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Caution, this chapter is dark, and describes some cruel medical procedures that may be offensive to some readers. It also describes in great detail the effects of those procedures on a young person. Those effects were done to me. The scars still exist. Thank you for reading.

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First of all, I wish to give the reader a bit of further background. The area I grew up in was in rural Canada , we lived on a 4 section farm. We planted wheat and barley. The farm had cattle as well as a few horses (one of which was mine). We also raised chickens and turkeys. Needless to say, we always had either chicken or turkey for Sunday dinner, and my parents made sure that the preacher and his family had the same, too. Maybe that was why my prayers went unanswered, the preacher was blocking them.

I had one brother by whom I was not very well liked. He, like my father, would rape me, but at least his raping was not daily. He seemed to do it only when my father urged him to, or when he needed to prove that he was a man. Me, I was quiet, did my own thing. I tended to my horse and did my school work. Now, as an adult who has come away from that past, I look back at what happened over the first fifteen years of my life shaped my way of life.

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It was just after I had returned home from the hospital after my failed suicide attempt at school that the events of that following spring and summer would change the outcome for me in a huge way, in ways that would change my life and that of my family as well.

You see my birthday is in May and well, life took a strange and drastic turn that year for me, being the 1970's parents could get away with what they wanted to with their children and nothing would be said and or done to them, even if they were caught. The kids paid the penalty in a few different ways. One, they were never believed; two, parents deniability was apparent. Back then, a child was powerless against their parents or guardians. If my story had taken place now, my tragedy would be lessened, and I would be free of most of my trauma.

The rapes persisted and on my birthday I was given a few gifts, not wrapped of course. I was given three things that birthday, one; female skirts and dresses and undergarments. Two; I was given strict instructions that I was to finish the remainder of that year of school dressed as a girl to humiliate me. Third; if I did not comply then I would be sent away for ever and that my parents, (guardians, I never considered them parents) would disavow any knowledge of my existence. You see I found that when I went back, almost 28 years later. Then, I found my mothers writings in a book that she kept.

Anyways, the night of my birthday I was severely beaten and raped yet again by my father and my brother as well as my brother’s best friend Drew. I woke up the following day, covered in my blood, and I was badly bruised. You see I have fair skin and I bruise fairly easily. I was lorded over while I got dressed each day by my 'parents' as they tried to beat down my spirit into submission, and well, unbeknownst to them, I was thinking I would attempt my life again. To me, I had nothing to lose, everything to gain. I had already tried with a knife and subsequently failed.

I was not sure when I would have that opportunity but I was hoping that event would happen soon. As I began to really hate my life. I was watched at school, even in the extra activities I participated in. In the 4-H barn, I was never left alone while I was tending the horses, they were afraid that I would use a rope or pitchfork on myself. But as much as I sought suicide, I sought the rapes, even more.

The abuse and beatings continued as I began to think that these were a sign of love and acceptance. At 9 years old, you begin to think those thoughts, so I would do whatever it took to be beaten and abused. In school, and at home, I acted up, I talked back and I fought back with tantrums etc. I was forced into sex acts with my father while in bed and my mother just ignored these events.

On a particular June afternoon, just after arriving home from school after I was severely humiliated by classmates and some town bullies, I was going to take my horse out for a ride. My brother was playing with his archery set shooting at targets. Well needless to say he shot an arrow high in the air and it came down right beside my leg as I was mounting my lovely horse.

I was so pissed off at him for almost injuring my horse. I started to yell at him. My "dad" being in the shed over heard this and came storming out and grabbed me and of course believed my idiotic brother over me. I guess I must be as crazy as they thought I was. I was strung up and whipped and badly beaten yet again.

I yelled at my "dad". "Why don't you just kill me?"

His response was, "Watch it I just may do that to you, you little sissy freak!"

That night I remember clearly as if it was only yesterday that I needed to kill myself and get away from this nightmare I seemed to be living. I felt that if dead, the nightmare would be over, and I would finally be at Peace. Somehow, even after my Faith had been squashed, I still had a kernel of Faith left. That kernel would in time, grow after I had left home.

Now at 9 years old I was pretty intelligent. The following morning well I woke up well before everyone and snuck downstairs to my "dads" gun cabinet and pulled out a shotgun and loaded a shell into it. I had seen him load it many times before and well I just knew how to use it. As I was about to pull the trigger, my "mother" screamed and I dropped the gun on the floor and it went off and put a nice hole in the deep refrigerator and wall.

Well I was beaten bloody and was taken into the hospital in town and told that I was to be put under suicide watch. I was given many drugs to calm me and make me extremely sleepy. My "parents" left me there and didn't visit. I went under shock therapy and heavy drugs and under constant watch while I was strapped to the bed. To this day I still bear the marks from those straps.

As the weeks passed and turned into months. I came to realize that my "parents" had left me there and I was never to see them again. I was now, for all intents, an orphan. I cried and wanted to die so bad. Why was I here on earth, when I knew that no one loved me, let alone cared about my well being? It was 11 months later I was taken back to the farm and locked in my room while everyone enjoyed themselves.

I missed so much school I failed a grade and was set back. Then, I was given classes at home through the door, as I was not allowed out of my room due to the suicide watch. The rapes and severe beating persisted, and I kept my journal or as much as I could, it was hard to write with broken fingers that were constantly being smacked by a ruler, all too often just because they wanted to hurt me.

I did not have all that many conversations with my "parents", I was ignored and when I did speak I was told to shut up or face the penalty. So, knowing full well that the punishment would be more raping, that I continued to talk and paid the penalty for my actions. This became a daily routine for me. In fact, I began to take a very perverse pleasure in taunting my rapists. I began to taunt my brother and my "father" so much that I could see the anger there and the disdain he had for me. I was a sissy to him, yet I provoked him to rape me, making me his master in a perverse way. I also realized that this love was so strong for my brother it proved my point of not being like the others, (referenced by Sesame Street ).

I even taunted my "mother" and called her all sorts of names. The blame I laid on her was for not protecting me and not supporting me in my time of need. Even though she did not even once touch me, by her inaction, she condemned me to a life of hell on earth. The realization came to me years later that she too was being abused by my father when I found her writings. To my amazement, it became clear that she didn't want me either. Whatever love that she had for me had died, years ago. She, herself was being victimized as much as myself, and she too, was powerless. I was a constant reminder of the start of her nightmare. If not for me, she would not have been hurt.

My resolve to escape my hell on earth came when I turned 15 years old. I celebrated quietly. I had neither cake, nor any kind of celebration from my family except for more abuse. I rode my horse and competed in my best barrel race to date and placed 1st and 2nd in all the competitions that day. I took my anger out on the other competitors with my attitude and ego. You see, I wore very feminine outfits. That I believe aggravated the competitors, which sparked some strength in me.

My hope began that day as I planned to make my escape from hell. The first 15 years of my life were hell and I readily admit it. I went through a lot of abuse, beatings, hatred, dejection, physical, psychological, emotional torment, and many suicide attempts. I can only wish now that as I look back that I was successful. In a sense, however, my life has changed so much since I left, I guess I was not as crazy as they thought I was not, nor I thought I was.

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Footnote: the institution I was admitted to and spent 11 months was closed 4 years later due to allegations of severe abuse and questionable practices by its practitioners. My court cases went before judges and some were successful, others were dismissed including my own attempt to sue and receive compensation.