My sister and I were at my grandmother’s house lying on a mattress that was placed on the floor. We were down on the mattress when uncle Jean walked into the room, inebriated - his breathe, reeking alcohol. I was only eight years old at that time and my sister was just four. He laid on the mattress with us at the bottom where our feet were positioned, with Vaseline in his hands. Curiosity wouldn’t let me be as I stare oddly at what he was about to do with the Vaseline. Few seconds later, I felt a sensation down my feet; uncle Jean was massaging my feet with the Vaseline. I remember him going up my legs and that of my sister’s too, but I can’t remember anything else from those filthy sessions. Years later, Tanya, my sister, came to consciously remember what had happened to her; she remembered being molested.
Well, as for me, this thing of the past isn’t for me to stress myself on. I don’t want to be depressed in the process of trying to remember who came and what happened. I am more focused on self-love and self-healing. I am not a victim, but a victor, a survivor, and a woman. I survived physical abuse, rape, molestation, drug addiction, bullying, self-harm, and mental illness – all of these while being a woman. I am writing a story about a woman, who any survivor or young girl can with grace, see a reflection and read an expression of themselves in.
From The Shadows
There was a time I was suffering from an untreated mental illness, and I was tormented by it for seasons. I didn’t realize that it made me my own biggest enemy; it turned me against myself. In my life time I’ve been in a constant battle with others because of this sickness of the mind. In all reality, the battle was within, but one thing was valid: I didn’t start the fight. Nurture and nature was the culprit. The hereditary genes and the trauma afflicted upon me was the beginning of the fight I will never forget - the fight for my life, literally. My mind was attacked, my body was harassed, and my existence was confronted. Today, I sit here, truly blessed with an enduring grace and abiding faith in the midst of these confrontations because I’m not where I used to be; however, I still have some uncharted territories to walk through in order to get to where I’m meant to be, and I know that grace will take me there.
The Storm Within
As a child, growing up was a nightmare because I was expected to push through like an adult would do, but I wasn’t an adult in the intellect of my being; I was but a child. At a young age I was verbally abused, bullied in school, molested and even raped! I couldn’t look back because I didn’t know how to, and even if I were to look back, I never knew what would have happened. I was strictly compelled to do only with what I saw and what I know. And while living in the heart of such an unfair state, was I expected to attain growth and then be productive? I had no idea what it meant for me to be a child; I was too busy being an adult, I was overprotective of my siblings, we were all we had while growing up in this atrocious world, they were like my children but I was just a little girl.
The Ruin Of Me
My mother must have been hurt at some point in her life and didn’t know what love was, she didn’t know how to love herself. She was aggressive, livid, cold-blooded, and she was hurting her own self in the process without even knowing it. So, when she had children she didn’t know how to love them. Her version of love was as sour as the taste of pain; it came with neglect, terrifying beatings and loud verbal abuse. Over the years, I was often told how much she loved me and my siblings when we were little. I guess I was too young to remember and she must have changed as much as I got older. Our mother was protective over us when it came to the outside world, and therefore raised us to stick together. Up until this day, we are all still very close - drinking from the same well of the ups and downs of life.
My mother use to run the streets and leave me with people she trusted. Unbeknownst to her, two of these trusted people molested me. One of them did it a few times and left me feeling disgusted and confused. At some point she left me in Brooklyn with my grandmother. At that time I was struggling academically due to the mental health and frequent tension I often suffer from, and I was being extremely bullied by some two girls I used to know in the past while I was in school. I had no one to talk to and no one to tell besides my little brother. Although he tried to help me, but as against his natural intellect, he was too naive to understand, and my grandmother was always at work or in one way or the other preoccupied.
Every day I faced those bullies and complied in terror, praying that it would just stop. I was exhausted and anxious from being scared. It didn’t end until school ended. I didn’t tell my mother or anyone about me being molested or about me being bullied because I didn’t have the confidence to, nor did I possess the communication tools that were needed to voice these things out. I was too scared to express myself. People have taken so much out of me at the time that it left me crippled, emotionally.
