Telling My Story

It all came to a head when I was 8 years old. The sexual abuse I had suffered for years was progressively getting worse. It started out rather innocently at first. My uncle cornered me more times than I can count while he was babysitting me. Sometimes when we were alone, he would grab me close to him and force me into a hug. He rubbed my bum in a circular motion that I came to despise. He said, "Come here and give your uncle a kiss.” I obeyed because I thought I had to. "Now give me a bigger one. Open your mouth,” he said as he pulled my head towards his.

"Was this French kissing?” I thought. "Isn't that what grownups do? Does he want me to use my tongue?” In that moment I remembered the way he'd eat onions raw. "Gross!” I thought.

He was diabetic, and he always had this odor to him that smelled like vinegar and onions mixed with urine. I remember how disgusting I thought his mouth was so I didn't want to kiss him or hug him at all. I pulled back from him. My heart raced. He gripped me firmly so I couldn't get away. I was so confused. My head spun in a circle unable to balance thoughts of right and wrong. "Wasn't this supposed to be wrong?” I thought. "Was I really supposed to be doing this?” I felt a lump in my throat. There was a funny feeling in my stomach that felt like butterflies and made me really nauseous.

"Do it or I'll tell your father you were a bad girl,” he said.

It wasn't fair. I knew it. I was terrified of my father. If I didn't do what my uncle said, then my father would hit me and yell at me. I'd be punished. I didn't want to be punished. I had to give in and do what he said. It was the only way he'd let me go. I panicked but told myself to do it and get it over with quickly. I submitted my will and did what he said.

When he finally released me, I ran away and tried to stay away from him. I didn't understand what any of it meant. I just knew that I had to get away. I escaped into toys and play. I pretended that none of it happened so that I could enjoy playing away from him. I didn't know that the abuse would get progressively worse. I didn't even know that it was abuse.

It got worse during Thanksgiving of 1986. I was ordered by my parents to pay my uncle a visit who was upstairs in his room alone and away from the rest of the family. His diabetes caused gangrene in one leg and then the other so he eventually had to have both legs amputated. I walked into his bedroom, and he immediately said, "Close the door behind you.” My heart raced so hard that I could hear my heart beating in my ears. Still, I did what he said. "Come here,” he said. I walked over to where he was sitting on the bed. I watched as he pulled his sweatpants down and revealed himself to me. It was the first one I had seen. I thought it looked weird and ugly like a worm. "Put your mouth on it. Give it a kiss,” he said. My body trembled. I didn't know what to do. “You can spit in the barrel over in the corner when it's done,” he said. I remembered that I was supposed to be a good girl and do what older people told me to do. I don't remember if I did it. It's just a big blank in my memory.

I walked over to the small, yellow barrel in the corner and spit in it. I needed to get a drink to wash out my mouth. I ran downstairs to join the rest of the family hoping nobody would know what just happened. I felt ashamed of myself for giving into his demands. I calmed myself down and hid my emotions for the rest of the time we were there. I pretended that nothing bad had happened to me so that I could enjoy good food with the rest of my family.

It wasn't until later that year that I realized something really bad had happened to me that shouldn't have. I desperately wanted it all to stop but I had no way of making it stop. I was trapped inside myself with my secrets. It was a horrible feeling. It made me curious about sex and what all that touching was about. I started acting out sexually at a very young age because I had no sense of appropriate boundaries. It caused ripple effects throughout my life that I'm just now figuring out in my 40s.

I want those who suffered childhood sexual assault to know that they aren't alone. Many of us have suffered in silence for way too long. It's time for us to speak up and tell our entire stories. That's why I started to tell my story now, right here. Thank you for reading. The story is just beginning. There's so much more I look forward to sharing with you here and in my memoir.

#metoo