One in every five girls is the victim of childhood sexual abuse.
This is her brave, brave story; the story of a true fighter:
I'm not sure when or where to start my story, so I suppose I'll start here.
I knew I'd been abused, but never thought about it, always but pushing it under it all. Ashamed, I'm sure; fear that someone would out about the abuse. If they found out I'd been abused, they'd judge me, hate, not love me. That's what I'd been told starting at age five.
Yes, five years old. What kind of man does the unspeakable to a five year old girl - an innocent little girl?
Every day, he'd come over to talk to my mom, who was usually hungover. She didn't pay much attention to him. He'd call me close to him; his hands touching me where they shouldn't. Even at five, I knew that touch was wrong.
When I flinched or tried to move away, he grabbed my hair - hard enough to make me cry out. He ordered me to stand there, to stay there. If I made a single sound, he claimed, my mother would throw me away, hate me, not love me.
Once under his control, he would slip his hand down my shirt and touch my tiny chest. I wouldn't breathe; I wouldn't move. My eyes filled with tears. He warned me that if I cried I would die. These touches continued for days, weeks.
Then, he told my my mother he'd be taking me with him to church; to help clean. My mother, always hung over, didn't care. She sent me on my way with my abuser.
He grabbed my hand and dragged me into a room. "This is where the REAL fun starts," he told me as I shook and cried.
I begged, "I'm scared, please," and he just laughed and pulled my hair. Cruelly, he said, "good, I want you scared."
He pulled my clothes off as I sobbed harder. I screamed from the pain as he grabbed me by my hair, lifting me off the ground. He said, "That's it. Scream louder. Oh, how I love that sound."
He put me down and took of my panties and undershirt. I stared at him, thinking what is he doing?
Why did my grandfather hate me so much?
I didn't understand.
He said, "Now you are going to make me happy. If you don't, I will tell everyone how nasty, dirty you are. Your mother will hate you. She'll throw you away"
I remember my little heart breaking with those words; I didn't want my Mommy hating me. I walked over to him and managed a smile.
He leaned down and licked my chest. I stiffened from the feeling.
I didn't know what was going on. I asked him to stop; I didn't know what was happening.
He said, "You're going to be a women soon."
He slid his finger between my legs. I cried, begged "please pop-pop don't touch me there." He didn't listen, pushed it harder. He hurt me. I cried, I screamed, the fire inside hurt so bad.
He started beating me for crying. He took his belt and whipped me. I stopped crying as he ordered.
When I stopped crying, he took his you-know-what out of his pants and made do things to it I knew were wrong, but he didn't hurt me, didn't hit me. He said, "I love you" as he held my head there saying, "keep doing it, keep it up, open your mouth wider." My mouth hurt but he kept saying, "I love you."
Then something happened.
He made a strange sound. I puked out something that came out of him. He laughed so hard. He said, "You did good today. Tomorrow, there will be no tears or crying or I will hurt you more. Understand?"
He held me tight kissing my head, saying "I love you" and "I can't wait to teach you more."9 Comments