Harold Glen Hull

My name is Harold Glen Hull and I am a survivor of sexual, physical and emotional abuse as a child. I prefer to be called Glen. I was born three months premature in February 1954 with a twin sister. My twin, Carol Lynn passed away three hours after birth. She weighed less than a pound and I weighed less that two pounds at birth. I spent several months in the hospital fighting for my life with doctors and nurses keeping me alive. When I was released from the hospital my mother wanted nothing to do with me. My mother’s mind snapped when my sister died. She never held me or bonded with me as her child. My father and family members tell stories about how I was too small of diapers and clothes so they slipped me into his socks to keep me warm. I was kept in a dresser drawer to sleep in since I was too small for a crib. My mother had given me up to die and she refused to take care of me. She told everyone that I should have died like her little girl had and that she wished I had of died instead of my sister. 

From the moment I was born my mother neglected me. She refused to take care of my needs as an infant and other family members did shifts taking care of me. I laid in soiled diapers and clothes most of the time. My aunts would come by to clean me up and to take care of me. My mother had a very violent temper that she took out on her siblings and other family members. When I was a toddler my mother started tormenting, physically and emotionally abusing me. She would slap me or throw me around the room. Her anger and abuse turned into choking and beating me whenever she was angry about things. My father went to prison when I was 3 or 4 years old. Without him in the house she started physically abusing me everyday. Mom made it clear that she hated me and that she wished that I had of died instead of my sister. My mother with held food from me when she was angry which was most of the time. I was not allowed to live with the rest of my family. I never was allowed to watched the television, eat at the table with my brothers or play outside with them. From my earliest memory I was forced to sit in a corner, in a closet or in the basement away from my family. My mother fed me oatmeal or rice whenever she did feed me. I learned early in my childhood to steal food from the trash or from the pet dog in order to eat. As I got older, I stole food out of people’s trash cans to eat. I was not allowed to drink water inside the house. So I drank from mud puddles or the toilet. I was told throughout my childhood that she wished that she could kill me if she could get away with it. From my earliest memories I never had a room or bed to sleep in as a child. My mother forces me to sleep in the bathroom in the tub with the dirty clothes and diapers of my brothers. When ever she could get away with it I slept outside with the animals. In one house I slept on a front porch that was exposed to the elements and weather. In Yakima, WA the winters were very cold and I slept on a rotten mattress. There was an open cess pool in the front yard where rodents lived and they would come out at night. I would curl into a corner of the porch trying to keep them off of me at night. They would crawl through the mattress and whatever blanket I had for covering. In another house I lived outside under the house in a open dirt cellar. Again there were rats and other rodents that crawled under the house at night. In every house I can remember with the exception of one I was outside day and night. I seldom had any bedding and what I was given was filthy and filled with maggots. I was so terrified and abused that I wet the bed every night. Rodents lived in my mattress and would bite me at night. I would sit up crying fighting them off of me. When I was 5 years old my father left my mother without telling anyone. His own family didn’t hear from him for many years. 

 

Once my father left my mother the physical and emotional abuse got even worse for me. Every day I was physically beaten by my mother. She got great pleasure seeing my pain and fear of her. She encouraged my brothers to abuse me whenever they wanted to do so. Many times she forced me to wear a diaper around the house even though I was around 6 at the time. When she changed one of my younger brother’s dirty diapers she would rub it in my face. It didn’t matter if it was wet or soiled she would rub it in my face or put it over my head. I was not allowed to remove it or I would get a beating from her. She got great pleasure doing her abuse in front of her friends. She would make comments about me being not being a big boy and she was making me her little bitch. My mother was very verbally abusive and told me every day that I had killed my sister at birth so that I could life. She beat it into my young mind that I was ugly and a killer. That no one cared about me otherwise someone would stop her from abusing me. Fear was my constant companion as a child. I never knew when my mother or one of my brothers would strike out at me. My mother would hit me from behind where I could not see her before I was struck by her. She would hit me with her fist, open hand or whatever she happened to have in her hands when she got angry. One of her favorite ways of torturing me was by grabbing me between my legs and squeezing as hard as she could to make me cry from the pain. I would jump from the slightest sound and I would spin around if someone was behind me. As I said earlier fear was the one emotion that controlled me and my life as a child. Yet fear also kept me alive. It was my fear that gave me an edge to stay alive. Fear taught me to be on constant alert and be ready to move in an instant if I needed to to avoid my mother. The hardest emotion for me as a child was being alone most of the time. I would sit for hours in the hallways or wherever mom put me bored because I was not allowed to move or play with my brothers. I was never allowed to talk, read or play with anything most of the time. Even though I was not wanted by my mother I still had a terrible desire to belong to the family.

