My mother had met him after my father died (I cannot stand her now because of this). I was only three and she brought this strange man into our home. My mother was a teacher so every time she left I was there alone with him. That is when he had his chance to molest me. I have never talked open about this so it is hard to put into detail. I am really just wanting to get this shit out of my head and hopefully someone out there will understand. Not only did he molest me, but he beat on me all the time. This went on from the age of 3 1/2 till 9. I am now 23. I always prayed that I would never be alone with him because I knew he would do these things to me. I went to school with tattered clothing and bruises all over my body and face. I recall being made fun of all the time and this man had so much power over my mother that she did not take care of me anymore. I had to take care of myself. He told me that if I ever told anyone about this he would kill me, but I am still alive and that is the one thing he could not take away from me. I have more to write, but I can't handle it right now.
Me and my best friend brittany have lived across the street from one another for a long time so we know like all of each others family. Well Brittanys cousin came over and he was 14 two years older than i was at the time. I thought he was pretty cute and had a little 12 year old crush. Well me and Brittany were going over to my house to watch a movie because my mom and dad were over at Brittanys house with her parents. I asked Brittanys cousin Chad to come over with us if he wanted to watch a movie he said ok. I was so excited. While we were watching the movie i was staring at him a little bit and he noticed, and so did Brittany so she took me aside and said do u like chad and i was like yeah kind of. She said ok well im gonna go home and change and stuff and give ya'll some time to talk and get to know one another. I didnt think anything of it. So she left and me and chad were alone. We just talked for like 10 minutes. then he asked me where my room was. I showed him my room. He locked the door and i was thinking what he was doing but i didnt say anything. He pushed me down on my bed and pulled down his pants. I asked him what he was doing and he said dont worry i wont hurt u...that much. I started to scream but no one was around so no one could hear me. He started to get down on me and he pulled down my jeans and started putting his penis in my vagina i was crying and screaming so he covered my mouth. Once he was done he got his clothes back on and left me in my room full of tears and went across the street where brittany was. Brittany came back over 10 minutes after Chad had left me and saw me in tears. She kept asking me what was wrong and i finally told her all that had happend. I told her not to tell anyone. We went over later that night once Chad had gotten picked up from his dad. Brittany told her mom what happened about an hour after we got there. Her mom told my mom. I got so mad at her and went home. My mom came over to talk to me and told me not to be mad because what Brittany did was for me. We called the police that night and i got tooken to the hospital to get checked. Nothing was wrong with me. I filed a report on him but they didnt have enough evidence so they dropped my case. Im now 13 and its only been a year and im still dealing with what happened and i probaly will for the rest of my life.
am the oldest of four children (now all adult). My mother was never able to learn to love me. She said in her family they only loved the younger ones. She gave my father free reign to do whatever he chose to do to me. He liked an audience. When he beat me, she would gather the other children in her arms and watch him. I was beaten because I was the oldest, because everything was my responsibility reagardless of who did it. My mother blamed me for them "having" to get married. She was pregnant with me and "had" to get married. She basically hated me. She gave me enemas in front of the family all of my until I left home at 16. There was the audience again. My father beat me at Disneyland at age 16 in front of the Peter Pan Pirate Ship. People passed by as if nothing was happening. No one noticed, no one helped. He had his audience.
The only time there was no audience was when he choose to sexually abuse. Then he had a carefully planned. He did it "for my own good" "To teach me how not to get pregnant". He used a vibrator on my other sister when she was age eleven. I don't know how he justified that. They have agreed between to keep it a secret.
When all these memories came flooding back to me and I was in therapy finding out what exactly it was called, I wrote them. I thought they loved me, that they would be sorry. They verbally attacked me. I was crazy they said. I felt like I was going crazy. I couldn't believe the family I thought loved me would react like this.
Before therapy I thought all families were like this. All children were beaten and touched and abused. All children had cold, frigid, unloving mother who enabled and abused sexually themselves.
I separated myself from my family then for about 20 years. This last few years I re connected with them. It was difficult. I had convinced myself I had not given them the chance to show me how they felt. My father is elderly, I thought he might be sorry and feel love for me.
He professed the love, but has no remorse. His conversations are about lies and how he has re-written history of our family. He makes excuses about the abuse. He has a clear memory. The secrets are still kept. I saw a monster. He acted "nice" but I saw the monster. I saw the person who did the monstrous things to me. I was emotionally sick after that last visit, but it was validating. It enabled me to give up on the fantasy of loving parents. It showed me how healthy I was. I had body memories which told me things were true.
This year I had colon surgery. Why, the doctors said, there is evidence of child sexual abuse. How much more validating than that can one get. Actual proof. Things I didn't remember, proved. I am sane, I did tell the truth.
My family is still in denial and gathers around protecting my father from the "truth". They still take their young children and grandchildren over to take naps with Grandpa. They cling to the denial as if it is gospel. They are not motivated to change any more than he is. They get little prizes for going over there and money and sometimes a car. They sell themselves and their children out for greed. My sister says it is because the Bible tells her to "honor thy mother and father". Would God want a sexual predator of children to be honored. I don't think so. It is more denial.
I don't have contact with any of them now. I want to be free of them. I don't want to hear their names of know how they live or whom they have hurt. I don't feel the rage or hatred any more (I call that forgiveness). It just came with time. I do wish they would die. I wish it would end. I feel safer because I practice feeling safe every night before I go to sleep. It has taken me years to feel safe. I wish they would die because I believe the world and the children of it would be a safer place.
I believe my father has hurt other children that no one knows about. I believe he is capable of that. I have memories of that. I believe he is an evil person and it is too bad he has never, ever had to suffer any consequence to his actions other than my speaking out. I warned my sister to protect her grandchildren. I warned the social worker not to send my niece to stay with them because of the danger to her. I've done everything I can.
The violence, the sexual abuse, the intrusiveness to my body and mind, the brainwashing, the ritualistic audience requiring behavior, all signs of mental illness, are vivid in my mind because I have PTSD. But, I am a fighter. I WILL survive them. I am determined. I have changed myself to never be like them. I trust my gut feelings to recognize other danger situations. I have come a long way. If I am their reject, it saved my life. What didn't kill me, did save me. I escaped being like them. I am on the road to health and sanity. I know if my father attacked me today he would have the fight of his life on his hands. I would damage him. I would hurt him. I would fight back. I prayed for so long when I was that little girl that I had only been able to stop that hand from coming down with that board in it or whatever his tool of the day was. Now I know I could grab that hand and claw and fight my way out of it. I might get hurt, but there would be a painful consequence to him for doing it.
