The Life
Part One; the Childhood
I’ve heard a million child abuse stories, pedophilic-parent, and divorce stories, parents who just don’t care, druggie-parents, and parental cheating stories. These stories have become such a common thing in daily life to the point that we now have an organization to stop every single one of those, and to take the children and put them into a supposedly safer and more pleasant environment. Their answer being: Orphanages/Foster Care.
Most of those places are living Hells (I will not say all, I may be wrong, and there could be some that actually help children, but I wasn’t one of those happy-go-lucky children). I’d tell you name of where I was located, but that name has been long forgotten over the years; still the story stays.
I was five when they took me away from my Mother; they deemed her unfit, and my brothers and I were taken away. She had multiple husbands over the years, and they had all left her after having kids. She became mentally unhealthy from all that stress, and turned to drug abuse (the drugs, according to my eldest brother, had done nothing to the way she acted, but the Government frowned upon her actions). My oldest brother, John, was thirteen, second oldest, Tom, was nine, and the youngest before me, Ryan, was seven. We were greeted into the Orphanage with smiling faces, and promises of a new happy family.
Why would we want a new one? We were perfectly happy with the one we had…
A few years had passed, and things changed in the Orphanage for the worse. John was kicked out at sixteen for getting into too many fights, drug abuse, and getting two girls pregnant. He never said Good-bye to any of us; he only ran out screaming how he was free. Tom was adopted at twelve, along with Ryan. I was left alone there with only one friend, the only friend I had made in those three years. His name was Ricky, and he was sixteen just like John. They were best friends before John left; actually, Ricky was the one who got John into snorting Coke, and smoking Weed, and only really supplied John with more, and never really talked other than that. Ricky was just too interested in being with me to really pay any other mind to John (John was actually the one who told me not to be near Ricky, because Ricky was a bad person who did really weird things. I never believed him). Ricky had always protected me after they all had left me; he protected me from the kids who would always try to pick on me, and would beat up the kids who would talk about me, my brothers and my Mother.
Ricky became almost like a brother to me, and I looked up to him more than I ever did to John. Months began to pass, and Ricky started to act very odd. He would tell me everyday that he loved me, would kiss me on the head, and began to invite himself into my bed every night. Every time I had asked him why he would do something, and he would say he was trying to be a real brother for me.
To have a brother again, I liked it…
I felt loved, and that I had someone in the world…
Until, that night…
Ricky did what he always did; he invited himself into my bed, but this time he began to rub my thigh and kissed my forehead. I asked him what he was doing, and he answered with: “I’m just showing you, how much I truly love you.” He began to slide his hand in my shorts, and stroked me.
I screamed for help.
An owner of the Orphanage ran into the room to answer my scream, but by the time he had gotten to my bed Ricky had already escaped to his own. The Owner (if I recall correctly, his name being Mr. McEntee. Though, I could always be wrong) got to me, and asked me no question of what was wrong, or if anything happened; he backhanded me, and beat me with his belt.
I blacked out.
Months began to pass now, and Ricky continued to touch/rape me. He began to only touch me crotch, and stroke, but soon he began to want more; he started to force me to do things to his penis, and began to rape me from behind. Ricky had a rule though, under no circumstance was he allowed to ejaculate on and/or into me.
I guess even a rapist/pedophile can have their morals of right and wrong…
This torture never stopped, for two years I was sexually abused by Ricky. I never said anything, or confessed to anyone in fear of being beaten again and accused of lying.
July 24th, 1992, that date will forever be in my head with many others; the day when Ricky finally stopped the torture he forced upon me, I was ten. It all began that night as he forced himself upon me; Ricky had lost himself in lust and shot out into me. His face had a look of disgust with himself, and couldn’t even bring himself to look at me.
Weeks then passed, and not even a glance at me, Ricky ignored my very existence. He no longer touched me at night, or even came near me.
I was alone, yet again.
After some time, Ricky disappeared from the Orphanage, and was never heard from again. Two years later, I was finally adopted at the age of fourteen. My new parents were a middle age couple in their late 40’s, named Mr. and Mrs. Donald.