After school ended in Brooklyn, my mother took us into a shelter in Manhattan. We were there for some months. I was able to make a few friends, but unfortunately, I ran into another bully; an older girl named Emma, but this time I fought back! She came for the blows, so we fought. Poor me didn’t win, and she made my face look like shredded meat. During the fight I had a blank vision; all I saw was darkness. After the fight I hyperventilated so bad out of fear that I thought I was going to die. I wasn’t a trouble maker. I was that gentle little girl living next door and I didn’t like to fight; it was the abuse that transformed me. My innocence was stripped. I had had enough of it all. That fight broke my spirit and I silently vowed that the bullying was going to stop. At that point my mind also was breaking into pieces that I couldn’t collect.
The Tables Turned
My mother was extremely mad when she saw my face and began to teach me how to fight. Few weeks after that fight we moved to the South Bronx. I was ten and mentally ill by this time and the neighborhood was literally rough. My brother and I were older, so we would go out a lot while my younger sibling stayed back home. I wasn’t a trouble maker at all but the fighting did begin. I can say with all confidence that I have never bullied anyone, and my physical altercation was with bullies. I was here for them and so was my brother; we were out there together. You mess with one of us then you’ve messed with the both of us. For some reasons my brother was always being picked on by males who were older than him and he always fought like he was fighting for his life and he literally was. Whenever someone fought him, they were left with the memory of fighting with him because he fought hard and was very savage. I think when he was younger, being in a fight was his element because our mother was so aggressive with us and she herself was a fighter. When I fought, I fought hard as hell and I became good at it; no, I didn’t come to play. I fought bullies. I felt like a vigilante. I was trying to take back what was taken away from me in the prior years.
Carnal warfare had become a way of life for me; that was how I began to handle everything - fighting was all I knew. I didn’t have one healthy adult around me to teach me anything different or positive. Even the adults in the neighborhood were bullies. They talked about me and other unfortunate children while their own children were out there being bullies or thinking they were better than others, not realizing that they themselves are living in the same drug-infested area in rented stabilized buildings.
As I got into my teenage years I stopped having friends – the interest that arouses the need to have friends actually vanished off my mind because I had no trust in people anymore. I always felt different like I didn’t belong despite the fact that I always desired better, but I didn’t have the personal or social proficiency that was needed and a stable foundation with support to pursue my passions and to maintain what was still good in me.
I desired to be a lawyer. I dreamed about going to John Jay HS and College, but instead I began to fail at school. I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t know if I was going left or right. I just lost my way. I was hyper vigilant due to anxiety and PTSD; if I wasn’t manic I was depressed. I wasn’t treated for the trauma and the mental health issues. I was responsible for my siblings when I was a child myself. My mother expected me to do her job, and whenever I didn’t live up to her expectations I was beaten.
My way out later turned out to be with the boys; I was looking for love in all the wrong places. I ended up in an abusive relationship early on with a grown man while I was still a child and when I finally got out of the relationship he came back one more time to humiliate me and violate me by raping me. I became very promiscuous, from one relationship to another, as if my body didn’t take enough abuse from all the fighting I was doing at a young age. Now my body was taking blows from domestic violence, abortions, miscarriages, live births, drugs, and self-inflicted injuries. My mind and body took a lot of abuse. At this point in my life, I am still surprised I survived my past, and I’m grateful to be able to write about these events that was meant to kill me, but they made me stronger.
I always said to myself that I wouldn’t put my kids through the things I went through as a child. Little did I know that not wanting to put them through the things I experienced as a child had nothing to do with loving them at all but everything to do with possession and fear. I was thoughtfully wrong. I misunderstood the science of love because I didn’t know what it is to love. Fear was dominant in my life. I didn’t care to provide love, care and protection for my children. I just needed a lot to be a mother and friend to my kids, like a healthy perception on life, mental health care, parenting skills, anger management, education, and the financial means to support them. I also needed a divine plan because children are not toys. But at the time none of that crossed my mind, I was so unstable in my thinking and in my emotions. So here I go trying to get pregnant on purpose and my reason was I wanted someone to love me, not realizing that I had to love my baby first.
