Shattered Childhood

I have come to realize the extent of the damage, to me, to my soul, to my brain, because of childhood sexual abuse. Repeated sexual assaults. On me, on my child that I was, then. I can recall an assault when I was 2 yrs old. A repressed memory that came through abruptly, turning my world upside down. Sexual abuse became a regular thing in my family. My mother decided to be around adults who liked sexually abusing children. My mother participated in many ways. So did my father. The traumas made it impossible to functioning in the world. I could not think about grades in school when I had to think about trying to avoid a sexual assault from friends of my mother, her partner, mostly my brother. The sexual assault when I was 2, was just the first part of the beginning.

My brother began his abuse on me when I was 4 yrs. old. He is a year older than me so I know he must have been being sexually abused too, but his abuse was the worst as it grew to be extremely violent. My mother was reported to authorities so many times but she was skilled at running away, moving my siblings and I from one place to another avoiding us having the chance for rescue. When she moved us out of the state our biological families were, we lost any hope in being rescued. The sexual abuse had gotten violent then as my brother had been given the job of babysitting my sister’s and me. He threatened to kill me if I tried to tell anyone.

In high school, he began taking me to remote areas to assault me. He began working for a Police Dept, as a dispatcher. It was not too long he began taking me to his station and made me lay down in the back seat so that when he had a break he can have me there at his disposal. It escalated to the point where he held me against my will, and it seemed to me at that point I realized how worthless I must be if family wanted to hurt me. If my own mother wanted to hurt me and let others hurt me as well. I could not escape because there was no where to go. He worked for the PD and he said no one would believe me.

I took a chance to try and tell someone who worked at his dept he allowed me to talk to. I asked her not to say anything and told her of the violence, his beatings, the abuse. She recorded everything I was saying. I found out when he played the recording back to me. Then got beat up for trying to get help. It was 2 years after that I attempted an escape when a women came to the door and she witnessed the abuse. She came back and after a few visits when my brother was at work. She gave me the number to a woman’s domestic violence shelter. I called and finely made a successful escape. The sexual abuse has had physical effects.

To this day, I dream of healing though it seems impossible much of the time. I want to have value but I do not. I am a freak, a nobody, just another stupid soul, with nothing of value to imprint on the world. Sometimes I want to die, but just do not! Another tomorrow to try to get by in.

— Brenda Plumley, age 53