They were my freedom out of Hell…
Into a Purgatory.
Thank you.
End of Part One
Most of those places are living Hells (I will not say all, I may be wrong, and there could be some that actually help children, but I wasn’t one of those happy-go-lucky children). I’d tell you name of where I was located, but that name has been long forgotten over the years; still the story stays.
I was five when they took me away from my Mother; they deemed her unfit, and my brothers and I were taken away. She had multiple husbands over the years, and they had all left her after having kids. She became mentally unhealthy from all that stress, and turned to drug abuse (the drugs, according to my eldest brother, had done nothing to the way she acted, but the Government frowned upon her actions). My oldest brother, John, was thirteen, second oldest, Tom, was nine, and the youngest before me, Ryan, was seven. We were greeted into the Orphanage with smiling faces, and promises of a new happy family.
Why would we want a new one? We were perfectly happy with the one we had…
A few years had passed, and things changed in the Orphanage for the worse. John was kicked out at sixteen for getting into too many fights, drug abuse, and getting two girls pregnant. He never said Good-bye to any of us; he only ran out screaming how he was free. Tom was adopted at twelve, along with Ryan. I was left alone there with only one friend, the only friend I had made in those three years. His name was Ricky, and he was sixteen just like John. They were best friends before John left; actually, Ricky was the one who got John into snorting Coke, and smoking Weed, and only really supplied John with more, and never really talked other than that. Ricky was just too interested in being with me to really pay any other mind to John (John was actually the one who told me not to be near Ricky, because Ricky was a bad person who did really weird things. I never believed him). Ricky had always protected me after they all had left me; he protected me from the kids who would always try to pick on me, and would beat up the kids who would talk about me, my brothers and my Mother.
Ricky became almost like a brother to me, and I looked up to him more than I ever did to John. Months began to pass, and Ricky started to act very odd. He would tell me everyday that he loved me, would kiss me on the head, and began to invite himself into my bed every night. Every time I had asked him why he would do something, and he would say he was trying to be a real brother for me.
To have a brother again, I liked it…
I felt loved, and that I had someone in the world…
Until, that night…
Ricky did what he always did; he invited himself into my bed, but this time he began to rub my thigh and kissed my forehead. I asked him what he was doing, and he answered with: “I’m just showing you, how much I truly love you.” He began to slide his hand in my shorts, and stroked me.
I screamed for help.
An owner of the Orphanage ran into the room to answer my scream, but by the time he had gotten to my bed Ricky had already escaped to his own. The Owner (if I recall correctly, his name being Mr. McEntee. Though, I could always be wrong) got to me, and asked me no question of what was wrong, or if anything happened; he backhanded me, and beat me with his belt.
I blacked out.
Months began to pass now, and Ricky continued to touch/rape me. He began to only touch me crotch, and stroke, but soon he began to want more; he started to force me to do things to his penis, and began to rape me from behind. Ricky had a rule though, under no circumstance was he allowed to ejaculate on and/or into me.
I guess even a rapist/pedophile can have their morals of right and wrong…
This torture never stopped, for two years I was sexually abused by Ricky. I never said anything, or confessed to anyone in fear of being beaten again and accused of lying.
July 24th, 1992, that date will forever be in my head with many others; the day when Ricky finally stopped the torture he forced upon me, I was ten. It all began that night as he forced himself upon me; Ricky had lost himself in lust and shot out into me. His face had a look of disgust with himself, and couldn’t even bring himself to look at me.
Weeks then passed, and not even a glance at me, Ricky ignored my very existence. He no longer touched me at night, or even came near me.
I was alone, yet again.
After some time, Ricky disappeared from the Orphanage, and was never heard from again. Two years later, I was finally adopted at the age of fourteen. My new parents were a middle age couple in their late 40’s, named Mr. and Mrs. Donald.
They were my freedom out of Hell…
Into a Purgatory.
Thank you.
End of Part One