I was fourteen when I had my first miscarriage. My second miscarriage was due to domestic violence, but that didn’t stop me. I kept trying until I finally gave birth to my son at seventeen. I wasn’t prepared for motherhood, I didn’t truly understand parenting. Nevertheless I kept trying to be different, but trying to be different wasn’t enough. You can’t do or teach what you don’t know. I was becoming my mother in terms of attitude and behavior with my first two children which where boys. I was very strict, I yelled a lot and when they got to a certain age I became non-affectionate and more like a drill sergeant. The news didn’t help, all the broad castings of young males getting murdered made me hyper vigilant and I began to hold on tighter out of fear of losing one of them. I lived a life of fear because I couldn’t escape. My oldest son was affected the most by my behavior; he’s a lot like I was and couldn’t handle the pressure. He started acting out and giving me a hard time. I began to realize that I was becoming the very thing I despised. I started to feel responsible for the things he was doing. I started to recede on the aggression, some days where better than others. I began to change how I dealt with my children because of my oldest son who made me realize the hurt I’ve always inflicted on him, through his actions. As I was getting older and wiser I understood more and was learning what it meant to truly love my children as it should be, and realizing that my son needed to be restored, my role as a parent began to change. But that was just the beginning of my growth process. I said earlier on that I always felt different and that’s because I am.
There were so many other situations that had me depressed but what broke my mind and heart and sent me into a mental health crisis was the shocking and unexpected death of my mother. My mental health took a turn for the worst. I was in a state of confusion, sometimes isolated, very aggressive; I became emotionally detached from the people I loved the most. I was losing myself and didn’t know how to stop the illness. My heart was physically hurting; yes, I knew so and why it was. I felt like I was slowly dying. Because of my childhood I had put some distance between my mother and I. I didn’t allow my children to go to her house without me when they were young. Sadly, the longest time we had spent together talking and all was over the telephone. I told my mother during a certain visit a year before she died that she wasn’t going to make it at the rate she was going because she didn’t look well in the face. I think my mother knew she was dying; she got life insurance that year, and started sharing her wishes with me. She was literally tired and didn’t know how to fight for her life, so she gave up.
The Phone Call
I was at work in MT Kisco NY, on a cold winter night when I got a phone call from a family member. I was told that my mother had a stroke and it didn’t look good. I didn’t know how to feel, I felt disconnected from my emotions. In my heart I knew this was it, she had a cerebral hemorrhagic stroke; her brain swelled and shifted. Before that call I hadn’t spoken or saw my mother in a while and never did I want to talk to her as bad as I did that night. But we would never spoke again.
I jumped in my car in such disbelief. I was numb. I was in pain. I was upset. I began to decline mentally but also trying to hold it together; it was a battle of the mind. A drive that took an hour and a half felt like a ten-hour drive. The longest drive ever, I couldn’t get to the hospital fast enough.
By the time I made it to the hospital she was sedated and intubated. On the contrary, her wish was not to be intubated, but she didn’t have a DNR so I left it alone. After a few weeks she still didn’t have any brain activity. The hospital wanted to move her, because according to them, they said there was nothing more that they can do. So, we had a meeting to remove her from life support.
The day of my mother’s removal from life support, the Doctors removed the intubator and increased the morphine. This time she was breathing on her own for a while. I went home. I didn’t want to experience the moment her last breath would happen. My mother was still very young; she was fifty-four years old. I was traumatized.
Around 7:50pm, I got the call that changed me forever. “Your mother expired at 7:45pm,” said the nurse from the other side of the phone call. It got quiet. I didn’t hear anything else that was said. I felt alone. I felt empty inside.
After her funeral, I detached; I left home for a while. I was lost in a full-blown mania. I was agitated, aggressive. I just couldn’t sleep. I was hyper vigilant. All the things that happened to me in my life started popping in my head and I began to relive them.
I went from mourning her to becoming angry at her with every thought of my childhood pain. I’ve always struggled with mental illness but I’ve never had a crisis this bad. Not only was my heart hurting but so was my mind and I couldn’t stop the pain.
My Help In My Time Of Need
If my pain didn’t stop I would not have made it, so I needed help. I went and got a therapist and while waiting to see a psychiatrist I had a few psych emergencies visits. I was fighting for my life, but this time I was fighting me. Therapy wasn’t enough. Somehow, I came to realize the need to initiate a personal relationship with my creator; I needed Jesus, I needed to be restored and He was the one who could do it, He was the only one who could reach me. I was in a place that man could not reach. I called on the Almighty God and He came and got me. He said I will never leave you or forsake you.
From the time I could remember as a child, I felt different from the rest of the world. When I was young I remember being passionate, zealously loving, adorable, and respectful. I also remember having a strong conviction on what’s right and what’s not, at a very young age. I never really felt like I was a part of my environment because of the things I saw and experienced. My heart was gentle and fragile. I loved my family, I loved animals. I was just a loving child that just couldn’t remain innocent. I was robbed. As I began to get a little older I remember experiencing a deep-rooted fear because of all the exposure to the violence in my home and in the world. It all changed when I begin to understand that those innocent qualities would not be with me for long because life was happening. My home life wasn’t safe, the bullies in school were not playing and the people in this world were not innocent. A problem began to develop within me, my flesh wanted to bring down the house in flames as a response to my pain that was inflicted upon me as a child.
My parents were drug addicts and irresponsible. They neglected my existence, my mental health, and my presence. They were abusive to one another. They fought all the time and every time it scared the hell out of me. My mother was very abusive to me and my father was not available to me in every way a father ought to be available to his daughter. There was a certain day my brother and I were playing at home when we realized a big commotion at the living room. It was my father climbing through our third-floor apt window after he scoured the building to get in, wearing a Bruce lee outfit. Up until this day I don’t know how he made it pass the German shepherds in the yard of the back of the building. My mother was trying to push him out through the window, but he made it inside of the apartment. Boy did they start fighting and tearing the house up. My brother and I were in a corner and I was covering him as we cried. I felt so much fear. I have seen so much violence as a young child between my parents and other family members. I have watched my uncle put a steak knife through my father’s hand and immediately tried to jump out the window. I have watched my mother hit my father in the eye with a high heel shoe because he stole and sold my sister’s graduation clothes when she was graduating from the 6th grade. I watched my mother also stab my father in the eye with a key. My dad was in and out of our lives and so was his family while my mother abused me. I was all types of bitches. I was her slave and her nanny; I had to take care of my siblings. I had to wash everyone’s clothes in the bathtub, including that of her boyfriend. I washed the clothes with the plunger and my feet. I squeezed them out and hung them on the fire escape to dry. I had to cook and clean the house from top to bottom. Mind you she had crack heads running in and out of the home getting high. I never got a chance to know who my mother was or why she did what she did to me. I never got a chance to be a child.
I was so scared of my mother and the fear was not healthy. The beatings were terrifying. She would turn over beds to get to me as she would pursue me and her voice was like a scary monster on my tail and she was always close. She made a habit out of slapping me in the face and calling me a little bitch. I was so scared of my own shadow. I worried about my dad a lot because of how he lived. I used to think he was going to die out there in the streets. I felt like the mother of the family. But I was an abused child with such a heavy burden.
A Letter To My Father
Dear daddy, I love you with all my heart. I know that somewhere down the line someone dropped the ball on you and crippled your adulthood and prevented you from being the man and father you should have been to me and my siblings. As a man I still hold you responsible because when adults don’t know something or is lacking something as an adult, it’s our job to find out what it is that’s missing, because at the end of the day we know right from wrong and our children is our responsibility all along. When I had my children, I made a vow to love each and every one of them. That’s what I did and am still doing. I wasn’t perfect, but I was present. You were just as irresponsible as mommy was. I even took care of you sometimes. You let a lot of things happen to me, but I forgive you and I will always love you till the end of time.
A Letter To My Mother
I know hurt people hurt people, so I know that somewhere down the line you were also hurt, and I get it. You always told me, mommies baby daddies, maybe and not realizing that you removed the responsibility from daddy and placed it on yourself and then in turn put it on me. So, what happened? I have so many questions that you can’t answer because you are dead now. So, I must work with what I have. I loved you so much and looked up to you. You were supposed to be a positive role model in my life but instead you turned me inside out. I often hear how much you loved me, but I never saw it. I didn’t even know who you were. Maybe the people who told me how much you loved your children knew you a lot better than I did. You hurt me, and you let this world hurt me when I was a child because you were too busy using drugs and chasing men to find cover. While I am angry about all of this, I still love you and I forgive you sincerely. I know I may sound bitter when it comes to my mother, but her presence did the most harm in my life.
The Norwegian researcher, Dan Olweus, says bullying occurs when a person is "exposed, repeatedly and over time, to negative actions on the part of one or more other persons". He says that negative actions occur "when a person intentionally inflicts injury or discomfort upon another person, through physical contact, through words or in other ways." Individual bullying is usually characterized by a person behaving in a certain way to gain power over another person.
1. Burger, Christoph; Strohmeier, Dagmar; Spröber, Nina; Bauman, Sheri; Rigby, Ken (2015). "How teachers respond to school bullying: An examination of self-reported intervention strategy use, moderator effects, and concurrent use of multiple strategies". Teaching and Teacher Education. 51: 191–202. do: 10.1016/j.tate.2015.07.004.
My mother left me and my siblings in Brooklyn with my grandmother and uncle. I was in the third grade at the time, and there were these two girls named Felicia and Hope, who were my bullies and boy did they bully me. They spread rumors about me, made me give them money, broke things, and said I did it to make me pay them back. I had so much anxiety that I could not defend myself. I was damn scared so my brother who was in the first grade had to defend me. My brother and I were very close; he always had my back and defended me when necessary.
It just felt like the pressure wouldn’t stop, so the tables turned. Two years later when my family and I had moved to the Bronx, I started fighting hard. Any time I fought someone they knew they were in a battle. I would blackout every time and go wild because what wasn’t going to happen again was me being bullied. I was tired. So I fought bullies. I felt like a vigilante and walked away with my dignity intact. I fought a lot. It became like a sport. I must stop myself today from fighting because it’s not the way to resolve anything. But my sickness tries to tell me otherwise; that’s what I had become used to. So today, I don’t have many friends and I often say to myself that I’m truly comfortable that way.
A Letter To All The Bullies In The World
All of you bullies are predators, you’re always looking for victims to harass, terrify, dominate, embarrass, control, and physically hurt, all because of your lack of courage, self-esteem, love, morals, integrity, and love for community. The things you try and take from people are things you lack.
You bullies are full of more fear than your victims. Anyone that looks to hurt someone they think is weaker than they are cowards and y’all should go get yourselves some help. What do you get out of being a bully? Does it make you a better person? Is someone at home bullying you? I feel for all of you because you all will not escape your fate that you released into the universe. It circles back.
Molestation: The Definition
The crime of sexual acts with children up to the age of 18, including touching of private parts, exposure of genitalia, taking of pornographic pictures, rape, inducement of sexual acts with the molester or with other children, and variations of these acts by pedophiles. Molestation also applies to incest by a relative with a minor family member, and any unwanted sexual acts with adults short of rape. (See: pedophilia, rape).
Copyright © 1981-2005 by Gerald N. Hill and Kathleen T. Hill. All Right reserved.
Molestation: The Experience
I was molested as a child and it feels good to be able to say it to the world and no longer hide it. For a long time, it was one of my biggest secrets. Victims tend to feel responsible for something someone else did wrong to them. Today I know that’s bullshit. The truth takes the power away from the molester in my life and the lives of others who have been molested and gives it back to the victims. I was a child, so how could I have been responsible? It was a process for me to get to that realization.
