A Stranger In the Mirror

Hi all,

Today's subject is how the abuse changed me as a child, and how it made me feel. Once again, it has not been taken from, Losing the Hate.
Stranger in the Mirror
My earliest memories are of Mum and Dad. I have no recollection of my real mother, or the problems I faced as a baby.
Due to my natural mother's drug abuse, i was born with one leg shorter than the other, and the doctor's told my foster parents' that it would be very unlikely if I'd ever walk properly.
There are quite vague visions in my head of having to wear a special boot to bed, but it's all very cloudy.
At the age of four the authority decided that it wasn't in my best interest to be reunited with my mother, and so I was put up for adoption. I was unaware that my foster parents' were soon to become my real parents.
The adoption was complete in 1972, and the following six years were some of the best in my life.
We had two weeks holiday every year, and Christmas' were just the greatest. Every member of the family treated me as if I'd always been around, and the love which I recieved was unconditional.
After the abuse began, I went from being a happy-go-lucky child to an angry brat. There was no inbetween; it was like the tranformation occurred instantly. I swore at everyone, smashed things, and even began stealing from my mother's rent tin.
It was as if there was a demon living inside of me, and with each new day, it seemed to grow. My body started to feel like it was going to explode, and each time I looked at myself in the mirror; there was a stranger staring back at me, and I hated him.
My skin crawled, my head pounded, and I detested every aspect of the world around me. As much as I hated myself, I felt a compulsion to lash out at my parents, and the hatred that i had for myself, soon spread towards them too. And yet their only crime was to love me.
All of the negative emotions i was experiencing merged into one, and the more thay bubbled away, the more angry I became. The memories of the holidays we used to share as a family were locked away behind lost doors which my mind had placed out of my reach. The days out in the lorry with my dad during school holidays were over; days that I used to enjoy so much.
These feelings followed me everywhere, and their wieght on my shoulders was a burden I carried alone.
The predators that abused me had not only destroyed me, but my family too, and those years were never recaptured again.
I'm pleased to say that, as I grew older, I did repair the pain and hurt I had caused my parents, but it wouldn't be until many years later that they would find out about the abuse.
Nowdays, I'm really quite vain, and the stranger in the mirror no longer stare back at me.
Cheers Guys an' Gals

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