I was encouraged by my English Professor to start up a blog, I shared with Dr. Rodriguez, that I’ve blogged before but came to a halt because of my writer’s block. She said it didn’t matter and that I should just keep writing about anything. When I had moments of writer’s block I should draw or scribble and post it. So, here I am, again, starting up a new blog.
I will write about my past and how I’ve come to rise above it. I will write hopefully inspiring words for others, I will post pictures of my hyper dogs and write about them, I will share inspiring quotes and scriptures and hope that somehow it helps you bring a smile to your face and / or let you know that you’re not alone. I will go back and forth with the past and the present and hope that you can come along for the journey.
I was raised in a household of abuse. That sounds awful, I know, but what other words can I use to express what I went through? Anyways, I went through physical, sexual, psychological and emotional abuse. Physically I was hurt by my mother, I couldn’t understand why she hated me, but she was just taking her anger out on me. She was ill with diabetes and it’s gotten the best of her. But, now, I’m not making excuses for her, but, she too grew up in a household of abuse, so you can say it was a cycle. I was sexually abused by two family friends, one was a real close family friend that lived with us, the other visited once in a blue moon and my third abuser was a half-brother of mine. Psychologically and emotionally, I was abused by my father. He would encourage me to be what I wanted to be, but then would shut my dreams down or say I would never amount to anything good in my life and that by the age of 15 I would probably end up pregnant. That of course did not happen. He raised himself from the age of 13 on up, he basically grew up in the streets and was taken in by my aunts whom abused of him physically.
For years I kept silent, for years I was bitter. I was supposed to be loved and protected by my family instead of abused and mistreated. I was just a kid; I was five years old when it all started. I can’t remember anything before the age of five. I don’t know if that’s normal, but for the life of me, I just can’t remember.
For years I hated men and women since one of my sexual abusers was a female, the one that lived with us. Whom by the way my father, fathered three children with her and she lived under the same roof, imagine that? Tells you what kind of people they both were. I later learned that she was sexually abused by her father. And, the cycle keeps going.
Back to hating men and women, I disliked both genders for a long time. I wouldn’t feel comfortable being left alone in a room by myself with either male or female. I was petrified at the fact that I would sometimes have to be alone with an adult of either gender. It took years before I was comfortable with myself to be left alone with “them”. I would pray to God that they not touch me in any way shape or form. I couldn’t even get a pat on my back, because I felt disgusted. I felt like a bull’s eye. I felt that everyone was out to hurt me, I didn’t know any better.
My father couldn’t understand why I was such a “troubled” child, when I say troubled, all I did was cause trouble with the neighborhood kids or fight with my brothers, but when I think about it, all I was really doing was crying out for help with-out telling on the people that hurt me sexually. I was afraid that my parents wouldn’t believe me. I was afraid they’d think I’d made it up to get “more” attention. Attention I didn’t have at all. My parents were busy working so much to make sure we had everything and don’t get me wrong we had the latest toys, gimmicks, TV’s in every room, clothes, shoes. We had it all, but we didn’t have the love and care that I and my brothers starved for.
I would keep to myself and just be me, awkward and a big bully. I wasn’t going to allow to be bullied by anyone nor did I allow my brothers to continue being bullied at school, so I became a bully. I’m not proud of it, but it was a defense mechanism. Back in the 80’s and 90’s bullying wasn’t as bad as it is now. So I guess I’m trying to justify the word bully.
Fast forward to the age of 21; I was working for hallmark aviation services as a contractor for an airline doing customer service in the baggage service department. Someone had left a book entitled Mujer eres libre (Woman thou art loose) by Bishop T.D. Jakes. I started to read it at work and that book saved my life. It literally saved me from bitterness, hatred, self-doubt and a nasty attitude that I carried with me. It talked about the love of Jesus for “tainted” females. For females that have been through some form of abuse, especially sexually. I remember it saying that no matter what anyone’s done to the physical body, Jesus loved me. And that my friend is what gave me the courage to tell my father what my half-brother had done to me.
It was 3am when I arrived home and my father was waiting up for me, I gave him attitude and he asked why I was always so mean to him, I told him because ****** did this to me and you were supposed to protect me, you weren’t there when I needed you the most. His response was now I know why you hate men so much. He also said I needed help and that I should speak to a psychologist. I shrugged it off and went my way. But, my father didn’t know how else to respond, he didn’t know what else to say or do. Not that he could do anything by this time. It almost looked like he wanted to hug me, but he didn’t. I almost wanted a hug from him and to hear the words I love you.
I felt relieved when I shared with him what had happened, it was as if a load had been taken off, but there was more to tell and I couldn’t just throw everything out there, he needed to hear it bit by bit. He was not prepared to hear it all in one sitting.
A few years went by and my older brother told our dad that he had been raped by the person that lived with us. My father came to me and shared what my brother told him, and I told him to believe it because for years she had done that to me as well. Just recently my younger brother also shared with me that he too was violated as a kid. What kind of sick bitch would do such a thing? What enjoyment do adults get from sexually abusing children? What the f**k goes through their minds?
Between the ages of 12 and 15 all I ever tried to do was commit suicide. I would overdose on my mother’s medication, Lord knows what it was cause I don’t remember what I was taking. All it ever did to me was put me to sleep and my father had the audacity to always ask if I was pregnant….wtf? Really? Is that all he could ever think I would end up doing at a young age? I was scared of men and women, how could I end up pregnant? Again, he didn’t know any better.
I’m not trying to bash my parents or justify their attitudes or remarks, but they really did do the best they could and how they could. I don’t think they would have been prepared to deal with what I went through if I’d told them sooner.
I think this is all I will share for now. I hope you get the courage to open up about any past hurts or abuse that you endured as a child or even as an adult and you didn’t know how to protect yourself.
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