Statistics

I’m sitting here trying to find the words to write and struggling to make the words make sense. In this day and age, what does one do when they are trying to distract themselves? Play on their phones of course, so I started scrolling through the internet looking for some type of inspiration to write and check out some of the stats on sexual abuse. Scrolling along I pass by this statistic that caught my eye. I had to read it several times before it sunk in.

It reads: The average age of reporting childhood sexual abuse is age 52. Let me say that again: The average age for reporting childhood sexual abuse is age 52.

These statistics enraged and sickened me. How is it that victims wait so long to speak of what happened to them? In a recent conversation, I asked if my situation was talked about in their household. They said they remember hearing comments like I was accusing my abuser of some horrific things. When I learned this, I felt like a victim all over again. I have always spoke the truth about these topics. Never once waivered.

Then, of course, the wheels started to turn, and I couldn’t make them stop. It honestly didn’t surprise me that people didn’t and don’t report the abuse they suffered. Why should they? When they’re not believed, and concern goes to the accused?

Something I will never understand as an adult is when a child tells you or makes an “accusation” that they are being inappropriately touched by an adult, they are never believed. Why are people concerned with the accused (the adult)? The adults are so consumed with the accused that they are not able to see the pain that the child is in or has been put through. The accused are the ones that are tainting the pool for the kids. Think about it, because they are an adult they are the ones who can spin the story and unfortunately this leaves the child up a creek without a paddle. They are discredited in everyone else’s eyes.

Throughout history, children have been taught about stranger danger and inappropriate touching, and that if it happens to them, they need to tell an adult or someone they trust.

When they do report an incident, they are brushed aside and made to feel as if what they had encountered didn’t matter or they were making it up. They can also become the source/reason the abuse occurred in the first place. It doesn’t surprise me why victims wait so long. However, it does piss me off. Why tell a child to ask for help if the help will never come? Children deserve so much more. We have to do better for the children. They should always feel safe and protected, especially when they are in situations that are beyond their control.

The above is not the only reason that people don’t report their abuse. It could be because the person(s) who committed this atrocity made the victim fear what could/may happen to them or their families if the “secret” was ever leaked.

These were my circumstances. I was coerced, lied to, or even made promises to keep me complacent in his game. The abuser was what I refer to now as my jailer.

He was someone I should have been able to trust, who should have had my best interest at heart and innocence in mind. Instead, he was my captor and abuser in more ways than one.

I have an understanding of what abuse of any kind can do to a person. I also know that it is different for everyone. I am not an expert, but I was a victim and am now a long-time survivor.

I have been silent for way too long. I have decided that it is time to tell my story. There are subjects that I will touch on and there are some things that will entirely remain private. This isn’t going to be an easy subject for some people, and it may strike chords and piss some others off. If you find that you are pissed off about something I said or wrote about, please feel free to send me a comment. But also know if it pisses you off there may be a good reason behind it besides being offended. Maybe some of the things that were said are triggering. Maybe they ring a bell with someone you know. Maybe you should be the one to speak up for them as they may be afraid to speak for themselves. Come join me being a champion for these kids.

Also know that if a child tells you they have been or are being abused in any way, shape, or form believe them. Believe them, I can’t say it enough. Help them. Be there for them.

Make sure you get all of the facts. Let them know that you are on their side. Let them tell you in their way, don’t force them to reveal more than they are willing to. They could shut down and never want to speak of it again.

When reading this I hope you gain some insight as to what it can be like growing up in an abusive household, know the signs to look for, and be able to help someone if they need it.

With that being said, I want to be a supporter of those who can’t, won’t, or are too afraid to speak for themselves. Become the voice I didn’t have when as a child. To let people know it is never too late to find your voice and speak up about the abuse that you suffered.

Welcome to the Little House of Lies.

A little bit about me

To give you a little perspective, let me begin by telling you about my family.

I was the child that my mother didn’t want. Her parents were devout Catholic, and abortion was not a choice that would ever allow. As far as I know, there was never any talk of adoption. In their eyes, the only alternative that she had was to give birth to me and raise me. To her, I was a mistake, a burden, and a reminder of the one person who had hurt her. Something that she could not take back or make go away.

As I write this, I get sad and angry. It wasn’t my fault that she fell in love with someone and had a sexual relationship. It was not my fault that she ended up pregnant after one of these interactions. I didn’t ask to be born or have any of the atrocities happen to me either.

If we are being honest about it, no one asks to be born. Those who are accidents or mistakes find themselves being resented by their parents more often than not. Why this happens is beyond me. Children born into these circumstances still deserve to be loved, cherished, and treated like any other baby. They are the innocents in all of this and should never have to pay for the mistakes that their parents made. However, that is not the case for some, and they learn that at a very young age. This can be detrimental to their well-being.

My mother did the thing that most girls during that time when they found themselves knocked up, she dropped out of high school. Girls who ended up in those circumstances were always treated as less than, while the boys all gave each other high fives. Their educations suffered, while the boys had the freedom to move on and do so as they pleased.

My mother was one of many children raised in a small town that was primarily Catholic. Needless to say, the reputation of her and her family was hanging in the balance. They lived in a nice neighborhood and her father had a good-paying job. Not to say that they didn’t see rough times, but they were few and far between. No matter what these people say they were loved.

