Guilt. Shame. Embarrassment. Relent.
These are all things I feel daily, and it comes and goes. I feel as though I can never be happy, because of the monster I feel I am at heart.
I grew up with my mom and my stepdad. Both of these people are tremendously amazing. I had my Gaga (my great grandma who meant the world to me) and then I had Nana and Guh.
I still remember the day, just before my fifth or sixth birthday. “Guh” as I called him, took me into the bathroom and had me give him oral. I had no idea what this was all about, so in my princess costume, I asked him if we could do it again. He basically drug me into my Gaga’s bathroom (this is where the party was being held) and told me never to say that to someone again because it was bad. I said okay.
Years went on as I was exposed to this. He would try to shove me under the bed for stuff like that and I would attempt to restrain. However, in my mind, I was pretending to be asleep, so he would shove me down, open my mouth, and bam.
This went on, with him beginning to touch me in places. I feel nasty because I experienced pleasure from it. Bodily pleasure that is.
As I grew older and learned more meanings about this, and began to dislike it. I tried not to let him touch me and would come up with excuses that would restrain him like being on my period. I kept going over to the house because I loved my grandma, always had fun in the daytime, and I didn’t:
A.) Want Nana to have hurt feelings
B.) Anyone to get suspicious
He began to do more, especially as I got older. He had raped me numerous times after I hit puberty, he had done everything imaginable to me, and had just been awful. I hated myself so much. He was creepy and yet Nana expected nothing! Yet after he went in I would brush my teeth and wash my hands forever. No questions asked? She’s still with him even though when I was fourteen and CPS came in and inquired why my sister had told a friend what was happening to her and I told them everything and we told her?
Actually. I didn’t tell them everything at first. I never mentioned the rape. I did in anger. I was spiraling out of control. Mom was telling me it was my fault my siblings were molested, made hints that I went over there because I enjoyed what was happening to me (which fucked me up man. I had felt pleasure which makes me so mad to this day because he would rub his hand on my belly before dipping it in my pants. The worst part? I just let it happen. Sometimes I would turn over but no, he would go in from the exit.) and wasn’t kind about it. They said.
“YOUR SISTERS WENT THROUGH THE SAME THING AND THEY ARE FINE.”
And I said:
“NO THEY DIDN’T BECAUSE THEY WEREN’T RAPED.”
That was a dark time in my life. My Mom hated me for a month. I can’t do much now. I think I might end up killing myself from it because I can’t be intimate without crying, I can’t let myself feel Love because I don’t think I deserve it, and I hate myself so I have to act like another person all together. People are so shallow now until they have their innocence taken from them. I feel like I was old enough to have put more of a stop to it. I was fourteen and a half when I told CPS. I thought if he was doing it to me, he wasn’t doing it to my siblings. I remember just laying in bed crying as he took advantage of me, and doing the same when he would leave. I had guilt back then, I have guilt now, and I will always have guilt.
— Survivor, age 17