Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The early years, part 4

I think this will be the 'edgiest' of installments for a while. This is the installment that I recommend skipping for those who may be faint of heart. This one is hard for me to write, and I imagine, will be hard for some to read. This entry will also be longer, because a lot happened, and I feel strongly about it being covered in one fell swoop.

Anyhow... here goes....

So, we're in the new house. Again it's a two bedroom, but this time there's a partially finished basement, and that's where my brothers are. I'm in a small room between the living room and my mom (and my uncle's) room. