Ok, so it’s been a while since I touched on the subject of growing up…but here goes…
“Chapter 2” Making a dragon….
So, I’ve spoken here about abuse a bit.
The truth is a bit hard sometimes…but..here goes.
When I was 5, mom married my step-dad, I hated him on sight.
I know what you’re thinking, every kid hates their step-parent at first. This was different. There was a vibe about him that I don’t think any of us kids liked. He just seemed “off” to me. As I’ve said before, I have a horrible sense of time and history, but somewhere around the beginning of the 1st grade for me, Mom and “Dickhead” went to jail for some bad checks.
My sister and I went to live with his brother and his brother’s wife while the two of them were in jail…”Dickhead” got out first. He started visiting me and my sister pretty regularly. One day, he pulled me into the bathroom, no one else was home. He had some butter on a rag…I was 6..I had no clue, but what was about to happen changed everything.
You’re not gonna like this..and if you’re squeamish, stop reading now.
He basically used the butter as lube and jacked himself off with my thighs…I don’t remember it, not really, not details thank god…but yeah. I remember him telling me it was “our secret” and that I helped him that day, and would I mind helping him sometimes…I was terrified of the man…and confused..and just nodded silently. He washed me up, and sent me for a nap.
That was just the beginning of hell for me…of the next 7 years, things escalated, from him doing “our secret” to where we would go for car rides and pull off to the side of the road to do so. He started being a bit threatening about it, because I started questioning what we were doing. By the time I was 8, I knew what sex was, I had an aunt who was very open about it.
When I was 10, he started asking if he could “put it in a lil bit”..he had graduated to the point of where he was actually doing everything but…he had moved upwards a bit from my thighs over the years, to the point of where it was slightly painful, and I would complain that he hurt me from time to time. He’d look disappointed, but he’d stop and make me swear once again not to tell anyone.
When I was 11, he actually raped me in our hotel room. I don’t know how the maid didn’t know what happened, there was blood on the sheets the next morning…but somehow he got away with it.
He continued to do so for the next 2 years, and I would threaten to tell someone. He never said that they wouldn’t believe me, like I’ve heard some do…instead he went straight for the jugular, and told me that if I didn’t do it, he’d do it to my gramma…he knew just where to hit me emotionally to shut me up, no one ever meant more than my gram to me.
I know you’re wondering, what finally stopped it. I’m a lil ashamed to this day to admit, it took him doing oral sex and me actually orgasming to realize that it needed to stop…I was 13, it’s been 34 years, and it still shakes me to admit that it happened. In fact, this is the first time I’m admitting it publicly…ever.
Skip forward two more years. I was in a “children’s home” (I was a devil child in my teens). Someone, I don’t know who, one of my cousins finally stepped forward, and charges were pressed. I was confronted with my biggest fears…the secret was out…
I tell everyone that I had my first “mental break” at 25…but that’s not true. I remember screaming at my reflection in the mirror after they asked me if he touched me. I screamed at myself to admit it into the mirror…and y’all..I swear my reflection laughed at me, told me I couldn’t admit it, that I would always be his little whore, and I enjoyed it.
I had several episodes like that over the next year…yeah…fun times.
Anyway, within a month after it all coming out…a couple of the boys from the home cornered me and gang raped me…smh, that’s the first time I have admitted that one too.
I went home after nearly a year there, only to go home to find that my brother, who I had worshipped for years, had a whole new attitude.
He would beat me, mercilessly, then when I’d call the cops, he’d use my sister’s make up kit to make fake bruises, and mom would stick up for him and they’d tell the cops that I hit him…..
That was the story of my life for the next 2 years…til mom kicked me out.
Foolishly, when I left my kid’s dad, I moved back home. My brother was still there…and it started all over again, every time she wasn’t home, he’d smack me, shove me, find something I did wrong and scream at me constantly.
I could go on…
But I really can’t right now…just know adult life hasn’t treated me much better….