Trigger material ahead

This is a story of fact. This is not a story with a happy ending. This might trigger you, dear and gentle reader. Be warned before you continue.
Are you still here? Still reading? Here we go……

She’s a small girl, waif like in her thinness. Her pale white blonde hair cascades down her back. Bruised blue eyes look at you and fearfully glance away unable to maintain contact.

It happened again, this time though, he wouldn’t stop kicking. Over and over. She lay there in a tight ball trying to protect her face, knowing if there were visible bruises he’d find some other way to punish her. Much worse ways. He’s screaming at her, spittle flying everywhere, so full of hate and anger that she can not understand a word. The tears come. Coursing down her cheeks. Please, she tells her father, please daddy what did I do? Stop daddy please daddy stop. Her bladder breaks a growing lake of piss surrounds her. She could see reasoning return into his eyes. Clean this mess up, and you too, he said, you disgust me. So she scurried off and cleaned the floor, then herself up best she could and then quiet as a mouse she kept into her room and hid.

The next day in P.E. The girl is “dressing out” trying to be small, trying to be invisible but someone saw. They saw the bruises. They bruises with a shoe pattern on her side and back. And they told.

The teacher brought her into the office. The girl stood there shaking, hiding behind her hair. Looking but not wanting to. Opening her mouth and then snapping it shut because she didn’t know what to say.

The teacher watched her, asking questions here and there but getting no answer. Finally she sighed and told the girl turn around and lift your shirt. The girl snapped up to attention and begged please no please don’t make me do this please just leave it alone. But the teacher insisted and finally the girl did what was requested. She could hear the teacher behind her do this funny little gasp, and then move toward her asking if the girl was ok, did it hurt. This little girl dropped her shirt back in place, wondering who it was that told. Who had seen? The teacher had her get back into normal clothes and sit on the bleachers for gym class.

This routine of lifting her shirt and try not to say anything happened twice more that day. The principal of the school being the last. By now they had gotten it out of her that the bruises that had shoe patterns in them all over her sides and back were done by her father. They sat her in the waiting area and discussed what they should do, and finally it was decided they would send a social worker. They let her back into the office and told her, she flew into a rage screaming g and crying. Telling them you don’t know what you’ve just done to me. Getting them not to do it, and suddenly she stopped and in quiet, steady sort of voice asked, it’s too late isn’t it? The adults all looked at one another and then looked at her and nodded. She screams at the top of her lungs FUCK!!!!I

There’s only one way to maybe beat this. She had to run. And that’s what she did. Ran for everything she could, knowing that she had one chance and that was it. To beat them to the house.

As she was running for all she was worth she saw that the truck was there. He had gotten home early. She slowed and came to a stop. Tears threatening to fall, yet again. After a few moments, how long she’s doesn’t know, she found herself at the door. Scared beyond belief she opened the door and walked in.

He was sitting in his favorite chair. Waiting. And proceeded to tell her over and over that she was a liar, and that he hadn’t done anything to hurt her, why would she say those things, why did she want to get him into trouble? He grabbed her by her shoulder and drug her to the bathroom. He told her to stay there and left for the kitchen. Unfortunately for her he wasn’t gone that long.

In his hand was the bottle dish detergent she used in the kitchen. Lemon scented Joy. He asked her if she knew what bad girls and liars got? Trembling she knew to answer him or whatever was coming would be ten times worse. Their mouths washed out with soap? Yes he said,nodding his head.

He grabbed her by her hair and yanked her head back, cramming the bottle of soap between her teeth and begins to squeeze steadily on it, blobs of soap falling into her mouth, swallowing by reflex. Bubbles begin to come out of her mouth and her nose. She starts vomiting uncontrollably, tears mixing in with the soap. She is unable to breath. Things are going black, and she’s begging him to stop, and when asked said she’d never lie or try to get him into trouble again.

This was the beginning of Desiree. One of my alters.

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August 6, 2019

I am so sorry for this pain that was caused to you, I hope that you have been able to find peace of some sort.

August 6, 2019

I was once told I had alters but no one that I know of has seen them. I know I was abused “Tortured” was how my therapist stated it but memories are locked up tight except for a few… I see them as unpleasant… my therapist sees them as horrors… I understand.

August 6, 2019

@snarkle mine are documented. Different hand writing different clothing and styles. One even smokes. This entry is the first of many. I hope I can get them out. My therapist wants to integrate me. I don’t know if that’s what we all want.

August 7, 2019

@darkzymphony I hope you can do what YOU (all) want. I have a friend with 15 alters (that we know of) they have become quite functional and remain themselves. The body just had a gorgeous baby and that is keeping them busy.

August 6, 2019

I’m so sorry that you experienced this.  I honestly can’t find adequate words, which is rare for me.

August 6, 2019

I am so sorry for all of this… this breaks my heart… *hugs*