The Journey Of An Abused Child Who Learned To Become A Healthy Adult

Acknowledgment Of The Author

This is an autobiography of my life as a child who suffered through many traumatic, life-changing events, and learned to heal from my trauma to become a healthy adult. I will be discussing many things that may bring back traumatic memories for those who have also suffered through abuse of any or many forms. I write this with the hope that other people will know they weren’t the only ones who went through traumatic experiences in their life. Please read at your own risk and hopefully this autobiography will be helpful to those who have gone through something similar and to those who have thankfully never did. This took a lot of patience, courage, and willpower to write this story. I still struggle with the belief that I should of just never posted this, but I believe for the sake of my mental health, it was best that I got this on paper instead of keeping this within myself.

Chapter 1: A Child’s Innocence

March 15, 1996 my mother gave birth to her third child ,me, a beautiful baby girl. We lived in a small single-family home, and small seems like an understatement considering the lack of space we always had. My older brother and I shared a room that only had so much room for the both of us. We always shared a bunk bed and it surprisingly lasted us for years until it was time for a replacement. My brother always slept on the top bunk since I had a fear of heights, but sleeping at the bottom didn’t feel any better because I also hated tight, enclosed spaces as well. However, I would rather be touching the floor when getting out of bed versus having to climb down a ladder. My older sister was still living with us as well, but in a few months she would be leaving home to get into her own place. My sister was the only girl I was interacting with and we only had a few girls that lived in the neighborhood that I wasn’t really friends with so I was always playing by myself or sometimes I’d interact with the other boys in the neighborhood.

The first memory I have of my first encounter with sexual abuse, I was only about four to five years old. I remember that day my paternal grandmother was babysitting my brother and I. My brother’s best friend eventually came over to play with my brother since he lived just down the street from us. My brother, his friend, and I were in our room, but I can’t really remember what exactly we were doing before my brother’s friend started doing things to me. I was on the top bunk and my brother’s friend was as well. All of sudden he decided to lift my shirt up and started licking my nipples. I didn’t know what was happening, and thought what he was doing was normal. I remember feeling very uncomfortable, but didn’t understand why. I looked down to see where my brother was and he had put in a VHS tape that was my dad’s into the VHS player to put on a movie. I realized later on it was an adult cartoon movie that had sex scenes in it. His friend finally stopped licking me for what seemed like forever to me, but only happened for a few minutes. He then proceeded to pull my panties off. Before he could do any more damage to me, my grandmother walked in to check on us. I don’t know if she scolded my brother and his friend, but all I remember was she took me to the bathroom to put my panties back on and told me “you have to keep your clothes on” to which I replied “okay”.

This was the day my innocence was first taken from me. I used to have nightmares about this day not realizing it was an actual thing that happened, but got buried in the back of my mind and memories. Looking back I realized how damaging that was to my subconscious mind as a child. They say the ages one to five is what will shape you mentally as an adult and honestly I believe it’s true. My grandmother didn’t explain anything about bad touch, good touch, and neither did my own mother. After that day I don’t remember my grandmother ever babysitting us ever again. My brother wasn’t allowed to have friends over unless my parents were home, but of course my brother didn't listen to my parents about that and still had his friends coming over anyways. Pretty much they ‘handled’ the situation by just not allowing certain people around without 24/7 supervision. As a mother myself, if I had a daughter I would've done things very differently. For example, I would tell my daughter that what happened to her was bad touch, and to tell anyone if someone was using bad touch on her. At the same time tell her what good touch is as well. I’d talk to the other kid’s parents/legal guardian about what has happened and tell the parents/legal guardian that he/she is not allowed in my home any longer because I value my own child’s safety. Lastly, set my daughter up for counseling so this experience doesn’t mess her mental state up too bad as she gets older. Even if this may have been a time where the boy was at the age of experimenting, I still believe it’s traumatizing to the person being experimented on. This situation was never resolved as it should have been and only allowed room for more abuse to happen to me and caused my parents to just shelter me.