How she met my father is one that I will never know, she refuses to speak about it. My father is no longer alive to tell me the story either. To be honest I don’t even know if his siblings know how and the one who might’ve known recently passed away.

My father’s side of the family had many challenges and family life was not always good. Their father was an alcoholic who would rather go to the bars than provide for his family. Their mother took care of what she could with her job, but it was never enough. Their mother loved them as only a mother could. They also had a sister who had cerebral palsy and passed at a young age. Just another member that I will never be able to meet though I keep them in my heart always.

I was never allowed to meet my dad. By the time I was old enough, he was already gone. He took his life just 2 days after his 36th birthday. Some of the family members have stated that they believed it was an accident, while others guess it was suicide. On his death record suicide has been recorded. Unfortunately, the truth will never be known. The story has always been he was cleaning his gun, and it accidentally went off.

Until I was approximately four, we lived with my grandparents. It was what you would imagine it to be. I had love, food in my belly, and a roof over my head. I didn’t know what sadness, anger, fear, or violence were. I didn’t have a worry or care in the world. I was safe. However, this safety was very short-lived.

My mother met a man that would change both of our lives forever. They met while working for the same company, he was a delinquent and living in a group home when they met. He was bad news from the get-go. A guy who came from a broken home. His mother and father divorced and both remarried. It was told to me that he was also whipped as a child and that is why he was the way he was with me.

Shortly after they met, my mother uprooted us, and we moved to another city so she could start her life with him. After a few years, they would marry, and I would gain a sibling.

I was taken from everything familiar and safe to me and from the only family I had ever known and when I look back on it, it was the only family I ever wanted and needed.

From a young age, I could sense that there was something evil lurking in this man. There was something off about him and I wouldn’t be able to put my finger on it until some years later. This “sense” of people has served me wonderfully over the years. But I digress.

I often wonder if she didn’t care for me and didn’t want me why she just didn’t let my grandparents raise me. Does she know or did she know about everything that he had done to me? If she did know and was given the chance to do things over, would she do them the same or would she want to change them to change the outcome?

This is just the beginning, and I hope you will join me as I journey down a turbulent memory lane.

Types of abuse

There are so many types of abuse, I am going to be focusing on the four different types that I went through growing up.

Definitions of abuse:

Physical abuse is any hitting, punching, kicking, or rough handling.

Sexual abuse is inappropriate touching anywhere, rape, attempted rape, and even indecent exposure.

Mental (psychological) abuse is intimidation, coercion, harassment, use of threats, failure to respect privacy, swearing, or verbal abuse.

Emotional abuse is the emotional toll that all of the above take on you either during or after the abuse has taken place.

Physical abuse was ever present in the house. It was a tactic of intimidation meant to keep me in line. Threats of “if you don’t do such and such” or “if you do such and such” I will smack the shit out of you. It didn’t matter if it was with his hands or with the belt that he kept for intimidation. Oh, the belt, that thing was my worst enemy. I hated that fucking thing to no end. That belt met my backside more times than I would like to count. Talk about scare tactics. No idea what ever happened to it, but if I ever see it again, I’m taking the damn thing and burning it or maybe taking it and beating the shit out of him with it.

If it wasn’t the belt, it was bare hands-on bare skin. I remember every smack like it was yesterday. I can hear it and feel it all now as I am writing this. What made it even worse was anticipating what would happen when he got home. Her favorite threat was “You wait till so and so gets home you’re gonna get it”. If you ever question authority about their actions or decisions, you could get punished. Roll your eyes, watch out here comes a smack. Grunt in the slightest about anything oh shit duck, here comes the belt. Get a bad grade at school, you’re grounded, and here comes the belt, every kid should be allowed to push boundaries and ask questions, how else do they learn? I have been bitch slapped, punched, and thrown down a flight of stairs (this will be a later entry), and I’ve been held down and beaten by both of the adults in the house. Maybe this was the way they showed their love, but this is not love. This is hatred.

Next came the sexual abuse. I was a few years from being a preteen. I was right around nine years old. Shortly before all of the sexual abuse started to happen, I had gotten my first period. It was almost as if it turned on a switch in him and made him want to get touchy-feely with me. I have never felt so disgusted in my life. I was disgusted with him, his actions, and myself. How could I let this happen to me? What was I doing to have this happen to me? He would try to touch me; he would show me his genitalia and masturbate in front of me. I was a damn child! As a kid I had no understanding as to what this creep was doing, what made him do this?

This asshole skewed the way I viewed sex for years to come. We had learned in school about inappropriate touch and how an adult expressing that behavior to a child was unacceptable. What they never really hit on was how abusers could and would use intimidation tactics to keep their victims quiet. This is something that I feel needs to be talked about more.

Intimidation tactics from the above two types of abuse are where the mental abuse came from. This pedo would use scare tactics and threats to keep me in line and make it so I would not be able to tell anyone what he was doing to me. His threats included “If I talked, I would get beat”. If I spoke about it “no one would believe me” and I was “just a little liar that I deserved what I was getting”.

Because I was unable to speak about what was happening in the home when I finally did speak up and out, the family who didn’t live near us believed the adults who were doing this to me. That I was a bad child and that I was lying. I am pretty sure to this day that they don’t believe me. I don’t care if they believe me or not. I know the truth. I know what this asswipe did to me.

