Trauma: from child to adult

Part 2: Sexual Abuse

Going on from part 1 from my childhood memories…

All I can do is begin with what I know. I was sexually abused by my then oldest step brother.

In the beginning, he would come into my room while I was asleep. I would wake up to him touching me. Not on my leg, not my arm, not big toe for that matter. But in my private area.

I was numb, like trying to process what’s happening. Do I scream? Do I kick? I don’t know. That’s not something that I was taught as a young child that I remember at least; If this happens, then do this.

I eventually told my mom. Because I wanted it to stop. I wanted him to just Leave me alone! Stop thinking that you were some how given permission to do what you wanted.

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t stop. Even after me telling. He for some reason thought he was invincible. That he could orchestrate some lie or something of why he was in my room. He even went as far as doing it while I was sleeping downstairs, in our “den”, while our parents bedroom was right there. Maybe 3 feet away, was their door, across from the “den.” As well as when an uncle was staying with us upstairs, which is why I would be in the den. But it was like He HAD NO FEAR OF BEING CAUGHT. He had no worry. Like he was just invincible.

Why won’t you stop? Why won’t you leave me alone? JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!
I’ve kicked him, I’ve hit him, I’ve yelled at him to go away, but he still always came back.

Of course, he would just deny it. Because, let’s be honest, he’s always been a disgusting compulsive liar. But I guess you’d have to be to be so disgustingly disgusting.

I got a lock on my bedroom door. Did that stop him? Nope!

Every night I laid there, waiting to listen for any sound, to make sure there wasn’t anyone awake and coming in. Not even a creek. Because if there was nothing, that had to of meant everyone, including him, was asleep. So I should be OK. I should be SAFE. To just sleep.

It always seemed that when I would finally drift to sleep, there he was, at my door again. So it became a habit to just not sleep.

A lot of times I slept during the day and took naps because I would be up all night just laying there. Looking out the window, watching the shadows of the trees that were outside, sometimes I could see the stars too if the sky were clear. Sometimes I would just turn some music on and cry all night. I felt so alone. I felt so confused. Helpless. I felt shame. Self hate. I definitely didn’t feel like I was just a child living a child’s life. That was stolen from me. My feeling of safety was completely shattered.

I remember him somehow finding a key to my door and then got it taken away. I remember him even being caught outside my door, with the excuse “I was just checking to see if she was ok.” Ok for what? Ok from you? I remember laying there under the blankets on my bed literally watching the door handle jiggle as he tried to yet again get in. Praying to God PLEASE, don’t get in here. Please just go away!

He would take things to try to use to unlock the door and come in. And there were times he was successful. There was times I ran to my door and slammed it back shut. sat on the floor and pushed the hardest I could to keep my door closed, and then lock it again.

I had a big walk in closet, then another ordinary small one. During this time, I thought it was a little funny to make my closet into a little “room.” At first it was just to do it to be funny or bored, I don’t know. But it became another security door for me. I thought well, now you have two doors to go through, if you know where I am that is. I was in the big one first, because let’s be honest, lots of room. But then I went to the small one. I put my TV in there, my pillows and blankets. (Yes my tv, at this age back then we had the small little box TVs) I would draw or write or whatever in there. Sometimes that’s where I napped at if I was tired. If my mom couldn’t find me, I was in the closet most likely. Sometimes she couldn’t even find me. So I thought to myself that this was my space. My space of peace. But even then, I didn’t feel safe.

I stayed at my childhood best friends house I spoke about previously as much as I could. It was a getaway. A safe place. He wasn’t there. So it was safe. I remember that it was always so quiet there. Like you could hear a pin drop. So peaceful.

This just continued and continued. It was mentally exhausting. It was never ending. It was absolutely traumatizing! Tormenting. I didn’t feel like it was ever going to end. Like anyone was ever going to make it end.

This is what my childhood consisted of. But I knew this couldn’t be normal, right? That this couldn’t be how everyone lives. Because this doesn’t happen at any other house I stay in, right? For years I was tormented, confused, scared, hurt, afraid, and felt silenced.

though, that’s not where my story ends…

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