Debra A. Hocking - Speaking My Truth

family, and children being children had no problem in letting me know it. Ihated them for it, but there was nothing I could do. I very quickly inherited thenickname “gutterchild.” Again, there was nothing I could do.On my fifth birthday, I think there was a party for me, but then began an eraof abuse that took my innocence. My foster father began sexually abusingme, 1 and I was so scared. What was this man doing? Is this what fathers do?Maybe I have to do this, but if so, why did it make me feel so frightened? Thisabuse happened regularly. I did not tell anyone, I was so ashamed. I knew itmust have been wrong because of the sneaky way he set it up. I then lookedforward to going to school. Although I had to endure the cruel taunts, at leastno one touched me, and I was safe in that sense.The visits to the welfare office continued. I had to select my answers carefullyas my foster mother was always present and threatened me with punishmentif I said the wrong thing. How I wanted to tell them what her husband wasdoing to me. But I feared for my life. The welfare officers were scary, and Iknew they had the power to take children without saying why. At each timethey promised me that I would return to my family soon when they weresatisfied there would be no issues of neglect. I kept hoping month aftermonth, year after year that I would go home to where I belonged, no matterwhat the situation. Every Christmas I had only one request, to see my family.Year after year this request was denied. So I grew to hate Christmas and madedamn sure that those around me would not enjoy it either. Now, as an adult Ilive with feelings of guilt that I would do that to other people. Maybe one dayI will explain the cause of my selfish actions, and they might find forgivenessin their hearts.I was now about eight years old. My eldest foster brother started to showinterest in me, and not in a healthy way. My foster father was still abusingme, and now I had the two of them to deal with. I felt a sense of worthlessnessand disgust at what I was enduring. The many incidents of rape left mehelpless and hopeless, knowing there was nothing I could do. At times I wasthreatened with my life if I even thought of telling anyone.At this time my foster mother became erratic in her behaviour. She would getso angry, and if I was nearby, she would beat me for no reason, punching withclosed fists as if she were out of control. No one could stop her. Sometimes Iwould have to stay home from school until the bruising had subsided. At times,as I learnt from my files, meetings with welfare officers were cancelled, andthis aroused their suspicion. They kept a closer eye on this family. Althoughthese suspicions are detailed in my file, they were never acted upon. This abusewas to continue until I reached the age of thirteen.From Truth to Reconciliation | 281