Two to four years after that, I would experience another incident of sexual abuse by two family members. My mom allowed one of my cousins to stay with us due to his mother having her own personal issues that were affecting her children. I thought cool one of my close immediate cousins will be living with us and we were all going to have so much fun. Things were great the first few months he got there, sometimes his other siblings, and one of our other cousins would come over and we’d play a game called blindfold tag or just catch up on what we've been up to. However, one day he decided he had other plans when it was just him, my brother and I around and my parents were either gone or cooped up in their rooms. He wanted to play a game called cats and dogs since he knew I loved animals so much. I was the cat and he was the dog that was going to chase me. I was on all fours trying to crawl away and he crawled after me to which he ended up pulling my panties and shorts down and proceeded to say “got you” as he sodomized me with his own d*** in my a**. I told him to stop and tried to get away, but my cousin was two times my size so I was only able to get away when he was done with me. My brother was there, but he acted like nothing was happening and was playing his video games instead. I remember going into the bathroom and quickly taking a bath because I felt so filthy. I didn’t tell my mom and dad out of shame and guilt because I felt like I did something wrong, so I kept it to myself. Since I didn’t tell my parents, he kept doing it, my brother never intervened, in fact at one point he was encouraged by my cousin to join in, to which my brother had me sit on the couch while he, as they call it now, face f*** me with his boxers covering his d***. My cousin stayed with us for another month until my mom sent him back to his mom for skipping school, and not obeying her rules. I started wetting the bed again, which should have been an obvious sign to my mom since I was nine years old and was doing it almost every night. Three years later I finally told my mom after I was having trouble processing my trauma and felt restless due to having nightmares about it. My mom confronted my brother, got in his face, and asked him “what did you do to my baby?”. He didn’t answer to which my mother told him “I hate you” and walked away asking my dad to say something or talk to his son which my dad never did. He did the exact same thing my brother did when my cousin was raping me, sit there on his computer as if nothing was going on, like father like son as they say. My mom did apologize for telling him she hated him, hugged us and told us she loved us both.

My brother got mad at me for telling her, we never went into family counseling for it, nothing was done. I was made out to look like the bad guy for even saying anything. This was another incident that once again affected my innocence. I was the victim, but was made out to be the perpetrator. Where’s the justice in that. This is why many victims don’t speak up, they don’t know how the people around them are going to handle the situation, or they know-how they will and would rather keep the peace instead of seeking their own inner peace. This is how my innocence was stolen from me and how it will later affect my mental health from puberty up to adulthood.

Chapter 2: Puberty, Depression, And Wishing For An Early Death

After eight years of the first traumatic event, and four years after the other one, depression mixed in with teenager hormones hit me like a ton of bricks. Due to having unresolved trauma, my mental health was taking a toll on my teenage mind. I didn’t understand why I slept so much after school. I chopped it all down to my body still going through changes, since I already reached puberty at an early age of ten. I spent many days feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t understand why the people who said they loved and cared about me hurt me, and didn’t seek some type of help for me since I was just a child and didn't know what to do. I was going to be given an opportunity to get into counseling for the first time due to an incident that thankfully I never repeated.

I was about thirteen at the time, me and this girl were best friends at the time, but we sometimes would fall out for a while, and would eventually become friends again. One of the times she and I were not on good terms, I posted a status on my MySpace page about an incident that happened to her and it said something along the lines “maybe if you got punched in the nose again you wouldn’t be acting the way you do”. Her and her mother went to the principal with it and with evidence. I got called out of class not knowing what was going on. Soon as they told me, I broke down crying because I knew my ass was in trouble. The principal left me alone with the social worker and I told her about why I did it and what it all boils down to. I told her about the things I explained in chapter 1. She advised that I get into counseling, and that in order to do so I had to get parental consent. So I went home with the paper, and we had a surprise visit with another social worker. The social worker pulled me aside and asked about what happened and then the same with my brother. After that was said and done she advised my mom that we should no longer share a room. It was about time for that because I was a 7th grader sharing a room with a 11th grade high schooler. After the social worker left, my mom asked who told about what happened and me being scared of getting in trouble lied and told her my best friend did. I wish I was making this up but sadly it’s true, my mom said “she’s not your friend then”. I looked at my mom and knew she was never going to protect me ever, even if another incident like the ones mentioned happens again. This only caused me to shut my mom out and never talk to her about anything that was bothering me. Sadly I ended up having this habit all the way up to adulthood before seeking healing from my past. Well I did get permission to go to counseling and it helped me out tremendously. My counselor, who was also the social worker who recommended counseling to me, advised me to write in a journal. I did and it also helped, but I had to put a stop to it due to my mom starting to go through my things and read my personal journal and kept questioning me about what I wrote. On top of that my counselor ended up moving schools and I got assigned to another one who was not consistent with getting me into her office. Depression took over once again and the little help I got for my mental state was all, but gone. I once again felt let down by those who were supposedly helping me which led me back to shutting myself down to others.

