Where it all went wrong...so terribly wrong

The only other abuse instances I really remember from the elementary years of my life besides the run away and jail incident (see my previous post if you wish) was my mom being so mad about something I did that she slapped me so hard I fell out of my chair. I was very young, it was at our house before we moved for good, so I had to have been 8 or younger. It was the only time my mother laid hands on me like that, what happened for the reminder of my time in my parents household would be left up to my step father.
Fast forward to 6th grade. The year the real abuse started. My baby sister (who was my step father and mothers child) was about 2 years old and I do believe this factors in somewhere but I wont address that today. Things had been pretty happy in the house, for the most part I very much enjoyed the relationship I had with my step father up to that point. He was a real dad to me, something that I had been majorly wanting for a long time.
So, I had always been bullied pretty hard in school but 5th through 6th grade was some of the worst. There was a group of boys who did everything in thier power to make sure that day in and day out I was miserable and made sure to gather up around me and let me know how stupid and ugly I was and how much no boy would ever want me. These boys were vicious and treated me like the scum of the earth. I tried to get adults to make it stop but it continued on and on till I began to feel less like a little girl and more like a cornered animal. Now keep in mind, I am on the spectrum (ASD) and had a lot of struggles socially because of this.
I started to hate those boys. Every day passed and the torment never stopped and no one did a thing to make it stop. I wished they could disappear or I could disappear. I started to hate myself and believe the things they told me. And as an autistic individual I had no way of expressing how much distress I was in. But I liked to draw ....
So...I drew. One of the boys in particular was especially nasty to me one day in class. I wanted to scream I was so done at that point. So, instead of screaming and making a scene I began to draw these horribly done stick figures, and labeled them all as either that boy or myself. One was me pushing him off a cliff, one was me welding a sword or something and slicing through like in the movies, and it went on like that across the paper though I don't remember each scene. But I calmed down enough finally to start to crumple the paper up to throw it away, not thinking much but as I went to do so the boy I had drawn about saw the paper, gave me a mischievous smile and said that he was going to tell the teacher. So I of course panicked, stood up and told the teacher I had to go to the bathroom right away, and went and tore the paper up and shoved it in the bathroom trash can.
When I got back to class everyone and the teacher was staring at me and the boy was standing next to the teacher. She figured what I must have done and marched me to the bathroom to collect the pieces.
And there in front of the entire class she made me tape each piece together until the paper could be looked at...and it all went haywire from there.
I was taken to the principal's office immediately, the campus police were called and honestly I was too terrified to even remember the details of what they said to me or anything. I mean, for Christ's sake I was 11-12 years old and terrified of my bully!! I was trying to cope the only way I knew how, I was never going to hurt anyone. I've never even been able to harm a mouse or literally anything.
They told my mother that if I didn't want to be expelled I would need to have a school approved therapist for a solid year (not like I wasn't in and out of therapy all my life) and also I would have to be put in a first offence class that I would have to attend all throughout the summer. I would come to find out that class was nothing but pill dealing kids and kids that had really hurt people and kids that sexually assaulted people. I was terrified just to be there.
This incident is when my step father started to abuse me. They were both so incredibly angry at me they couldn't even look at me. My step father immediately started me in on cleaning the house as punishment while he screamed in my ear the entire time and got in my face and backed me up against the counter so hard I was bending backwards at nearly a 90 degree angle.
He looks at the clock and hands me a rag. It's just after 5 o'clock...he demands I get down on my hands and knees and clean each tile of the kitchen floor spotless by 5:30 or I would regret it. So I got to work scrubbing and scrubbing until my little arms were shaking. I was about 3/4ths of the way through with maybe 10 minutes to spare, I'd get it done but it would be close....and he comes storming back in to scream more.
I guess it had just rained that day because I had some dried clumps of mud on my shoes. I was so terrified by how bad it was I ran to my mother and pulled her in the bathroom to show her.
She glared at me and asked me if I was going to go to school and show all my friends so they would have sympathy for me. And that she had zero sympathy for me.
I think that's when I broke, after the summer between 6th and 7th grade and dealing with the first offence class and therapy I was a whole different person. I went from wearing sparkly pink shirts with cute monkeys to wearing jet black and covering half my face with my hair. I began to self harm in the 7th grade as well.
That was the first time I was truly hit or hurt by my step father, but it was far from being the last or the worst of it. It also wouldn't be the last time I saw that giant paddle but instead it would be used to threaten smacking me in the face so I could call my boyfriend and break up with him.
This is the second part to my horrible story...I'm hoping that getting this out might bring me some piece so if you're sticking around to hear it I definitely appreciate you more than anything. It's not easy to talk about but I need to, so maybe I can let go....

I hope you are finding it helpful

sometimes all you need to do is vent

( I find that ttoo sometimes), which is why journalling proved really useful to me

I probably took it a bit serious- I called her "jackie journal", but the point is she (or it) was their for me, and their when I needed it

I'm sorry that you had to experience something like that. No one should have ever been treated that way.