| Hannah from the United States writes:
I suppose the best place to start would be the beginning. That's when things made sense. That's when we were happy.
We lived in Ireland, where you could really run and hardly ever into something. We were free. Back then in was me, my mum, my dad and my brothers. I had eight of them. Finn was the oldest, then Brodey, Owen, Pat, Tristan, Kelly, Connor and Kiel who is my twin. I can't ever remember being sad back then.
After my mother was diagnosed with cancer everything started to fall apart. When she died I was six and we were all sent away to live with other relatives because my father suddenly couldn't stand to be around any of us.
I was sent to live in Surry with my aunt and uncle. My aunt worked third shift at the hospital, so my uncle and I were alone together most nights. At first everything was ok. Then weird little things started happening.
One morning he was pulling my covers off of me and 'accidentally' pulled down my pajama bottoms. That evening I caught him hiding in the bathroom closet when I was in there. I asked him what he was doing and he told me that he was getting everything ready for my bath.
I was six at the time and had been bathing myself for about a year, so I didn't understand. He said that I hadn't been doing a good enough job getting my body clean so he was going to help me. At the time, I didn't see anything wrong with that. But halfway through it something started to feel weird about it.
He would linger when washing between my legs. After that he started 'check ups' with me. He would come in my room very late at night "just to check up" he would tell me. One night he told me that he was scared without Auntie and he wanted to sleep in my bed with me. That was the night the real abuse started. He was always touchy-feely, but that night it went beyond that.
The next morning I called my oldest brother--since my father was in a psych ward for trying to kill himself--and told him what was happening. The entire family was in a flurry trying to figure out what happened. My uncle grabbed me when I was walking by and pulled me into the bathroom. He held a knife to my throat and promised that if I told anyone I'd end up in hell like my mother.
After that I told my grandmother that I had been making it up. Everyone seemed very happy to believe that. That night was the first time he actually raped me. After that it was routine. As soon as Auntie left for work he would give me my bath, put me to bed and rape me.
One afternoon my oldest brother called. He said that he was coming home from university and wanted to stop by and see me. I told him to come, but I didn't tell my uncle. I don't remember much after that, except that Finn walked in on him raping me and then the whole truth finally came out. After that we all got to go home, although my father wasn't in the right frame of mind to have us. He drank a lot and started physically and emotionally abusing us.
My father liked to play games; strange games where I was always the loser. No one knew why he couldn’t stand me so much. It had never been like that before Mum died. I’d been his “Hannie Banannie.” That’s what he called me when Mum was still around.
He would play this game where he would take something and hide it somewhere where I would never find it, and then make me look for it for hours and hours while he screamed for me to find it the whole time. If I found it, I could go to bed. If I couldn’t before he got tired of screaming I’d go one-on-one with the belt.
His favorite game was the “sweetie game,” as I started to think of it as. It was usually before bed that he played this game, but it happened other times too. “Come here, sweetie,” he would say so genuinely kindly that I’d have trouble not running up to him. I’d search his face for signs that he was just playing another sick game, but he was so good at pretending. “Come on, darling,” He’d coax me. “Come see your daddy for a minute.”
I’d always go towards him as slowly as I could, hoping that if he tried anything I’d be far enough away to be able to run. “Just a little closer baby,” He’d tell me with the nicest smile, and I would do it. Then, before I knew it, I’d get backhanded and he’d be there smiling a hateful looking smile telling me to get to bed.
There was another game for food, one for the drive to school, one for getting dressed; everything we did was a game. I had to try to figure out what he wanted or I got the belt. It was always about getting me to trust him again. He could always lure me back. I would always think, “Maybe this time he’ll stay nice. Maybe this time things will be like they were when Mum was around.”
My brother Pat, who was the oldest in the house at the time as the others had gone away to school, always tried to keep me from him. He used to hide me in my closet, or in this old cedar chest in the guest bedroom. He always tried to keep me safe. And I really only ever felt safe with him. This went on for a few years until one night, after my dad had been drinking all day, he announced that he was going for a drive and that he wanted some company.
Since I was the closest to him, he grabbed me by the arm and started dragging me towards the car. I was only nine, but I knew better than to get in a car with him. My brother Pat tried to talk him out of it, but settled for coming with us since my father was dead set on taking me. We'd only driven four miles when he veered off the road and hit the tree. When the police came to the crash site Pat and my dad were already gone. I kept asking them why Patty wasn’t talking to me still. The ambulance driver was crying. She kept trying to get my hair out of my eyes but it was stuck to the blood on my forehead. Pat was only seventeen at the time.
After that I stopped talking. I don’t know why, and I don’t remember most of it. They use the word catatonic now when they talk about it. I was sick all the time from not eating and never sleeping. Every time I’d start to fall asleep I’d wake up screaming. To this day I can’t remember what I dream about though.
Then Finn got custody of all of us. He'd been living in the US where his company was, so we all moved overseas. I was diagnosed with PTSD as well as DID. I used to SI, but I think I've gotten that under control now. I have problems with eating still, but overall I feel like I've come a long way. It’s been so many years, but I'm starting to claim my life back a little at a time.
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