As bad as the physical and emotional abuse was, there was something else going on, meted out by Mother herself, which she saved for special times.
By: Rose Marie Abrams
….. It was here that the introduction to the foster mother, whom I would know as Mother, began. From the first day, Mother took control of me. At first, Mom was not allowed to hold or feed me, and over the next few months, she was forbidden to bathe, change, or dress me. The frilly little dresses that she had brought for me to wear were thrown out, and instead, I was forced to wear the hand-me-downs that came from Mom’s own toddler days. Eventually, I was no longer allowed to be in the same room with Mom for fear that I might bond with her. I was isolated from the rest of the family because Mother wanted me to recognize only her. She was to be the only Mommy in my world, and I was to bond by force with her alone.
In order to achieve this “bonding,” Mother used sadistic ritual abuse from the first day I was at The Farm. Under the guise of giving me a bath, this person who insisted she was my mother would plunge me into ice-cold water. She would also pour water over my head, causing me to choke and gag. If Mom tried to intervene, then I was pushed under the water and held there as punishment.
No one was allowed to bond with me, as Mother made it known that I was hers, and hers alone. No one included Daddy, but that did not stop him from playing with me and showing interest in me. He seemed to be happy to have me in the house and would go right to my crib when he came home from work in the evening to spend time with me. As I grew, he also began to read to me despite Mother’s insistence that I belonged to her. It was those early experiences I held onto through the years, as they were the only signs of love and approval I felt I had.
In spite of the time and attention Daddy gave me, no one came forward to protect me from Mother’s rages, with one exception. The only creature in that house with the courage to shield me from Mother was the family dog, a large German shepherd named King, and even his attempts proved to be fatal in the end. King was a one-man dog. He had only one owner, and that was Daddy. From the beginning, King would sleep beneath my crib. It was as if he knew what was happening and took it upon himself to try to guard me. He would not allow anyone to come near me, especially Mother. I don’t know how long this went on for, but one day King disappeared from the house. He was later found—dead. Someone had shot him.
As bad as the physical and emotional abuse was, there was something else going on, meted out by Mother herself, which she saved for special times, otherwise known as changing time. She was bound and determined to see to it that I would never become a woman or enjoy the act of sexual intercourse if I lived to adulthood. From almost the first day I arrived at her home, it became her ritual to inflict physical pain in the genital region by inserting diaper pins and other objects into my vaginal and anal areas, in effect both raping and sodomizing me. She did this under the guise of cleaning me, but the results were still the same. That is right, Mother, raped and sodomized me as a defenseless infant. She was very careful not to leave any marks behind so that no one would suspect a thing; after all, she had had years to perfect her craft with the other foster children. Since I was now “hers,” she could do whatever she wanted to me, and no one could stop her. Social Services would not protect me, as they were only concerned with the foster children in the home. Anytime my birth mother did anything to upset Mother, Mother attacked me. One of the reasons she used the sadistic torture was to keep my mother in line and to show her that if she did not obey her, I would suffer consequences.
The book Pieces of Me is a memoir not just of a woman’s early experiences, but of her message of hope for survivors.
About the Author:
Born into a familial cult to a single parent, Rose was taken from her birth mother at the age of 3 months by the woman who was considered the Matriarch of the Family to be raised as her own. From infancy until she left the Family at the age of 22, Rose was subjected to unspeakable abuse, however to the outside world she appeared to be a normal child and later teenager. It was only when she was reunited with her birth mother at the age of 29, did she begin her journey towards finding out the truth and ultimately healing and wholeness. Pieces of Me is her memoir not just of her early experiences, but of her message of hope for survivors. To learn more, visit www.mynameisrose.com or purchase her book here: www.amazon.com/dp/