I was sexually abused repeatedly at the hands of an uncle when I was nine years old. My entire family has always chosen to ignore that ever happened, to this day. The ghosts of this traumatic series of events have haunted me for the next 41 years of my life. I have grown deep, emotional scars that have become an ever growing rage which, frequently, consume my soul and my life. I have never sought help, therapy, or any sort of professional assistance. I am strong and always thought I could handle it by not thinking about it and living the life I was meant to live… I was wrong.
This abuse took place in Caracas, Venezuela.
I was born in Caracas, in 1964. I have one elder brother and my parents were both born in Cuba. They fled Castro’s Communist regime and found a friendly, hospitable, fertile young country where to start their lives and family as refugees of Cuba’s tyrant regime. One if my mother’s sisters, the youngest of all nine children my grandparents had, followed my mother to Venezuela with her husband. This man is the abuser.
When I was a little girl, I remember how this man would come to our house very often and would sit to have these long conversations with me. I liked animals and my mom would get me the National Geographic magazine. So, this man would browse through the magazine with me making the animal stories so interesting, from the adult perspective. He was also very much into karate, to the point that to this day, I vividly remember how all the knuckles in his fingers had these huge calluses! It was scary. I remember a lot about this Karate part, for some reason. I believe he made it a point to show off how strong and fearless he was, as a tool to ultimately intimidate my young mind.