I was expected to respect him and do as he wished

It happened…

I don’t remember the first time I was abused. Nor do I remember the second. I distinctly remember under half a dozen times, but I know that it happened many more times than that. At least 10 years of abuse multiplied by at least 10 visits to his house a year adds up to around 100 counts of abuse, by the time I was finally able to make it stop.

It was…

My dad’s father. It was very easy for him to gain access to me, as I was automatically expected to respect him and do as he wished. No force, threats, or intimidation was necessary in order to keep me quiet; simple lack of education did that. Because I was so young when the abuse started, I never knew life without it and I had no concept of what was happening to me or why it wasn’t ok. As I got older I got increasingly uneasy about it, but, as many children are, I was regularly made to do things that made me uncomfortable like allowing relatives and other adults to hug or touch me. I wasn’t able to differentiate between those situations and this until I was a teenager, and by the time I did I felt like such an active participant in the abuse that it was something we did together, as opposed to something he did to me. If I told, I would be implicating myself. I didn’t realize that what he did has (or at least should have) legal consequences for him and none for me until after I told.

It made me feel…

Alone. I felt like I couldn’t trust anybody. I felt like an object for others’ pleasure. When I was younger the abuse came out through behavioral problems. I was angry at the world. As I got older, I became increasingly angry at myself. I started to view myself as a participant and hated myself more and more. I started cutting in middle school and relied on that as a coping mechanism through the majority of high school as well. I was extremely suicidal and my grades dropped because I couldn’t focus in school. Nobody understood why things had taken the turn they did. My parents were frustrated; I was falling apart to the point that I couldn’t fake being ok for them anymore, but they didn’t understand why I was acting the way I was. I was belligerent, I took stupid risks, and wouldn’t put effort into anything, but I refused to talk to anybody about why. I myself didn’t really understand why I was having so many problems, I just knew that I didn’t want to participate in the world I was being forced to live in; a world that made me feel dirty, used, and tricked. I felt like every display of affection, every display of kindness was a ploy to get something from me, and so I refused to let people in, especially adults. I distanced myself so far from the abuse that sometimes it feels as though it happened to someone else, or that it didn’t happen at all. Every day was and is a battle with reality.

I told…

After realizing one night that I just couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. I wasn’t expecting anything to come of it, I just needed to get off my chest the secret I had been keeping for so many years. That being said, telling was not an easy task, after a few weeks of trying I ended up vaguely telling a teacher. It was enough to make me feel better, but it was also enough to make it clear that the authorities needed to be called. This teacher never doubted or blamed me for a second, and knowing that she supported and cared about me with no other motives was one of the most important parts of my healing. That being said, going through the investigation after I told was very difficult. I felt like I had betrayed my entire family, and worked to minimize the damage I had caused by “selfishly” letting my secret out. I lied to the investigators because I didn’t want to hurt anybody and I felt that telling about the abuse was going to tear my entire family apart. I didn’t want to be responsible for that.

I survived…

A childhood of abuse and then teenage years full of depression, self-loathing, and anger. It often feels like I barely survived these years. The only reason I did survive them is because I started talking about how I felt with a few people close to me. Slowly I realized that what happened wasn’t my fault, and that it didn’t have to ruin my life. This is a process that is still a work in progress, but I now have something that I didn’t have when I was a child; hope.

I dream…

Of a world where we fully protect the most innocent members of our community. Every time a child has to live through abuse, often alone for years and years, we as a society have failed this child. It is a difficult task to completely stop these crimes, but preventing a ton of the abuse that does occur simply comes down to educating our children and ourselves. Adults need to step up and defend our children, because they don’t stand a chance against these abusers without our aid.

I want…

Survivors to know that they aren’t alone and that there are so many people out there willing to listen and help; you just have to reach out. One of my favorite quotes is (and I’m paraphrasing) “this experience is going to paint your life whether you like it or not, but you get to choose what color the paint is.” It’s never too early or too late to tell your story, and speaking up is hard but well worth it. This isn’t something you did, it is something that was done to you and therefore no guilt or shame should ever be put on you. Sometimes it’s really hard to see the positives that can come out of such a negative thing, but finding those positives and taking advantage of them is one of the most powerful things you can do, both for yourself and others.

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