Two years later, I was a sophomore in high school, and I was still struggling with depression amongst other things. My mother told me to focus on school and not to worry about them little boys. Don’t get me wrong I had a few crushes at school, but due to me being shy I never approached any of them which was probably for the best anyways. I went to school everyday with a smile on my face, but deep down I was screaming and crying for help. Nobody knew throughout my high school years I was silently struggling with depression. I’d go to school acting as if nothing was wrong, but go home and at night time ugly cry myself to sleep because I felt so alone in my struggle. I remember asking God many times to just let me die in my sleep. I don’t know how many times I prayed for it, but it’s obvious it never happened because I’m still here. I eventually told one of my teachers that I trusted that I needed counseling again and she pointed me to the right direction. At first, just like in middle school, it was consistent and helpful. Sadly once again it was short-lived. My counselor ended up on maternity leave and I was left with different counselors and inconsistency with seeing one. I gave up on counseling altogether after that, but at least this time my depression wasn’t as severe and was less impacting on me. I got through high school, graduated, and decided to attend college. I was still struggling with depression, but social anxiety took its place.

Chapter 3: Sexual Assault, and My Already Broken Relationship With My “Family” Broken Even More

If it were up to me, I’d do my young adult years of college all over again, and the one thing I’d change is I wouldn’t even go. So here I was, a new school year except, I’m eighteen and got to choose my classes, and I don’t know anybody but one person in my class. I remember my first day, I was so nervous and kept overthinking a lot of things, and I was trying to get to my classes on time. I was never good with approaching others so group projects sucked, and I hated speaking in front of the class. By my second year at city college, life once again threw me a curve ball. My sister and her husband, who is now her ex, were in the process of losing their house due to not being able to afford to pay their mortgage. My aunt invited them to come live in her apartment since it was a three-bedroom, two-bathroom. They were there for a couple months but due to my aunt charging them rent, my mom invited them to come live with us. I thought my sister coming back home to live with us even if it was only for a short time and my other brother would be perfect and It would be fun and wholesome. It was all good for the first couple of months, then things went downhill. My sister’s ex would ask me to print little flyers out for a book that he was trying to get published. I was like sure, I would be glad to help, you are family after all. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get the printer to operate so we couldn’t get anything printed. I got a text saying “hey thanks for trying to print my flyers” to which I responded “you’re welcome maybe I can try again tomorrow”. Looking back I should have seen this as a red flag for two reasons, 1. I never gave him my number, so he went out his way to find it on my sister’s phone, and 2. he could have told me what he texted me in person instead of over the phone. Now I thought that was the end of that. However, about a week later he texted me something inappropriate about something he wanted to do to my sister which is their business and was not meant for me to know. I ignored it and took it as he meant to send it to one of his homies because it’s something a guy would say to his homies, but was high and didn’t realize he sent it to me. Another few days go by and he sends me a text saying he’ll teach me how to drive but not to tell anybody. I was now getting suspicious and told him no thanks. I'll have my mom, dad, or sister teach me. By now I should have told my sister, but I was naive, and sadly the messages got worse from. He started asking if I was a virgin, and many other things. The only people I told were my cousins and they kept telling me to tell my sister, but I thought it was harmless, that they were just text messages that I was flat out ignoring. I told him to stop texting me altogether to which he did only for him to start coming on to me while I was sleeping. I didn’t have a lock on my door and I am a heavy sleeper so he could have literally raped me in my sleep and I wouldn’t have known. I remember waking up to him rubbing my ass and asking me for a kiss, I shot up and told him to get the fuck out of my room. I curled myself into a ball and wouldn’t stop shaking for at least five to ten minutes straight.