 

When I was 10 or 11 years old I was raped and sexually abused for the first time by a man. We were living in Roosevelt a suburb of Seattle. Two men moved in next door to my mother's house. Hank was in his mid twenties and Richard (Dick) was in his thirties. To us boys they were exciting and men we could look up to right next door. I had grown up with men in and out of my mother's house. Neither of the guys next door showed any interests in her other than being friends. Dick had worked in the rail yards moving trains and rail cars around for the railroad. He coupled and uncoupled railcars to trains as they were needed for loads. One time as he was uncoupling a railcar the train slipped and rolled backwards. Dick was trapped between two railcars smashing his lower body. When they had moved in next door Dick was still healing from his injuries. Being curious my brother and I wanted to know what happened to Dick. Dick told us that his butt cheeks had been torn off and his pelvic had been smashed. Hank took care of Dick changing his bandages and cleaning up after him. As kids we did not know that they were two men living together as a couple. Within a few weeks of them moving in next door Hank started doing inappropriate touching with my brother and I whenever were at their house. Hank would fondle me or follow me into the bathroom. Hank would drop my pants and hold my penis while I was peeing. Hank told me that it was to make sure I was peeing in the toilet. When I was done peeing Hank would shake my penis . After awhile when Hank followed me into the bathroom he would make me watch him as he peed and wanted me to hold his penis. After the first rape I tried staying away from Hank and the house next door. I knew my brother was still going there and what he was doing with Hank because he would tell me about it later. Several times he tried to make me do the things Hank had done to me but I fought him. Once I got up I beat the hell of of him.

 

Somehow Hank convinced my mother that she should leave me with Dick and him when she was away from the house. Mom would leave me with people if she was doing something fun with my brothers because I was never allowed to have fun. When my mother left me with Hank I ran away the first time so he watched me very closely when she left me there after that day. Hank would argue with Dick when I was left there. Dick was jealous and he knew that they could get into trouble if anyone found out. Hank would yell and scream at Dick threatening to throw him out of his house. These fights scared me because yelling and screaming meant I was going to be beaten.Then one day Hank violently raped me. Hanks laughed and told me that I had a sweet tight ass. I crawled into a corner and cried from the pain. Hank would rape me many times after that night. 

I was taken out of my mother's home when I was 12 years old. I was made a ward of Washington State and put into Briscoe's Home for Boys in Kent Washington. In the boys home we were physically and sexually abused by the clergy and the older boys. As a young man I was very violent and I hated the world. I tried to end my life several times. I put myself in constant danger trying to get killed. I fought in gangs thinking that someone would beat me to death. When I joined the Army in 1972 I wanted to go to Vietnam so that I could die in combat. I was never sent to Vietnam and I never faced combat in 30 years of service. In the Army I received counseling and learned to work through my pain and emotions. I was encouraged by a very dear friend to write my story in a manuscript. The process was very painful but in the end my pain and emotions were gone. In 1981 I left my body and I walked with God. I felt so much love and peace while I was with God. I did not want to go back to my body but I was told that I had not completed my life's journey on earth. That I had gone through the abuse to help other people who were suffering from abuse. I begged to stay but I was asked to return to my body. Once I did return to my body I never looked at life in the same way. I was at total peace within my own body. I struggled to understand what had happened and I spent years fighting my ministry of helping other survivors. In the Army I was called upon to speak with children and young adults who had been in abusive homes and families. After sharing my story in the groups and having it written about in the base paper I realized that I could actually help other childhood abuse survivors in their recovery by giving them hope and encouragement through my story. Today I have a Facebook page and a closed group where I mentor, inspire and help my fellow survivors. I love being an advocate for survivors of child abuse. I know how they feel because it happened to me. Every person is important to me and I work very hard in helping my fellow survivors. 

Harold Glen Hull
CSM, USA (Ret) 

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