I had never been and felt so alone. Who was I going to tell? How could I say something to get someone to believe me? What if I said something and no one believed me then I would get the shit beaten out of me again. I was tired of bruises, welts and not being able to sit comfortably. I would put up with the sexual abuse for around six years. The physical abuse was approximately around eight years.

In an earlier post, I spoke of my stepfather and how I knew in my heart there was something seriously wrong with him though I couldn’t figure out what it was. Well, there you have it. He is a sick and twisted individual who likes to touch little girls.

To this day my gut still guides me. If I am ever in a situation where something seems off, I leave.

I will never say that I was the perfect child, no one is, but I was just a child, trying to do normal child things. Asking questions, pushing small boundaries, and trying to understand the world around me. I or anyone in no way, shape, or form deserved to be treated the way that I was.

Physical abuse is easier to heal than all of the other types of abuse. The human body is miraculous. It can heal itself, while the mind will heal, but never be the same. Emotional abuse can be everlasting

Hobbies and Self-Care

Before I go any further with my history, there are just a couple of things that I would like to speak about. The first of those things is having hobbies. You are going to need an outlet to “escape” what your mind is putting you through.

What I have found is that hobbies allow me to manage my environment when everything else is swimming out of control. There is a slew of hobbies, and I want to talk about a few.

The second topic that I would like to chat about is self-care. There are going to be days when you don’t want to do anything, where you just want to lay in bed and that’s ok. But don’t keep yourself there. Get up, dressed, hair done, teeth and hair brushed, etc.

One thing that I have started recently is to set a day aside and treat myself to something that I want to do, and I specifically make time for it. This could be to simply paint my nails, read a book, watch a show, take a longer shower than normal, sit outside, or listen to the birds. There is a whole grist of things that I enjoy doing, and if I take time to do them, I feel centered again and I can go about my day and the rest of the week with a sense of contentment.

Time for the hobbies that I have found to take my mind off of what is causing me anxiety and stress.

I love to cook. During that time, I am creating food for my mind, body, and soul. My grandma taught me to cook. It is one of the fondest memories I have of her. Her at the stove, cutting veggies, stirring the pots, and making a wonderful meal for her family. It makes me proud to be following in her footsteps. I make some of her recipes to this day. Brings me back to our time together.

Making jewelry is another hobby, I have tons of beads, cord for stringing and braiding bracelets. I recently gotten into Kumihimo which is Japanese friendship bracelet making. It takes time, patience and control. Creating jewelry centers me, and this hobby could double as an income either at craft fairs or online stores.

I have also started restoring furniture and giving it a new life. This can be a messy process, but that’s alright, sometimes life gets messy and heck why not add to it.

Reading is a great way to escape and live vicariously through others. Find a subject that makes you happy or piques your interest. Check out your local library, and download reading apps on your devices.

Podcasts are good as well. It is all about taking your mind off of whatever it is that is bothering you.

Fishing is an amazing way to connect with nature. Listening to the water splash on the banks, the birds in the distance, the trees blowing in the breeze. Oh and yea catching fish.

Music can do wonders for ones soul as well. It has the power to heal, to make you cry and even bring people together. Listen to it loud, listen to it often.

There are so many hobbies to choose from, knitting, crocheting, needlepoint, painting and glass work just to name a few. Try something that you have always wanted to try.

I have always wanted to try glass blowing, there are a few places a few hours away that I will have to start researching. It just looks so amazing and it has to take a lot of talent.
What ever your passion may be get out there and try it. It might surprise you and give you the control or release that you need.
Group activities could work out nicely for trying new hobbies as well. Many places hold paint nights, or learning how to macrame, and classes at many hardware stores. The possibilities are endless it’s just a matter of getting out there and finding what fits your fancy.

Whatever you do, don’t get discouraged if the first few ideas don’t work out. There are so many out there that if at first you don’t succeed try, try again. It took me a while to figure out what it was that made me happy and gave me purpose.

Hobbies are a good outlet to help you take your mind off of what is troubling you and can give you a sense of control when the world feels like it is falling apart. Don’t forget to take care of yourself. Pamper yourself. Give yourself a facial, take a nice bubble bath, and paint your nails. Or if you have the money make an appointment to get your hair done, to have a mani and a pedi, a spa day. It is something to remind you that you are a person and not a victim.

Join me next time as I talk about what finally sent me into overdrive for writing this blog.

Wrong Family?

Have you ever just felt like you weren’t meant to be born or that you were born into the wrong family? I have felt like this my entire life. And it just became all the clearer over the holidays. My husband and I recently ran into some of my mother’s side of the family while out shopping. To see their reaction was interesting. My aunt who is related by marriage was super excited and happy to see me, while my uncle, my mother’s brother was less so. No hi good to see you, not really anything from him.

Another thing that happened was that my mother sent us a gift for Christmas. When I sent her a message, thanked her for the gift, wished her a Merry Christmas, and told her I loved her, all I got back was a stupid smiley face. I mean seriously what in the fuck was that? No, I love you, no Merry Christmas back, nothing but a dumb-ass fucking smiley face.

