I’m sorry this post won’t be happy, but I need to write it. I guess this is easier to write because I am an anonymous blogger. If my mother, or my family, does come across this they won’t tell me they read it and how I’m wrong for posting it. How I’m a liar for saying I have been sexually abused, molested, and assaulted. They can’t tell me I’ve never had my experiences, that it was my fault that it happened, I should have done something about it.
I told my mother and father when I was molested. Nothing was done about it, it’s just water under the bridge.
It’s happened since I was five years old, seven years old, through my teens, by my grandfather, and more. The men doing it have varied but it feels like it’s been my entire life. I would never admit it later on and if I did, and if I did come to my parents about my experiences, I was wrong. Somehow it didn’t happen, somehow I asked for it, nothing was done about it. A fear of men grew inside of me over the years, I refused to date, I was scared to. I didn’t know what would happen if I was alone with a guy. I’d get panic attacks being alone with guys and I’d need to get out of the room.
I talked today about how my grandfather not only talked sexually about me, and touched me inappropriately, he also said inappropriate and wrong things about my mother. This happened all throughout my teens and on. She responded quickly that I had lied. It couldn’t be true, I was lying and over-exaggerating. I couldn’t stomach it, I left my mom at the table and walked quickly away with my brother.
I asked my brother, “You do believe me don’t you? Why would I lie about something like that? Why would I ever make that up?” And he said my mom just has this disillusion with her father. That she’d never admit how horrible he was, and she sees things as she wants to see them. My past, my sexual abuse still haunts me to this day like skeletons in my closet. I don’t like remembering what happened to me, I like even less sharing what happened to me. And I share it just to be told I’m wrong, I’m lying, I’m over-exaggerating. Well, I’m writing this post to say I’m not doing any of those things.
I hate to have these memories, I’d love to pretend it never happened to me … over and over again. But it did. I don’t know how I ever made it through, how I survived to become the person I am today. Right now I feel crushed, and destroyed, thinking about how I keep screaming about my experiences and it’s like my voice is silenced.
I had a guy sexually assault me in my 20’s. I kept on telling him to stop, I kept saying no, I was never as scared as I was going through those moments. He wouldn’t leave, and kept on trying to take off my shirt, and my pants, and I was so terrified I couldn’t even find my voice to scream. I just kept saying no, and stop, so many times, and luckily he did leave. And luckily I had the strength to fight him off, but if I didn’t, he would have done more than sexually assault me. I told my family the next day what happened. They said it was my fault, and why hadn’t I just screamed, and why hadn’t I told him just to leave? That it was my weakness why he kept going and I just must be over-exaggerating.
The past is not just the past. These scars from my experiences will never completely heal, and telling me they didn’t happen is like reopening a wound all over again.