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I always thought that parents were to protect, nurture, guide, love and accept. But that I did not have in my parents. What I got was abuse, hurt, hatred, and humiliation. I had always wondered why I not had that for the first 15 years of my life. I often wondered why my parents were so cruel to me. Why family members loathed me and especially why my brother hated me so much. As I grew older I came to the very understanding that neither my parents, nor my family loved nor cherished me as I always new that I did not fit in.

What had I done to deserve this? Had I angered the God of the Bible? If God was so angry with me, why did He not smite me down has He had done in the Bible? Did He tell my family to hate me? Why was I not ever given any Love or appreciation? Was I to endure
endless hours of unrelenting punishment without reprieve?

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Authors Note: This chapter contains some graphic material that may be too graphic to endure. Please I wish to CAUTION the reader that this is true. This happened to me when I was between ages 6 and 15 years of age. This is not for the faint of heart. Please do not read if it will upset you.

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I often wondered why me? As I sat in School and daydreamed why I was placed in a situation I had no defense against. At least in my day dreams, I was not hurt by my family, and at school, I was away from their hatred. I look back years later as I am writing this for my book, why? Why was I not ever shown even the tiniest bit of Love? I believe that it was understood by taking many courses on family and psychology and sociology that family was to be there for one another. Why was mine not?

I always thought that parents were to protect,
nurture, guide, love and accept. Why did I get the opposite? I had always wondered why I not had that for the first 15 years of my life. I often wondered why my parents were so cruel to me. Why family members loathed me and especially why my brother hated me so much. As I grew older I came to the very understanding that my parents, nor my family didn't love nor cherish me as I always new that I did not fit in.

But how I wanted to fit in, how I wanted to be loved, cherished, protected, and accepted by them. Would I become the victim of brainwashing and identify with them and start to hate myself, or even worse, commit suicide? If I did, would I become a mental vegetable, my mind a prisoner in my body?

I remember all the severe beatings I endured and to this day those physical scars remain on my body as a constant reminder of my past. But the sexual abuse was much worse, and the mental abuse put me through hell. It was a
nightly occurrence that either my dad or my brother would sexually assault me by my dad more than my brother. He would have me blow him till he came in my mouth and then literally rape my behind till I was raw.

My mother I believe chose to ignore all the cries and whimpering that came from me. I believe that my dad enjoyed his sessions with me. One particular session, he literally beat me while he raped me. He tied me to the bed frame with straps that he brought into my room. He raped me so bad that I bled for a week afterwards and that is what drove me to attempt suicide.

Now, I had the answer to my question about suicide, it was a grim reminder of my musings that made the assault even more horrible. Now, I wanted to die, to end it all, and to find Peace. Even then, I held out Hope that God would Love me.

I found a bottle of sleeping pills that my mother had for her insomnia. I took the whole bottle (about 20 pills) and
passed out. When I woke up, I was bleeding from my rear and my mouth was stitched up. My guess was that my father or my brother beat me and raped me while I was asleep and I woke up in the emergency ward. To this day, I am amazed that the abuse never did get the Authorities to intervene on my behalf. Were they blind to my ordeal?

The rapes continued every night after I had arrived home about 15 days later. Now I so hated myself that I questioned why I was being punished. I looked to the Lord for help when I received no answers to my prayers I lost my Faith and Trust in God. If He would not or could not answer, why should I Believe in Him? Why has Faith in a God that never helped me?

The abuse just did not stop there. My brother would take delight in setting me up to take the blame for things I never did. Worst of all, my parents knew about it and still punished me. One such incident occurred while I was in school and he had skipped
the day feigning illness. I supposedly placed his rifle loaded on the washing machine before I left for school. My defense was I was already at school when this alleged incident occurred. I was subsequently hauled by my hair and shirt collar to the barn and whipped severely.

I have to say that I was dressed in androgynous clothing. I had long flowing red hair (which I still have to this very day). I was tied up and severely whipped with the bridle and reins. I was left to bleed and cry, which I did. That was when I lost my Faith in God and all Hope, too. I prayed for release from my bondage from my hell, but all that I got was more abuse.

At nights I was dressed in nightgowns that were once my mothers and some I had been given. I slowly began to build up my wardrobe as I was constantly being dressed anyways. My ears were pierced when I was 7 years old by ice and a long sewing needle. The belief that I was wanted was becoming more and more
a fantasy for me. I dreamed of being a Princess such as Sleeping Beauty, or Snow White, even Tinkerbell! Never did I see myself as a Prince.

I knew I was adopted and my brother was natural born. I remember years’ later watching Sesame Street and the wall with all the same objects on it except one. I knew I was different, I knew I did not belong. How could I? I was different, I was unwanted.

I was continually abused and raped nightly by my father. There was no remorse no matter how much I pleaded. God forbid that in small town Canada on the prairies, that you ever spilled your private life. If you did, you were ridiculed, especially a child. Whereas the parents could claim innocence and denial, as a child, you either learned to deal with it, or you just ignored the problems. I went to church and I for one could not say anything about the abuse, the preacher of the church was very good friends with my parents, and from his sermons,
believed what my father did about sissies.

I was ignored and very quiet, I was always shy and withdrawn. Whenever questioned about any bruises or cuts, I claimed to be very clumsy. I never had friends in school and was picked on because of my androgynous appearance. I was too girly for the girls, yet too sissy for the boys, and my brother was no help either. (This was a time where abused children were ignored when they spoke out, not like today where children have a lot of rights.)

I was constantly picked on, raped violently and punished for things I did not do. I did however find some solitude with my 4H activities and my horse that I was constantly around when I was not being abused. My horse became my only fried, listening to my pain and anguish, and giving me love in return. In the barn, I was safe from the hell that was my life as I groomed my horse and tended to my friend. There were some happy times away from the barn
too.

Those were when I was left alone to read and listen to music and secretly dress in my accumulated small wardrobe that was beginning to get larger as the months passed. I also began to physically change at that time, I was 8 when I began to feel funny in the chest area, I did not bother to tell my parents of this feeling, I thought I would just ignore it. What good would it do? I would just get abused anyway.

I later discovered I was secretly being given estrogen from my mother’s birth control pills. I was horrified. I was horrified, how could they do this to me? What had I done so terribly wrong to deserve this life? What did I have to contribute? I lost all sense of self worth, self esteem, and zeal for life. I had no friends and those I thought were my friends were not. I was constantly betrayed by them.

As the weeks went by and those turned into months, I slowly began to wonder if I could die, that way no one would miss
me. It was obvious that no one loved me, nor wanted me. I was alone. I could not count on my horse, as it was not mine, and my parents would not let it stay in the barn, even though we had the money.

I prayed nightly neither that nor more rapes would occur that prayer went unanswered. I also prayed that I would find the strength to fight back, that too ended up falling on the Lord's deaf ear. My self worth and esteem were so depleted that I began to feel that I needed to die. I attempted suicide again on my 9th birthday while I was in school. I had smuggled a knife from the barn (to cut bales). I went to the washroom and sliced my wrists across the veins, not lengthwise (I was so naive; I could have ended it right then, there had I known).

I remember waking up in hospital, strapped to the bed with IV tubes in my arm. I was under suicide watch. I later learned that my PARENTS conveniently lied to the hospital officials saying that I
was depressed over not getting awards and high grades in several of my classes. I spent the better part of 5 months in hospital and went through my first bout of psychiatric care. At 9, sheesh! I began to tell...........