Yep, that was so heart-warming. It made me realize that putting off finalizing the first few pages of this blog was no longer going to wait. These people have no place in my thoughts. I haven’t physically seen my mother in over 5 years. We get cards for yearly milestones, but, simply avoiding seeing your child sends a huge message of “Yep, I don’t give two shits about you”. I have been waiting for my entire life to be accepted by this woman and that side of the family. Well, that bullshit stops here and it stops now.

The message that I received from her was just the first of many. It was the icing on the cake. I’m sure if this ever gets into her hands she will give push back and guess what go for it. There are three people in this that know the truth, the tea is being spilled.

While thinking about writing this blog I have been concerned with how it will be received if it should get into my family’s hands. This is something that I am no longer going to worry about. I don’t owe them a damn thing.

I can see if now, there are going to be keyboard warriors out there saying “Well that’s your mom” “You should love her unconditionally”, “blood is thicker than water” and blah blah blah. Guess what the road goes both ways. I have tried time and time again to no avail to have a relationship with this woman. I’m tired of trying. Honestly, after all of these years, I have no idea why I want a relationship with someone who has stayed with the man who abused me for a good portion of my childhood.

She can’t be that oblivious, can she? I mean really, does she have any idea about the sexual abuse? She was there for the physical and mental abuse, but she was never home or around when he was trying to play grab ass and here let me show you my penis and jack off in front of you. She was at work. My sister and I were left alone with him. And as far as I knew up until my grandfather’s visitation my sister was never touched, until that day of my grandfather’s visitation when my abuser came up to me and said that he was sorry for everything that he had put me and my sister through.

Yep, you read that right, the day of a funeral visitation. I was off on my own looking at the older pictures of my grandfather, when this ass hat walked over to me and said “I just want to say that I am sorry for what I did to you and your sister”. Are you fucking kidding me? I am to this day still stunned. I responded, “That’s ok, I’ll never forget”. Who does that? Only someone who is guilty and wants to cover up their guilt by using the visitation as a distraction for others and himself. It was bad enough that my grandpa had passed away, but now you are muddying the waters with a half-assed apology? No, thank you! All these things have added up over the years and I am tired of being their silent scapegoat. The truth has to come out.

I am sure if this ever reaches my family, something will be said. What I am saying is 100% true, these accounts all happened. Let it also be known that I refuse to hide in the shadows any longer.

My ultimate goal in telling my story is that I want all who have ever been abused, to come forward, find their strength, and force their abuser to be accountable for their actions. I do not want anyone to incite violence. Use your voice! Punishment will find them soon enough.

Are you intrigued yet? Come back next time when I tell you how it all began!

How the S. Abuse started

As I think about how the sexual abuse started it makes me wonder if there was ever anything I could have done to stop it. But being just a child and having an adult do this to me still leads me to believe I did everything within my power at the age to try and control the situations that he put me in.

Pardon my vulgarity, I am to this day still very angry at my abuser, it will come out in my writing and as I tell my story.

Shortly after I got my first menstrual cycle, the sexual abuse and molestation would start. I was between the ages of nine and 10. At that age, I was just a child! My innocence was stolen by someone I was supposed to be able to trust. He took away the one thing that was sacred to a girl.

I had no idea what sex was. All I knew was that it was something that a man and a woman did to make a baby. They tried to shelter me from stuff on TV, if there were breasts in a movie, I was told to cover my eyes, if there was any sexual activity I was told to leave the room. We hadn’t even really covered the topic in health class yet. We learned about parts of the body, what they did, and that women could carry a baby. I mean at that age it was all just yucky. You remember that embarrassed and grossed out feeling you got from health class, right?? Eeeewwww.

The sexual abuse started one night while I was showering. In our bathroom, the door didn’t completely shut, and it was held closed with a hooked lock. When showering the bathroom door was always to remain unlocked. I never really understood why. The only excuse I could think of was if something happened, like slipping or falling in the shower. They could always break the door down if needed.

One night while showering he came into the bathroom. I heard him pee, I thought he was going to flush the toilet, wash his hands, and leave. I braced myself for the water temperature to change because this is just how the pipes in the house worked. It was going to get really hot, and I didn’t want to get scalded. Moments later I heard the toilet flush and felt the water change in temperature. I figured he would be on his way.

After the water went back to a normal temp, I continued with my shower, however, a short bit later, I felt cool air on my backside. Thought maybe I moved, and the curtain shifted, so I turned to check the curtain and put it back into place to stay warm. Upon turning around, I could see a set of eyes staring at me. It was him, watching me shower. I took the curtain and closed it shut as quickly as I could. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing looking at me while I was taking a shower. It was my understanding that boys and men were not supposed to be in the bathroom while girls were showering, getting dressed, etc. I had no idea what he was doing or what to think.

A couple of minutes passed, and he left the bathroom. My mind started spinning! All I could think was that was weird and couldn’t figure out what he was doing. What I did know was that I couldn’t wait to get out of the shower and get dressed. I just wanted myself covered as quickly as possible!

This would not be the last time that he would do this to me. It became a habit for him to come into the bathroom whenever I was showering. It was always when my mother was not home. You see she had a job that she went to once a week and was gone for a couple of hours. Shower nights were always on nights when my mother was not home. There were times when I got older that she asked if I wanted to go with her and help her and earn some money. Of course, I couldn’t say yes fast enough, that meant I wouldn’t have to take a shower with just him home. It also meant that she and I got some to spend some time together without my sister or my stepdad. I loved those nights. It was a time that I didn’t get gawked at while trying to shower.

