It was on a cold Saturday in the beginning of December; a day before my life took another fatal turn. Just before two weeks of our much anticipated Christmas break. I always looked forward to Christmas. Christmas was/is my favorite season of the year. I always got excited making cookies for Santa Clause. While watching Christmas movies and singing Christmas carols down stairs in the living room; we'd grab our favorite blanket and play board games afterwards. "Candy Land" was my favorite game. I was always the winner.
Around the age of 7 or 8 years old my mom, siblings and I often watched scary movies. One day my mother told me a story about a stranger she called the "Boogey- man." My mother said this stranger had no particular dress, smile, walk, talk or face. She always told me if this stranger appeared, I was to stay away. If he touched me, scream as loud as I could. What my mother never told me was that this "Boogey-man" could possibly be living in our own home. What I never understood is why I never screamed as loud as I could? Why my cries seemed so far, so inaudible? This person was no stranger at all. He was suppose to be my protector. Instead, he was the boogey man my mother once talked about. Causing far more harm than any stranger could. He became my second molester, He molested me for several years. The person who took my complete sense of self-worth away. His awful actions made me feel worthless. The person who took my soul and even as I write today, I feel like I can never regain my soul back as it once was. It was almost as my intestines were torn out of my body physically. But I was still breathing- more like breathing for air but being consciously dead. I could hardly talk. My speech was gone. My body was shaking of devastating fear, my cries were silent. Having (3) other siblings, we loved to play hide-go-seek in the dark. It was (I would say) our favorite childhood game. Tag was our second favorite. Of course, I love to be the person to hide. Counting was boring. Often, my younger sister would hide with me. She was of course, the whisperer who would give away the hiding spot till the seeker came. The youngest then of my mothers four children, just about two years younger than me. The quiet baby girl. I was hiding behind the couch upstairs in the upper loft. My known favorite hiding spot cause I could easily fit through the cracks. I was only about 70 pounds or so. Well, the "Boogey-man" my mother once talked about found me in my hiding spot. As I began to slide out my hiding spot on my belly, I felt a hand grip around my ankle. Laughingly, I said, "You found me, I'll count." My youngest sister was still hiding. Apparently, my seeker wasn't laughing with me. He painfully grabbed me from behind the couch and placed his hands upon my mouth whispering "shh". I was froze at that moment. I knew that from that moment on it was nowhere to run or hide. He took my shirt off. Slowly fondling with my breast. As my pajama pants fell from my waist to my ankles below; he took his hand grabbing my private area. Placing his fingers in my vagina. Whispering in my ear "Don't tell mama or I'm going to kill you." Tossing me over on my back climbing on top of me forcefully yanking his pants down with his knee bent upon mines; he takes his penis and tries to jab it into my private area. As I squealed, "let me go! Please. That hurts!" He never stopped, never even cared. Hoping my sister would come out of her hiding spot to save me. She never appeared. I never told her. Truthfully, I was too afraid to tell anyone. I didn't know how to. After several years of this happening, my sister walked in on him minutes before he repeated this awful act again and she told my mom. In the end, I felt as if everyone hated me for not telling, I couldn't. My fear had won. Not so much as afraid of telling, but afraid of him. Being the youngest sibling, we often protected my sister. What I never told her was, "Thank you for protecting me!" The forgiveness was never for him, it was always for me. My story was never for pity, it was always to set me free. This far cry is no more. Someday someone will be bold enough to tell your story too. Equally, as strong as me. Who cares what others think? The pain will never go away but it will get easier. It will set you free from being harmed again. Too often we have been told not to discuss uncomfortable subjects, I decided, today that changes!
5 Comments
They call me sleez
10/1/2017 09:17:41 pm
Bold.. heartfelt...real.... Love it
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Caiya
10/1/2017 09:20:57 pm
thank you ?
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Khayla Watkins
10/2/2017 04:43:17 am
I love you for still being here today despite that mother fucker! He did not steal your soul unless you decide to give it to him. Fight for what's yours, your soul is no ones but yours, no one can steal that from you. He may have taken your innonence & silenced you, but this blog & other things within your life have helped you regain your voice back. Never silent again, tell your story, love, forgive but don't forget. There is nothing anyone can do to change the past but what we can do is outline the future.
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Robbin
10/2/2017 09:18:06 am
Your so strong
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@kygotwoes
10/2/2017 02:31:05 pm
Yo ..i’m very proud of you ..honestly..This probably took alot of strength and thought . That situation doesn’t make you or break you . You may wete silence then but you just broke that . You’re stronger and powerful now!
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