One day I met an older girl. She was around sixteen years of age. I was just eight, and living with my great grandmother at the time. My dad was in prison and my mother was running the street. All the while I was on my own. This older girl that I had met worked on an ice-cream truck and offered to let me work with her for a couple of dollars. Of course, I did it; I wanted money for candy and I had no supervision. I was the perfect prey. I took her up on her offer and boy did I regret it. I met the old man who owned the truck and immediately began to work. From the very first day that I began to work, the old man began molesting me. At the end of each shift he would suck my nipples. I felt so disgusted, violated, confused, and scared. I didn’t even have breast; I was a very small child. I worked for only a few days and left. I was too afraid to tell, and I didn’t know what else to do so I kept the secret for thirty-two years.
After moving from my great grandmother’s house in the Queens, we moved to my grandmother’s house in Brooklyn. My mother was just busy running the streets and left my uncle in charge of us. I was 9. I didn’t know the whereabouts of my father. My uncle and I were close until he began to molest me.
He would molest me at night time whenever I was trying to go to sleep. He would come in drunk with beer on his breath radiating through the room and would lay at the bottom of the mattress where my legs were at and would start rubbing Vaseline on my feet, then he would move up my legs, massaging my feet and legs as if he was preparing me for something that would come next. Whatever happened next, I can’t remember. It went on for a few months. My mind has been protecting me from whatever he has done to me. Throughout the years he went on to molesting other children and to my uttermost disappointment and shock, some of the members of my family protected him. This uncle was a victim who became a perpetrator.
When he was young his head was put in a toilet bowl by his mother’s boyfriend and was suffocated. He lost consciousness and bit his tongue off and experienced a lack of oxygen to the brain and became mildly retarded. I have no idea why children were left alone or around him knowing his history. Some members of my family were aware of his status. Up until this day people still bring their children around him, with this knowledge of him being a pedophile.
A Letter To My Molesters
To the man on the ice cream truck: you hurt me and made me scared and uncomfortable throughout my life. You took something from me that wasn’t yours to take. You took a piece of my innocence which was an important part of me and I had a right to hold on to it. You violated me, you took advantage of me and left a scar etched in my mind and heart that I had to live with. But today, I understand that you were a cowardly and a desolate man. I used to wish you hell. Today I have no wishes at all because you were very old at the time, so I know you’re dead now and cannot harm another child. My only thought is what is happening to the children in your family, because we reap what we sow and sometimes we sow things into our own family. To the girl that helped you lure me in: may God have mercy on her soul. I’m sure I wasn’t the only child lured in. Although she was a child herself, yet that doesn’t counteract the fact that she knew right from wrong. At 16 I would never have manipulated another little kid into a situation like that. I knew right from wrong and so did she.
To My Uncle
I trusted you; you were the uncle I was the closest to. You took advantage of me being naive and innocent once you felt like I completely trusted you. You dived right in to take a piece of my innocence. I know you were hurt, and no one was there for you. But you knew that you were hurting me the way someone hurt you, (victim who became a perpetrator). I hold you responsible because although you were brain-damaged, still you hid what you were doing - so you knew it was all wrong. You owed it to me to protect and love me as your niece, but instead you gave into your sick impulse and molested me over and over. You have even molested other children. Turn yourself in, because you are a pedophile and predator. I wish I knew your location. The family hides you well.
Rape - The Definition
Rape, in traditional English criminal law, is an unlawful sexual intercourse with a woman who at the time of the intercourse does not consent to it and where, at the time, the man knows that the woman does not consent to the intercourse or he is reckless as to whether she consents to it or not. The word ‘unlawful’, which had been thought by many to mean ‘out with marriage’, was held not to prevent a husband being held to be able to commit rape against his wife, and indeed the House of Lords held in 1991 that the rule laid down for over 150 years that a man could not be guilty of raping his wife no longer applied.
Rape is now very much more widely defined by statute. A person (A) commits an offence if he intentionally penetrates the vagina, anus, or mouth of another person (B) with his penis, B does not consent to the penetration, and A does not reasonably believe that B consents. Whether a belief is reasonable is to be determined having regard to all the circumstances, including any steps A has taken to ascertain whether B consents. Where B is under 13 there is a separate analogous offence, but consent is no defense at all. (Sexual Offences Act 2003.) Where the penis is not used the offence may be assault by penetration. Where there is no penetration either, see SEXUAL OFFENCE. See also CAUSING SEXUAL ACTIVITY WITHOUT CONSENT.