After a few months of his peaking and sneaking looks he escalated into something worse. One night something changed. I was showering, yet again he entered the bathroom and cracked the curtain. I told him to stop and that he should leave. I shut the curtain and went about my business. On this occasion, he did not leave. A few moments had passed, and I again felt the curtain crack open a bit again. This time when I turned around to close it, the curtain was opened more than just a crack. What I saw next has scarred me for life. There he was with his pants down, sitting on the toilet, touching his genitals. I was grossed out and had no comprehension of what in the hell was going on. I slammed the curtain shut, told him to get out, and couldn’t wait for him to leave.

This happened when he was the only adult at home and every time I was in the shower. I tried locking the door and the response I got was I was going to get my ass beat. So, on it went, I ignored him as best as I could until one night when I was showering, he was in his normal spot on the toilet, pants around his legs, curtain open, when I turned to close the curtain, this asshat had my panties wrapped around his damn face. What in the hell was he doing? I couldn’t believe my eyes. Why were my dirty panties wrapped around this man’s face? I was so embarrassed, ashamed, and most of all disgusted.

I had no idea what to think, what do to, or even how to act, I was in shock. Utterly caught off guard. I got upset and yelled at him to get out of the bathroom. Take my undies off of his head and get out of the bathroom. It took him a few minutes, but he finally complied. The minute he did I locked the damn door. When I was done washing up, I got out of the shower, toweled off, got dressed, unlocked, and opened the door. I told him I never wanted to see that again. He didn’t care. Ignored what I had said. This didn’t stop until I ran away.

This was just the beginning of many years of sexual abuse.

When it all began

It is said that if people don’t learn from their past they are doomed to repeat it.  This was the case for my stepfather.  I have been told that he was abused by his father. Whether that is true or not I will never honestly know. You would think that knowing how it feels and what it can do to a person he wouldn’t want anyone else to feel that way. He never became part of the solution, he became part of the problem.

The physical abuse did not begin with me. It started with him laying hands on my mother. He would get drunk at the bar around the corner, come home, start a fight with her, and then smack her around. I can remember the screaming, her crying, doors slamming, etc. I can’t tell you what the yelling was about, I was under the blankets with pillows over my head trying to drown it out. I do know that this would happen on an almost weekly basis for what seemed like forever.

One night, months later he must have taken it one step too far and my mother had finally had enough. The screaming and yelling stopped, next she was packing our bags, putting us in the car, and taking off. In the darkness of the night, we drove around town for what felt like forever. She was in tears, telling me it was going to be ok. I don’t know if she had a plan or was just trying to gather her thoughts.

I don’t remember if we ever stopped or if she just finally had a plan in mind. What I do know is we ended up at her parents’ house sometime in the middle of the night. I was settled into bed for the night, and the grown-ups were talking in another room.

I can barely remember her talking about how she was tired of him doing this to her and that he needed to change. He needed to stop drinking or he was going to lose her for good. Whether she said that to her parents or him on the phone I don’t know.     

Sometime later we were headed back to him. His attitude and abuse towards her had changed almost immediately. There were no more yelling sessions, no smacking around, he no longer went out drinking at the corner bar. He had become a changed man for her.

However, his abuse was transferred from her to me. I didn’t understand why there had to be any violence. What does a little kid do that they deserve to have marks, bruises, and welts left all over their body? Even more, how could my mother let him do this to me knowing how he had made her feel and look? So it was ok for him to beat the shit out of me as long as he didn’t do it to her? Yep, that made some sense. I guess as long as she didn’t have to take it, he would have to let his frustration out on someone else.

For years I’ve tried to understand what it was that I did wrong. What did I do that caused all of this abuse? I was a child, who acted like a child and I wanted to be nothing more than a child.  That was stripped away from me by a man who didn’t know how not to abuse and a woman who just didn’t care.

I have done research to try and understand the mind of an abuser and it all seems to boil down to one thing, the abuser was once the abused. From what I have been told, this holds for him.  This was what he had known growing up. He messed up and he got beat. While this seems to be the case for a lot of people who become the abuser, I will never understand after having it done to you, why would you put anyone else through that type of trauma.  

The abuse (all of the four types mentioned previously) that I suffered has left me with a lot of complicated feelings. I needed to try and make sense of them. I looked at some facts about abuse and it still hasn’t given me what I am looking for. Below are some of the facts about abuse.

Fact: A majority of child sexual abuse is caused by family members, or others close to the child, due to frequency and ease of access.

Fact: Some adults sexually abuse a child to feel power and control.  

After all of these years, I am convinced he suffered or still suffers from little man syndrome (Napoleon complex). Little Man Syndrome, also known as Napoleon complex or short-man syndrome, is a theorize inferiority complex associated with men of short stature. It is characterized by aggressive and authoritarian social behavior, as well as an overt focus on impressing people with career, wages, or social status.

Fact: The abused becomes the abuser for several reasons. Such patterns are familiar or may serve as a way to regain a sense of power. Such abuse may also be linked to feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, or grandiosity.

