you grow up with two younger siblings and they are happy and never worry and dad loves them without doing nasty things to them-- a part of you asks "why me?" Quite often. As I got older, I knew what was happening wasn't normal, and it was doing things to me that I didn't want. I started to self harm, I became incredibly depressed--but I also found writing. I had a journal I could write in and I would write stories in the third person about my personal experiences. 

My mom found my journal. She asked me about it and when I couldn't lie my way about about the line that said "because of her fathers hands she can trust no man" I finally confessed. And she cried, and I cried and it felt so good. I was fourteen and I had spent two years making up stories about my HIM so he would go away. I told my friends he hit me. When my mom and him would fight, I would beg her to just leave. Take us and leave. And I thought it would finally happen. It didn't. He got to stay. And then everyone forgot about what happened to me. The abuse finally stopped but NOTHING HAPPENED TO HIM. He was allowed to fucking stay! He told my mom what I said never happened. And because I wore shorts in the house, and would wear tank tops that were slightly low cut on me because of my large chest, my gut tells me she believed him. 

I tried to tell a counselor what happened, and when he contacted my mother, she told him to stay away from me. And then I got grounded because "family issues are discussed with the family, and no one else" 

My self harm got so much worse. I tried to kill myself. Then I finally got a boyfriend and he was emotionally abusive and, after he finally convinced me to have sex with him, would make me have sex with him every chance he got. And I obeyed because he said he loved me. And no one ever loved me.

Seven years later and writing this still makes me sick to my stomach. I'm living this unauthentic life where I have to fake in front of my family that I'm comfortable sitting in their home when in all reality it makes my skin crawl having to sit there. I want to cry every time I have to pose for a fucking picture with "daddy and his girls! Daddy and his kids!"

At this point, I've joined this group because I can't hold anything in anymore. I can feel myself cutting conversations short with my mother and avoiding my father at all cost. I'm not forcing my memories to be blocked anymore. I'm not sitting for hours wondering if, in all reality, I actually made everything up. There is no doubt what happened, happened. And being all but twenty minutes away and constantly having to go and see my family is taking a huge toll on me. I'm looking for someone-- anyone with advice on how to deal with all of this on my own. I hate crying to my boyfriend about the atrocity that is my life. I hate burdening him because he doesn't really understand. I am desperate for someone who has been where I am and can definitively tell me it gets a little better and my heart will get a little stronger and I'll get a little tougher. Right now I feel like I'm a mess. I'm just looking for a little help, support I guess. I'm tired of feeling alone.