Hello! My name is Martha and I'm 19 years old. I want to tell you that I do believe that there are many happy stories about stepmothers. The stories about the kind women who came into the life of a child and took their mother’s place. But I didn’t get that lucky. My childhood was a nightmare because of my stepmother, and now, I know for sure, she only wishes me all the worst. So listen. I don’t remember my mother - she left my father when I wasn’t even three years old. As far as I know, another man was waiting for her, and I was not needed there. My father was a busy person, a top manager in a large corporation. He did not give me up for adoption, but he never had time to take care of me. For a while, he hired nannies for me, but it turned out to be an unfortunate experience for him - one of them broke something, the other ignored that it was cold and wet outside, and I caught such a severe cold that I ended up in the hospital. The third simply disappeared without warning... All this caused unnecessary concern for my father, who was busy with much more serious things — his work. So, at some point, when I was already four years old, he began to bring his work subordinate, Lorraine, to our house, so she could look after me. And soon he married her.
Lorraine already had two children - Stella, two years older than me and Bruce, my peer. I don’t remember how Lorraine treated me before, but when she became the mistress of the house, she suddenly began to hate me. There was nothing personal about it - she probably would have hated any other child in her territory. And .. and she did not limit herself.
But before I tell you how it was, I will answer your possible question: yes, my father did not notice what was happening in his family. He was fully consumed by his work, and once he had delegated caring about me to Lorraine, he stopped wasting his time and attention on his only child. I even think that he married her only to free himself from this responsibility. And I don’t know ... Lorraine probably knew it and hated me even more for it.
Her hatred showed in every little thing, every day. She always talked to me rudely and sharply. And she also knew how to talk to me so that I would start shivering from fear and begin to cry. If she touched me, she hurt me physically and at the same time, she clearly showed how unpleasant and even disgusting it was for her ... And she made me overeat. She made huge portions of tasteless and poorly prepared food especially for me and made me eat everything - my bowl had to be clean. I will spare you the details ... You just have to know that I was so afraid of Lorraine that I ate everything that was in the bowl, no matter how hard it was to pay for it in the bathroom later...
How many of you are now asking why I didn't fight back? I'll answer. Just imagine from the age of five, you are subjected to constant psychological ... and physical abuse. So you simply don’t know that life could be different. Yes, I saw that Lorraine treated her own children differently. But I was not her own child. Stella was copying her mother’s attitude towards me. And Bruce ... Bruce was the only one who was always kind to me. He tried to secretly give me his toys and sweets ... Once, I was struggling with nausea, sitting over a huge bowl of undercooked porridge - I couldn't push it into my mouth anymore, and Lorraine and Stella looked at it, smiling. Then Bruce burst into tears and shouted at his mother: “Stop torturing Martha!” I looked at him with horror - I understood that punishment was inevitable. And I was right: from that moment on, Lorraine became very cold with her son and soon sent him to study at a boarding school for boys. In the following years, I think, she visited him several times a year, but, of course, no one considered it necessary to tell me about it. Bruce's very name was some kind of taboo for me... I was left alone with my tormentors and an indifferent father...
…I had always had thick, beautiful hair, and another painful ritual was connected with it for many years. When I was still a baby, and Lorraine washed my hair, she turned this lovely caring procedure into torture with pain and humiliation. And she continued to do this when I was already grown up enough to wash my hair myself ... and even when I went through puberty. Yes, I was 13 years old, but Lorraine did not allow me to wash my hair myself, because she was the only one who decided when to do it. So, most of the time my hair looked disgusting and greasy. My head was unbearably itchy, I couldn't stop scratching at it all the time, and of course, my classmates teased me...
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