To this day if my mother should talk about another male on any level that is not related to her, he gets jealous.

Fact: The cycle of abuse can cause people who were abused in childhood to either perpetuate abuse in adulthood or become involved in abusive relationships with others. Many factors can contribute to the ongoing cycle of abuse.

Fact: People who experienced sexual abuse as children may struggle with confusing associations between love and abuse. They may also experience problems with anger, trust, control, and insecurity. It is important to remember that every person is different and not everyone who was sexually abused will experience these effects.

I am quick to anger, I have always struggled with insecurity, and have trust issues. I also need to have all of the facts so I can control the situation around me.

Fact: People who were abused as children may believe, on some deep level, that they are not good enough to deserve a genuinely caring relationship. They may feel in a submissive position to others, making it hard to accept real love.

Fact: They may have even been convinced by their abuser that they deserved the abuse. This is never true as no one deserves to be mistreated.

Somehow and in some way, they always made me believe that I had it coming to me. That it was my fault they were abusing me. It wasn’t a me problem, it was a them problem and not knowing how to keep their hands to themselves.

Fact: Negative attitudes toward child behavior (whether good behavior or bad) and lack of knowledge about child development can contribute to physical abuse of children. These parents or caregivers have unrealistic expectations of their child’s development.

Fact: Unwanted children (accidental pregnancy) are more often than not likely to be abused

I was an accidental pregnancy. She did not want me.

I have often tried to come to terms with my past, sometimes I just can’t, nor do I want to. The trauma that I endured formed a lot of my beliefs, the way that I view the world, and how I interact with others. I am an extremely sensitive person. I don’t trust easily and if that trust is lost, the relationship that I had with that individual will be lost too.  

Anxiety, Depression and PTSD

When talking about trauma of any kind there are always after-effects that can stay with a person for the rest of their lives. Some of the effects are PTSD(usually used when referring to veterans of war), depression, and anxiety among many more. If you are lucky you only get one of them. I unfortunately was granted the distinct pleasure of having all of the three mentioned. This made for a very interesting life as a teenager, young adult, and now, a woman in her late 40s.

What people should know is that these after-effects are not a one-size-fits-all. Everyone can and will handle them differently. Some people choose to ignore them. Others select to use drugs and alcohol to make the pain go away and forget, however, this is only a temporary solution and it will be worse when you get back to reality. Many others choose talk therapy or meds prescribed by their general practitioner or a psychotherapist.

After I had run away and found myself living with my grandparents I had talk therapy and was prescribed medication to help with the anxiety and depression. However, I was not at a point in my life where I wanted to talk about it when in a therapy session it always felt forced. I didn’t want to talk about it. I was embarrassed and ashamed of what had happened to me. Even though it wasn’t my fault, I still felt some sense of guilt. This is when PTSD came to the forefront and started to take over my life. Not only was I not at a point in my life where I wanted to talk about it, I couldn’t articulate what had happened and I was reliving some of the worst moments of my life. At the time none of my words could do my narrative justice. Since I was reliving it, I felt worthless and unwanted all over again, even though I was somewhere safe.

One thing that victims, nay survivors need to understand is they do matter. You do make an impact on the world around you. What you went through is a part of who you are, it does not define you in the least, but, it is something that will always be a part of you. Embrace it and never think or let anyone tell you that you are less than! Because you are worth it! You do matter!! Your feelings are valid! You have the right to take care of yourself in any way you see fit. Just remember to take care of yourself.

You may have realized this is not a one-size-fits-all journey. Maybe on some level you can relate, maybe you know someone who is going through some of what I went through, then maybe just maybe you can be the person who helps them gain the strength and courage to realize their worth when they don’t.

I was so young when the physical abuse started. There was honestly no comprehension of what was happening and why it was happening. The abuse that I endured would shape me and my relationships with many people and is still a factor today. The road of this journey is very long. So needless to say it has taken many years to unpack all of the trauma. Still unpacking as new things come to the forefront. Each day can bring something new, a new memory, a forgotten moment in time.

With all of this as I stated before the after-effects can stay with you the rest of your life. In my case that means, I am regularly battling depression, anxiety, and PTSD. I have to take medication to help ease some of the symptoms that I deal with daily and I am ok with that. It helps me equal out and puts me in control of my life again whatever normal is. Can and will be different for everyone. Don’t be afraid to find what works for you.

You may find with PTSD that certain smells, sounds, and or even a place or a thing can trigger memories. For the longest time, there were certain songs that I couldn’t listen to because of how it would send me into a spiral and I would have crazy flashbacks. Over the years that has died down a bit, but when I was first removed from the situation it could trigger me instantly and I would almost always have a really bad flashback.

They can happen at any time and anywhere. It can be embarrassing. What you need to remember is that it isn’t real. Find something to ground yourself. It does get easier. You may think to yourself will this ever stop? I can say honestly that no it does not stop, but you can learn how to make it easier to cope with. You just have to take the time to find out what works best for you.

Don’t be afraid to do the hard work and yes it is going to be hard. You will find yourself getting mad, upset, emotional, triggered, and honestly even pissed off or sad. What has worked for me may not work for you. Just remember you got out of the situation, and you are no longer in harm’s way. You will have a lot to unpack and trust me there is a lot and if you aren’t ready that is ok. Just know that when you are there are people out there to help you.