In Scots criminal law, intercourse with a woman without her consent. The consent of the woman is a defense, and an erroneous belief that the woman was consenting need not be reasonable to exculpate although it must be an honest belief In Scots law it was held in 1989 that a husband can be guilty of raping his wife.
The state of Victoria (Australia) in the Crimes (Sexual Offences Act 1990) expanded rape to include continued intercourse contrary to an instruction to desist. This reflected the law in New Zealand, which had been upheld by the Privy Council in 1984.
Collins Dictionary of Law © W.J. Stewart, 2006
Rape – The Experience
I was 11 and living with secrets of being molested by two men. My family and I just moved out of a shelter to a new neighborhood prior to me turning 11. I was a virgin when I was eleven until I met this seventeen year old young man. I’ll name him Skip. When Skip came along I was a child and he was a predator. He also was a crack dealer who sold crack to my mother. Skip knew that I was being neglected, because he knew my mother, so he knew just what to do to get my attention and he got it. He got more than my attention. He took my innocence completely. He took my virginity, he beat and battered me and in the end, raped me. I had to reach out to extended family for help because I wanted to quit the relationship. The moment I broke up with him I felt relieved and free.
I can remember a time during our relationship when he punched me in my mouth, and my bottom tooth went through my bottom lip. I still have the scar till date. This violent episode occurred in my mother’s house.
Then there was another time when he continuously stomped me while I was in a fetal position on his bed and his box spring broke and went through his bed rail. His mother was home. She opened the door and told him to cut it out, (laugh aloud), cut it out. There was so much more abuse and a lot of the adults in the neighborhood knew. They gossiped and attributed my lifestyle to that of a dog but not one of them ever reached out to help me. It felt like I wore a scarlet letter A and I was the one being abused by adults. I was only a child.
Thanks to my extended family that finally got involved and helped me with the breakup. But that wasn’t the end with his raft on my life. I was coming home one night and ran into him, while no one was outside. His face and body language were intimidating. He told me to go to the roof with him or he will fucking kill me, so out of fear I went. Once on the roof, I just knew I was a goner. He would tell me to take off my cloth - of which I did out of fear, and then rape me and walk away. Out of shame I never said anything to anyone. He went on molesting and raping other women as well.
A Letter To My Rapist
You had your eyes on me way before I saw you coming because you are a predator, monster, and a weak man. Instead of being attracted to a woman, your attraction was for a child. And I wasn’t even a teenager. There were men before you, who tried to destroy me, yet I was still able to stand after each one of them and I remained standing after you. Emotionally and physically I was scared and confused. I will never be able to tell a regular story on how I lost my virginity to the love of my life because you were not him; you were a monster to me. Today you are a pathetic criminal. Right in the state of emptiness, I was left to myself. I was nowhere to be found. You hurt me in more ways than I can ever imagine. You robbed me, and I was not okay afterwards. You left me damaged. I did not understand sex in a healthy way. You should be ashamed of yourself for being a rapist and a violator. But I want you to know today that I stand and there’s nothing about your existence that scares me anymore. You are nothing to me. SHAME ON YOU. Although, you didn’t show mercy to any of your victims, nevertheless may God have mercy on your soul, but always remember that whatever a man sows; that will he surely reap.
A Letter To My Younger Self
I need you to forgive yourself for the things you couldn’t control. I need you to forgive yourself for the harm that others inflicted on you. I need you to forgive yourself for taking the message you got from the world and believing it. Listen, it wasn’t your fault; you were the victim at the time. I need you to realize how strong you were to survive all that has happened to you. I am so proud of you because at the core of who you were, your heart was so good and you dealt with the hand you were given. I love you and I need you to understand that you are safe now. I will never let anyone hurt you again. You don’t have to live in fear any longer. I release you from the bondage and traps the devil had since set for you. And all because of God, you are delivered from your past. I will protect you in our future with God on my side and as my witness. I will take care of you. You can now rest, my darling sweet child.