I didn’t tell my sister which I should have, but all I could think was I already know they’re not going to do anything about it due to how things were dealt with in my past. He kept doing it until one night I went to stay at my grandmother’s to get away, and he confessed the same night. Everyone knew, and the only person who got the most emotional support was my sister. Once again I was treated like a perpetrator instead of the victim that I was. One month later the only thing that changed was my locks and they let that predator back in the same house I was living in. Every night until my sister moved out with that man, he checked to see if my door was locked, and I was traumatized from hearing my door knob turned for a couple months even after they moved out. My sister stayed with him, brought him around me despite me expressing her not to, and having to go to church on Sundays with this man being there. She eventually divorced him two years after the assault, and apologized to me for it but the damage was already done. I wish I had the confidence and courage to have gotten justice for myself, and I wish my family would have been there for me more for all the incidents. This last incident only drew me further from my “family” and I will no longer be associating with them. I have a son of my own who shouldn’t have to be around people who didn’t use their power to protect his mother. I’m glad I’ll be moving out in a few weeks and no longer have to be around these people.

Chapter 4: Learning to Heal and Become A Healthy Adult

After everything I went through, I learned to stop feeling sorry for myself, and do what must be done to heal my inner child and become a healthy adult. It was the first step I had to take for me to learn to heal. I still struggle with being completely open to those I know I can trust, but it’s so hard due to issues I have faced and traumatized me. I had to learn to heal not just for my sake, but for my son, and all my relationships I would establish with people. I wish I had someone to tell me it’s okay if you failed this time, but get up and try again. To be there for me during the good and bad times. Last but not least, to guide me through this harsh reality we call life.

I love my parents dearly, but sadly they have left me unprepared to face the world outside of the rose-colored glasses perspective I was given. I had to learn to become independent and see how the world really is on my own. Now that I pay my own car note, bills, and now will have a place of my own, instead of being praised or given advice as a first time renter, my mom and family keeps finding ways to discourage me from leaving. My older brother barely leaves the house but I’m the one getting chewed out for wanting to get out the house. I always wanted to ask my mother “why do you always break me down when I’m trying to build myself up”. I just can’t ask her this because she might turn the conversation around to make it about herself. I’ll never understand how a mother can just allow their child to suffer so much mentally, emotionally, and physically and not do anything about it. Then expect the same child to be there for them when they get old, try to be their best friend, or wonder why they’ve been cut off. How I truly and honestly feel about the people who called me family is, I wish I had a better family. One that doesn’t enable abuse, who sits down and talks to their children and is there for them in many ways instead of one. Who puts up boundaries for both strangers and even people they know who likes or intentionally crosses boundaries. How can you preach about doing good unto others but can’t apply that to your own flesh and blood. I left religion due to it being a crutch to me. I saw that sitting around praying for a miracle was never going to get me anywhere, and that I gotta make things happen.

The things I’ve seen and questioned is something that made me realize if I do the things that my family didn’t do for me, this is what it takes to be healthy. I want my son to be raised in a healthy environment and in a better one than I was raised. I’m tired of the dysfunction, toxic, and unhealthy relationships. I’ve been beaten down, chewed up, and spit out by so many people I just wanted to die. I didn’t understand why I was treated so cruelly when I haven’t done anything wrong to people. And if I ever did wrong unto others I would like for them to tell me and ask for forgiveness and make sure it never happens again. However, that wasn’t the case, I was always blamed for the transgressions I went through by the transgressors. Seeing that I realized many people won’t take accountability for their own actions. I do take accountability for my actions past, present, and future.

I’m still healing as I continue to age and grow. My perspective on things are limited due to what I was taught to believe versus being encouraged to think for myself. I now understand that common sense and critical thinking is not only very important, but very crucial for me to have a better understanding of the things I will encounter throughout my lifetime. It seems I have so many questions and very few answers for those questions. I always wanted to know what my purpose in this world was and till this day I still don’t know. If it were up to me I’d avoid being brought into this existence because I see how cruel this life is to others and with so much evil, and corruption going on I would rather not be a part of such an existence. If realizing the reality of this world and situations I’ll eventually be in means I become healthy, then I say bring it on full throttle. I'm still learning to accept that the things that happened to me weren't my fault but I do have good days and bad days but this time around I'm able to cope better with it now compared to ten years ago. I hope the story of my life experiences will help those who went through something similar to know that you are not alone and don't be afraid to speak about it.