Don’t let the aftereffects of your abuse run your life. When you are ready to leap, know there are tons of resources out there that are willing to help. As much as we may like, no one else can do the work for us.

It will be worth it. I would also like you to know that it is perfectly normal to have days where it is just too much. That is ok! Take that time for yourself. It is going to take time. For all of the years that I have been out of my situation, 32 years this summer, I still have days where I just can’t. I don’t want to. And I won’t. Those are the days that I have to be extra kind to myself. I have to remember that I am worth all of the hard work that I have put into myself. Make sure you remind yourself on those days that you are worth that hard work as well. Don’t feel defeated for too long.

This cannot be repaired over night, but you can repair it You will never be the same and I know those words can be hard to swallow and hard to hear. However, it is a reality that must be dealt with. Take the time to get to know who you are, what you stand for and what you want to do about it all.

It has taken me a long, long time to be able to tell my story. But I am finally doing it. I don’t care if the people who did this to me find out. Why should I? When they didn’t care about what they were doing to me. Let us not forget that I was just a damn child. My innocence was stolen. I will never get that back.

Until the next post all. Be kind to yourselves and those around you. You never know what they may be going through.

Jealousy

By the time I reached junior high I had seen more of a male body than any young woman should. I am pretty sure that this is not how other young ladies learned about male anatomy. That was something that we would learn about in Middle School health class. When we had health in elementary school it talked about girls getting their periods and boys voices changing. In 7th grade we had a whole quarter of health class.

We learned about the female body, reproductive organs, and what they did. Same with the male body. I was mortified during this class. I had to leave and I ran to the restroom. I threw cold water on my face trying to get myself to calm down.

All sorts of emotions were at play during this class, but most of all embarrassment. I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed of what he was doing to me. But I didn’t know how to tell anyone. I tried as hard as I could just to put it all into the back of my mind and just work on getting through the class. It was only a few weeks. I could suck it up and handle it.

As we all know if you have ever been a teenager there are tons of hormones and emotions at play. It isn’t easy being a teenager. You get pimples, body odor, boobs, hair in places you never had before, your voice changes, etc. There is so much that is changing that it is just a crazy ass roller coaster. Not only are we looking to be accepted by our peers, we are looking to accept ourselves as well.

It was during this time that boys started to notice me and vice versa. I had a few boyfriends and of course, they were nothing serious. We just held hands on the bus, at assemblies, and sitting together at lunch. The funny thing is we all sat with our friends in a group just sat next to each other. And we would call each other nightly and talk about silly teenage stuff. Maybe an occasional kiss and hug. Told each other that we loved them even though we had no concept of what love was at that age. I remember thinking to myself that what I had with my boyfriends was a hell of a lot better than I had with my immediate family.

During those teenage years while living under their roof, my stepfather seemed to have a lot of questions about the boys that I was “seeing”, It’s not like we were doing anything wrong. We were being teenagers. Nothing to be ashamed of. We weren’t having sexual relationships. Like I said just holding hands, hugging, and the occasional smooch. But he wanted to know what was going on and who it was going on with. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I just thought he was being protective. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t making any life-changing decisions.

As I stated I didn’t think too much of it, that is until years later. I mean some of the questions that he would ask, just seemed a little odd for a step-parent to be asking. He would ask if we had kissed or held hands. Did we make out, blah blah blah? We were supposed to be innocent teenagers who were just starting to experiment with our sexuality. We had no idea what we were doing. For goodness sake, I mean really?! Then some years later it dawned on me. He was jealous. He was letting it excite him to hear what I was doing with boys my age. How fucking gross.

There is one incident in particular that I am going to share. The neighborhood kids would meet up in one of the backyards and play baseball. We had certain markers in the yards that served as bases and the pitcher’s mound. When the weather was nice, this is where we could all be found. It was something that kept us out of trouble and close to home. One day after a game of baseball the oldest neighbor boy and I were sitting in his backyard, chit-chatting and picking on each other like silly teenagers do. I don’t remember exactly what the object was, but I took something of his and hid it behind my back. Just trying to get a rise out of him, cause I thought it was hilarious. A few minutes later I hear my stepfather by the fence, hollering at me to get my ass in the house. This jackass was spying on us. He accused this young man of having his hands up my shirt.

Off I went, into the house and I just knew what was coming next. First and foremost, his hand was never up my shirt. He had more respect for me than that. And being that close to each other’s house, why in the hell would he do something so stupid? There was a comment made by my stepfather many, many years later about this boy and the shirt incident. I told him again that it had never happened. My question for this asshat is, do you think that if it did happen I would maintain that it didn’t all of these years later.

He took the belt to me that day. I also had to wash all of the dishes in the house and spend time in my room to think about the lie that I had told, even though it was not a lie. I got tired of being called a liar by this thing. He was the one who was a liar. To his wife, to me, and our entire family.

I often wondered what was his reasoning for asking all of those questions and accusing someone of something that they did not do. The only answer I have to this question is that in some way shape or form, he was jealous. Or he was trying to find ways to “excite” himself. I don’t think he knows how traumatizing his actions were.

