I'm so confused right now. I should probably start from the beginning and by that I mean my childhood. I was very sheltered by my mother. I was never allowed to go to friend's houses, or ride my bike around the block, or even play in our backyard for that matter. She was afraid the man around the corner (who was a convicted child molester) would rape me. She claims she didn't know that in fact, my own father was doing that. Mom had to work nights so he stayed with me. He drug me to my cousin's stores every night, and I always fell asleep under a display case or clothing rack every night. The weekends were worse though. That's when he'd pick me up out of my bed from a sound sleep and take me to his bed. I used to beg my mother, crying and screaming not to go to work not to leave me, but she always did. My father raped me atleast twice per weekend from age 8-19. I hated myself and my body. I thought I was so messed up that my own father would hurt me so badly. The first time, I was still a virgin, and after he was done with me, he made me change the sheets on his king size water bed. I still hate waterbeds to this day. He made me go in the bathroom and I thought he was going to finally let me shower, but instead made me stand naked in the tub while he went to the kitchen to get sugar. He came back and poured it on his hand and licked his fingers. He told me sugar would keep me from getting pregnant. It did. That time, anyway. When he jammed his fingers in, I screamed. Intillectually I remember it hurting like hell. I knew I was being ripped in half and dying. He told me if I ever told anyone that he'd leave and mom and I would die on our own. I thought that maybe if I got really fat that he would stop, so I did but he didn't. I hated myself even more fat. I was only 11 the first time I tried to kill myself. Childhood dreams of death by tylenol lol. Obviousely, it didn't work. In fact, no one ever knew. One morning, when I was 13,after he was done with me, I took a bath. I could never get myself clean enough. I decided to shave my legs for the first time. I didn't even know I had cut myself till I saw the blood dripping in the water. It fascinated me not feeling any pain yet seeing so much blood. I was completely transfixed. I felt awesome. I finally had something else to concentrate on that wasn't him. I started using self injury after that to cope with my feelings (or lack of feelings as it was sometimes). When I was 14, I got pregnant for the first time. I miscarried the baby, and now I thank God I did. I couldn't have been a good mom at 14. When I was 16, I started going to Church on Sunday mornings, which really pissed him off, but made me happy to get out of the house for atleast one torture per weekend. Of course, he made up for it when I got home, but sometimes delaying the inevitable is enough to feel you're "sticking it to the man". I got pregnant again when I was 16. I miscarried again. The baby was bigger this time though, and actually recognizable as a baby. I cried. Things stayed pretty much the same till I turned 18, then I got pregnant again. I did have a boyfriend at the time, but he and I always used 2 kinds of protection. I'm still hoping the baby is his. I considered abortion and adoption, but didn't feel comfortable with either of those senarios, so  I delivered a beautiful baby boy at age 19. I named him Zachary. He was such a tiny cute miracle. I honestly thought all the horror was behind me, but sadly no. When Zack was only 6 weeks old, my father tried to rape me right in front of him. I was staring at him, sleeping in his bassinette just as precious as can be, and he came up behind me grabbing me and ready to go. I left home that night. I packed all of Zack's stuff in my truck and went to a friend's house. Her family let me stay with them for a while. While I was there, I kept having nightmares about "him" and what happened. I'd scream in the middle of the night, and fall out of bed. My friend and her family finally convinced me to go to the authorities. My father pled No Contest which I guess meant "guilty, but I'm not saying it". He was sentinced 2-15 years just after Zachary turned 1. He ended up only serving 6 years. My mother meanwhile had fallen "in love" with another man who was a raging alcoholic. By raging, I mean he beat the crap out of her, but she claimed she could "save him". She finally divorced my father 5 years after he'd gone to prison because she wanted to marry the new asshole. I met a man and got pregnant again (yes, I'm firtile myrtl) and had another gorgeous baby boy. I married his father, and we moved with his job to Texas on an army base. He turned out to be a total jerk, and one day he was drunk as a skunk and held a gun to my kids heads. We left with a bag of clothes and nothing more. Long story short, I ended up in Cali. I worked on a lot of my issues, and hadn't cut in a while. Life was starting to get good when I met the woman of my dreams, after figuring out that my family didn't have the control over me they thought they did. She and I have been together happily for almost 3.5 years.
So now to the current: Back in Feb, we had a big cancer scare with my wife. Thank God she dosen't have it, but she basically fell apart. Things in general got really bad for a while, and I was doing literally everything for our family. My mother didn't like this, and is pissed that my wife wasn't doing anything to help the family. I understood. Finding out that there is a HUGE likelihood you have cancer is enough to paralyze anyone. It's taken a while for things to start getting back to normal, and they still aren't completely back to normal. My mother hates the fact that I'm a lesbian, and has been trying to break up my relationship ever since I got together with my wife. Now she's got my grandparents into it too. I feel so bad. My mother nor my grandparents were never really there for me, but they're the only family I have. I'm so torn between love and hate right now. Love, because of obligation and hate because if it weren't for blood, I'd want nothing to do with any of my biological family. I'm torn whether I should let my mother see my boys, or if she'll brainwash them onto her side and get them hating my wife's and my relationship too. The boys love my wife, but they love their "nana" too. I just don't know what the hell to do. I've started cutting again, and it's starting to get bad again. I wish I had someone beside me telling me what to do. Right now, it just seems so impossible.