Okay.. bear with me. I never talk about this, although my workers know what happened I don't discuss it, because.. I'm ashamed and I think it's my fault. But I need to write this. It's replaying in my mind, and if I don't write, I'm gonna go crazy. I'm really sorry if it doesn't make sense, I'm finding it difficult to write already lol. When I was a child, my mum didn't really look after me properly. It wasn't her fault, she suffers from mental health issues and is an alcoholic. But anyway, this part isn't really relevant except to say that I was left on my own 75% of the time from the age of 8 while she went out for a week at a time, getting high and pissed. When I was 11, I assume she developed a bit of a conscience, and started sending me to her mum and dad's one weekend a month (not that it made much difference, she was still out the rest of the time). I asked why, and she said it was to get 'closer to the family'. My nan and granddad are christians. They used to parade me around church every Sunday, where my nan wrote speeches to deliver to the congregation, and granddad played hymns on the guitar. And the first time I went there for the weekend, I loved it. I got fed, clothed, had shampoo (a rarity at home), and they were really nice. I'd not stayed there since I was 4 previous to this, when my mum had a breakdown, though I saw them often. The next month I was due to go out there again, and I was so excited. But it was different. I remember it was the first time I wore make up that day, and I felt pretty (another rarity). Granddad said I looked nice, which seemed normal enough. I stayed Saturday night, everything was fine, they took me to church on Sunday and that was fine too. Then, Sunday night I was laid in bed, and nan came in and sat on the bed, and asked if I was okay, I said I was fine but tired. Then.. she shifted on the bed, and started holding my arms, tight. Granddad came in. She held me down for him. I still remember the details. The smell of his breath. The heat. The pressure as he laid on me. The pain as he forced himself onto me, into me. His smile. Her pressure on my arms. My tears. The blood. His face as he finished. The sweat. His gleeful smile as he stood up and walked out the room. My nan telling me I had been good. It continued for two years. What he did to me varied, but he covered pretty much every aspect. He video'd me once, and to this day I don't know where it is. She held me down for the first 6 months, until I realised there was no point in even attempting to struggle. There was no point in crying. Not only did it not make it stop, it seemed to excite him more. He called me names, told me I deserved it, said I should count myself lucky. Anyway, I took an overdose, and after I got released from hospital, I was put into care. I suffered nightmares every night about what happened, and flashbacks throughout the day, and I still do. When I was in care, one night my foster mums son and his friend let themselves into the house. My F.M was out. I went to my room, as they weren't boys they were men and it scared me. He came in while his friend stood outside. Pushed me down, and raped me. Called me names, and hurt me. When he finished, he stood up and did up his trousers, and left the room. I thought I was safe. I wasn't. His friend came in for his turn. When he was done, he threw some cigarettes at me, told me it was payment and wh*res like me don't deserve anything else. I'm 22 now. I still can't get over it, though I know I should by now. I don't blame them. I blame me. With my nan and granddad, the only thing I can think about is that I wore make up. I shouldn't have done that. It pushed them over the edge. And what if I WAS bad? What if I DID deserve it? I am so ashamed. Feel so dirty. Tainted. Repulsive. I was hard work for my mum which is why she had to go out so much, maybe that was my punishment? I blame myself. I was old enough to stop it. I should have stopped it. Urgh. Fuck. And in regards to my foster brother and his friend? I don't know what I did there. But I must have done something. I MUST have been bad for this to happen not only once, but twice. I can't live like this. Every day it's there. I sleep as little as possible, because of the nightmares. I have flashbacks, where it feels as if I am RIGHT there, back there, with them. And.. in a couple weeks it's the date of when the rape happened. It happened years ago but the date still terrifies me. That date, and the date of when the stuff with my grandparents happened are the two worst days of the year for me. But shouldn't I be over it by now? Is it my fault? I really think it is, and that's killing me. I'm sorry for this long post. I'm so sorry. Urgh. I hope it made sense. I probably missed out some of it, but I can't think properly.. kind of freaking out. I'm sorry.