As I got older the abuse was adapted and changed to include head games, as if to try and catch me in a lie. Now I know that some people don’t believe in astrology, but I am a believer and I am a Virgo to my core. I can’t help but tell the truth. As much as I may want to lie, I can’t. And if I can successfully pull it off, the truth will come out eventually. Probably sooner rather than later.

During my teenage years, physical and sexual abuse had just become a part of my life. I got to the point where I just no longer cared. He was never going to change. I couldn’t tell anyone or it would tear my world apart and no one would believe me. What I did care about was this son of a bitch discrediting me to everyone in our families. It is something that I still deal with to this day. Why discredit a kid just to make yourself look like the good guy?

There is so much more to tell you but for now I am going to have to wrap it up. Until the next post all. Be kind to yourselves and those around you. You never know what they may be going through.

The Last Night

What I will never understand after all the abuse that I suffered through is how someone can do this to a child. Children are trying to figure out the world. Not cause their parents strife and agitation. How are they supposed to learn if they aren’t allowed to explore the world that is around them?

I have to wonder in some way if they wanted me dead. Was that the reason for such abuse? How can a parent sit idly by while the other adult in the situation is taking a belt to their child and not feel a damn thing?

Before I get into more of how, when, and why, I want to tell you all the story of how I came to leave that hell hole.

During the summer of one of my high school years, I was dating a guy that the adults didn’t approve of. He had long hair, smoked, and liked heavy metal. He was a “bad” boy. They didn’t want me to see him. I had told him this, but as teenagers who are in love, we still kept seeing each other. We all hung out in the same group. So it’s not like I wouldn’t see him at school or when we were hanging out in the smoking area.

Summer break came and there was no way I was going to see him unless I went over to friends houses. One day the phone rang at home, his sister was on the other line. When I got to the phone she told me that there was someone who wanted to talk to me. I told her that was not a good idea, I was being listened to. The stepfather and mother thought something was suspicious when I got quiet on the phone, and asked me who I was talking to at that point it was still his sister as I was trying to tell her that I couldn’t or I would get into some serious trouble. I was walking up the stairs from our basement to hang up the phone when my stepfather came out of their bedroom and ripped the phone from my hand.

He backhanded me for lying, even though I had been telling the truth about speaking to the boyfriend’s sister. Next thing I knew he was shoving me down the stairs. I felt every stair on the way down. There were 12 stairs and I can still feel them today. I tried grabbing on for dear life to the railing or any board that was attached to the stairs. I was scared for my life.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs I landed on my ass and back onto the cement floor. I was lucky that I didn’t crack my head on the cement. He then grabbed me up by my hair. I had long hair at the time. He shoved me head-first into the plywood wall that was outside of my bedroom.

Then I went flying into the bedroom and slammed into the wooden closet that my grandfather had made. From there I went flying onto the bed. He got onto the bed, grabbed me again, and crashed my head into the brick wall next to the bed. My mother then came flying down the stairs with his belt and held my legs down while he was practically sitting on my chest. He then proceeded to whip me with the belt.

I was wiggling around, kicking my legs, trying to get my arms loose. I needed to get up and out. I was in fight or flight mode. I felt if I didn’t this son of a bitch was going to kill me. I got my legs loose from my mother’s grasp and proceeded to kick her in the eye. If she hadn’t been down by my feet holding onto my legs she wouldn’t have been kicked in the face. I hadn’t kicked her in the face on purpose. Accident or not she fucking deserved it. Hold me down, let him beat the shit out of me because he was insane, jealous, and didn’t believe I was telling him the truth. She got a black eye and damn it she earned it. To this day I am not sorry that my foot landed in her face. That my dearies is called instant Karma.

I couldn’t tell you how long the beating went on. All I know is that I was glad it was over when it was. I curled up on the bed, holding my legs in my arms and bawling my eyes out. I couldn’t comprehend how these fucking people could hold a teenager down and beat her half to death. I had bruises and scrapes up and down my body.

I couldn’t look in a mirror for a very long time. Every time I did it was a reminder of what I had endured at the hands of the people who were supposed to be protecting me. There is nothing in this world that should cause a parent or step parent to treat a child the way that these two did.

I made up my mind then and there, I had to leave, I had to get out of that house. No more abuse, no more waiting around to see how they were going to slap the shit out of me next, no more anything! I was done and I wasn’t going to take anymore.

I wrote them a note and just said I couldn’t take it anymore. Why I wrote the note I have no idea, I told her that she wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore. That night I crawled out of my bedroom window, placed the note on my mothers car, quietly walked down the street until I knew it was safe to run and then ran to a gas station, asked the clerk to use the phone, called the boyfriend, his mother came and picked me up.

She somehow talked me into going to the police station and turning them in. I had never been so afraid in my life, but I had also never felt safer. I was finally out of that hell. I was no longer their punching bag.

I spent hours upon hours at the police station giving them a detailed report, getting pictures of the wounds on my body, asked me so many questions. I didn’t think the questioning would ever end.

A few hours went by and I was told that they were taken into custody, and my sibling was being taken to a foster home. I was going to a foster home that night as well. One separate from my sibling.

The house was searched, they were questioned. Not sure if they were put in a cell or not. But I hope that when the cops showed up they got a rude awakening.

Until next time, please be kind to yourself and others, you never know what they are going through.