The Story I've Told a Thousand Times

I was ten years old when it all started. He was ten years older than me, so, that made him twenty. I was young and did not understand the severity of it all until I was older. It started off small and I never wanted to be near him. From the moment we met I knew something was not right with him. I wish I would have listened to that gut feeling. It had never been wrong before so why did I ignore it this time?

To give a little back story, my family decided to start going to a new church which I was not happy about. This church was closer to our house so the only reason I did not protest was because that meant I did not have to wake up at six a.m. every weekend. Who would detest the promise of sleeping in?

There were not as many kids in this church and there were far less people who knew everything about my family so I tried to keep to myself as much as possible. My parents were not on board with that. They got involved in almost every activity available and forced us kids to participate in everything designated for us. I hated it but I knew better than to challenge them both. The best way to survive church was to do as they said to avoid those sneaky pinches and their sly death stares.

My brothers decided that they would join the other young boys in helping record the sermons and make sure the sound system was ready to go every morning. This is where we met him. My sister and I would join them sometimes simply to avoid angering our parents because we had not perfected faking paying attention to the sermon yet.

It started off small. He would come over to ask my father or the boys questions about the plan for the recordings or sound system. Every time he would come, I would lock myself in my room. Everyone else was outside talking to him but the gut feeling told me to stay in my room until he left. One day he knocked on my door and I answered it thinking it was my mother. I was wrong. He asked me why I never go out to greet it and that it hurts his feeling when I act as if he is not there. I was caught off guard and made an excuse that I was working on homework every time he had come. My parents noticed that I never wanted to talk or be near him. They thought I was being rude so they forced me to say hello every time he came because he was the pastor’s son. They did not want to look bad in front of the pastor’s son and my parents are all about appearances. He was 20! Why would he care if a 10-year-old did or did not say hi to him? I never understood.

To keep the peace in my family and to avoid getting grounded I began to be more social with him. Saying hello whenever I saw him or whenever he came over. I then thought that maybe I was being too harsh in the beginning, he had not done anything that would lead me to think that he was going to cause me any harm. I shrugged off my worries and although I did not befriend him, I did not mind sharing information with the group if he was there anymore.

One day I came home from school early and once I opened my door, I found him in my room. No one else was home but me. I simply asked what the hell he was doing here and how he got in. He made up some excuse I do not remember but that was when I freaked out. I knew I was right about him and this proved it. He was in my room and no one else was home. Why would he be in my room?

Crazier things happened like he gifted me a teddy bear for Valentines Day only realizing a week later there was a hidden camera on it. He created a code name for me that everyone knew except me. He also created a hand signal to let all my “friends” know they had to leave the room we acquired so that it would only be the two of us left inside. He threatened me, saying he would tell my parents a lie so that I would get in trouble. He would constantly try to corner me once I would get out of the restroom because he so desperately wanted to talk to me or apologize for his actions. This goes on and on.

It went on for six years. I lived in constant fear of my life and in fear that he would rape me. I cried so much and I told my parents about it. I did not just tell my parents but I told adults and elders from church. No one did anything to help me. No one cared enough to help me. How could people allow this to happen to a child? It was not like I kept quiet. Every time he cornered me in a room, I would scream bloody murder hoping someone would come quickly. He was always scared someone would come so he would rush out as quickly as possible. I honestly thought he was going to kill me. Things got physical often on my end because I would swing, punch, and kick every time he tried something. One glance, one touch, it did not matter. I could care less if I made my parents look bad, I was never going to go down without a fight. I do not know why he kept trying. I made it clear that even if no one was willing to help me, that I would help myself. I did not need a protector but I wanted one.

While everyone was talking about “follow me on Instagram or add me of Myspace”, I refused to participate in most of these things because I was confident that he started hacking my accounts (he was very tech savvy). The only solution was to not have any social media.

I was sixteen when this all ended and it was only because I started talking to people outside of church. I started telling every adult that would listen, any friend that would listen, strangers, anyone. I wanted it to end because six years of being stalked, finding him in my school, seeing him when I was at the mall with my friend, knowing who and were I was made me feel like I was losing my sanity. There was no safe space for me and I was tired of it.

I came home one day after he told my youngest brother to leave me a message which said, “You do not want to mess with me, you can no idea what I am capable of.” That was the last straw for me. I broke down and cried. I ran to my parents and told them if they did not want to help me then fine but I was going to the police. I was young and dumb because the people I thought would risk their lives, their reputation for me did not want to. My parents only job was to protect me and failed miserably. They convinced me to sit down with people from church so we could come up with a conclusion rather than going to the police.

I sat there with two pastors (one being his father) and two of my youth leaders. I listened to them come up with “solutions”, I let them talk for about an hour and I stood there listening to them thinking how pathetic this all was because it never had to happen to begin with. When I started to speak, it was as if all the anger, pain, and hurt had come out all in one. You best believe that I cursed everyone out. His father had the nerve to look at me and say these words that I will never forget, “I’m sorry, I knew he liked you and I knew it was wrong.” He knew? He knew but when it first started everyone acted like it was not happening, like I was not in trouble? The audacity they all had to sit there and apologize to me when I asked them for years to help me was unbelievable.

After a while I stopped listening to what they had to say and said, “I do not care what you do to him all I know is that if I see him again that I am to kill him.” I meant that then and the solution they came up with was that he was not allowed back to that church ever again. I saw him a couple time years after and I stopped attending church soon after the meeting. I did not care what anyone had to say about that because they had failed me. They had failed all the young girls who this could have happened too.

Fifteen years later I found out that I was not the first person he did this to. I connected with other girls who left the church because of him. The same thing I went through, they did as well. It was a scary time in my life and all I wanted was for someone to take it as serious as it felt. I do not think I will never go back to church but I am grateful for the small little community of woman I met that went through this too. I always thought that because he did not rape me that it somehow made my situation less important. That is not the case. Everyone story is different and the only thing we have in common is that we are survivors.

I am a survivor.