I was 8 years old when I was first abused by my biological father when my family was living in Africa – Zimbabwe, in the late 1980s. He came into my room which I shared with my sister who was 4 years younger than me. He was intoxicated and got into bed with me after my mother had kicked him out of their room for being to drunk. He asked me to take my knickers off. This was wrong to me but I did as I was told because he was my father who I loved very much. I remember being touched but not much more. I’ve since been told that its quite common for children to block out memories of distress. The following morning I told my mother what had happened and that evening she told me later, that she confronted him and he had said he had been drunk and had thought I was my mother?!?! And he said it would never happen again. That was a lie and my abuse continued until I was 12 years old. I cant remember every incident. But I remember my mother asking me all the time has he touched you again and I always said no. I still cant get my head round why I lied to her but I did 🙁 I remember him asking me to perform oral sex and I really didn’t want to so to make it easier for me to do it he put strawberry jam on his penis! Most of the abuse occurred in the evening when everyone was a sleep and he would come and wake me up and take me from my bedroom and abuse me in our front room. When we moved back to England 1990. My mother broke up with my father and I had a small break from the abuse, when I say break I mean it wasn’t as often because he wasn’t living with us anymore but we still had contact with him. In 1991 we moved to the army camps in northern Ireland because my mother decided to try again with my father. I remember being told by my father that I wasn’t allowed any boyfriends unless he was allowed to abuse me still. I remember being taken into his bed where my mother slept and being abused while she slept. This one time she woke up and asked me and Raymond(father) what we where doing and he was able to convince her that I had had a nightmare and got into bed for cuddles! He used to treat me better than my siblings buying me teen magazines and chocolate bars. He was in charge of the community centre for a short while and used to take me down with him to help him close up but I had to perform sexual acts on him every time and I would be allowed a chocolate flake as a reward. Nearing the end of my abuse I went to see him at an aunts house round the corner from where we lived and he offered me £10 but only if he could put it down my knickers, so I let him. I remember he gave me an sti that I needed treatment for at the hospital and he made out to the nurse and doctor that I was a typical girl experimenting and again I said nothing, I was only 12 years old. I think my mother was too embarrassed to take me. My mother decided to file charges for the first molestation and my father didn’t receive any jail time but just a slap on the wrist from the army and was dishonorably discharged. Then one Thursday evening, I was in bed I was 14 years old. I decided to tell my mom that I had been sexual abused by my father for years which really upset her but she stood by what I said even though she grew so frustrated. When I couldn’t tell her what happened but it was because I was so ashamed and felt like it was my fault. So later in 1994, just before we were to move to Wales, my father killed himself. I think he couldn’t bare the thought of prison. After the abuse stopped, I became a problem child and caused my family great heartache. I became promiscuous and had no respect for myself. I really struggle with self worth on a regular basis still. My relationship with my mother was apparently very good before my abuse but i cant remember. Its an awful strained relationship now and in my youth my mother hurt me with vicious words when I wasn’t behaving very well. the one that remains vividly in my mind is when she tells me that I knew exactly what i was doing with my father years ago. that actually broke my heart and our relationship will forever be fractured.