As I woke up on the floor after being dumped back into my room. I was covered in blood, sweat, tears and dust. The outfit was ruined as was my hair and there were bruies starting to appear on my arms and my face. I was not sure how much of my now sore back was torn open from the abuse I had recieved. I was kind of secure in the knowledge I was in my room where I thought I might be safe.

I slowly got off the floor and went to my door and slightly opened it and immediately heard loud voices from the kitchen. My Mother and father were in conversation about me,no doubt. I heard my father yell at my mother and tell her that I was a sissy and a fruitcake that needed to be beat. I started to cry and weep yet again and I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I heard my mom say to my father, "that if I wanted to wear clothes of her's , then I was going to be wearing them". My father said that" was the way it was going to be and if I refused or backtalked, i was going to get a whipping". I crept to the washroom to atempt to clean up and wipe the grime off my body. I also knew I was going to be in a lot of pain when I stripped off the clothes that I had been wearing. The conversation was still going on in the kitchen although very faint but still audible. I was scared and continued to think that I was some kind of sissy. Did I need help? was a different? was it true that I was a sissy?. I only wish I knew. I slowly stripped off the blood clothes and could see the tears and rips that were in the fabric. I tried to turn to the mirror so I could see my back, I was so scared and I knew i was going to be so sore the next day.

The conversations stopped when I turned on the tap in the bathroom and then I heard footsteps come down the hall. Seeing that there was no escape and that i could not lock the door I was trapped. There was pure anger and despise in my mothers face and she gleaned at me. She told me to bath and didn't care how much it hurt me. I was then told to get to my room and she would deal with me later. I literally cringed when she spoke to me, i had tears streaming down my face as looked at me and told me to hurry up. My father unbeknownst to me was in my bedroom ripping out my clothes such as shirts and underwear.

When I returned to my room from my bath there on the bed was underwear and cloothes. a short demim skirt and gray tank top. I was told to get dressed and get to the kitchen. While all this was taking place my younger brother was laughing his head off in the living room with his freinds. I wondered if I needed to pray alot more than I was doing when I went to church on sundays.

Here is a bit of background on where I grew up, it was a farm my parents had inherited from his dad and it was a pretty big place. The house was a 4 bedroom house with a large kitchen and living area. The barn was large to accomodae the horses and cattle and the chickens. I was given my horse when I turned 5 years old from my grandfather. She was to be my only friend and my only support in the years that I stayed on the farm. I would eventually drift off to sleep that night unsure of my future at such a young age. I began my journal writing after I was beaten by my father. I began to hate him and his lack of love for me. I also began to try and ignore what my parents said about me. I learned to realize that I had to survive in whatever way I could or my father would kill me........