This story is very edited because I don't as yet, feel safe enough to put everything on the web that happened to me, but I am a survivor of satanic ritual abuse and I have dissociative identity disorder as a result of the abuse.

I was born in May of 1970. I am the oldest of two children. My sister is two years younger than me. I can't remember what age I was when the abuse started, but it went as far back as I can remember. My parents and immediate family were involved, as well as others at big meetings.

At the age of eight my dad died. I was devastated, but coped by pretending it hadn't happened. He did hurt me, but I believe it wasn't all his choice. I miss my dad and I miss the fact that we didn't get to have an adult relationship. My way of seeing him will always be through a child's eyes. I didn't have to just deal with his death, but with moving house and area because the house came with his job. So within three months my world was turned upside down. I remember when
I started my first day at my new primary school I went up to the teacher and told; her my dad had just died. Everyone thought this was strange and that I didn't care about my dad. I did, but I couldn't cope with people asking me about him, so I told them before they could ask me.

By the time I started secondary school at the age of eleven I was just so shy. Academically I was well behind for my age. Indeed I didn't learn to read and write until I went to secondary school, and was always in the remedial section of the school. I was badly bullied by the other kids because I was so shy. I hated all of my time at secondary school, but hated home much more.

My home life has deteriorated so much too. I was hurt at least twice a week. At the age of fifteen, I took my first overdose. I had just had a baby girl who was born and died at the hands of my abusers. I ended up in hospital having my stomach pumped. We were assigned a social worker who came to do family therapy to discuss the problem; which was me! I was never asked if I was been hurt but when I read my social work file as an adult for when I was a child it said they thought something was going on, but didn't have enough evidence! I'm sorry but I don't think they looked too hard!

My mum died in 2001. I hadn't seen her for years before she died, which I regret. I regret the fact that we didn't get a chance to put things right between us. Whatever she was like she was still my mum and I loved her.

I left home as soon as I could. I entered the adult psychiatric service at eighteen and fourteen years later I'm still there. I've had various diagnosis's over the years. I am presently getting good mental health care after years of non-treatment.

I'm also now in therapy with a therapist who is giving me the chance to turn my life around. She listens to my story and the pain and helps me to make some sense of it all.

Despite abuse my heart will go on beating, it will go on reaching out to others, and seeing the good in the world. Abuse has had devastating effects on my life, but one day I will turn it around. It's not easy, but I will do it.

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.”
~ Kahlil Gibran

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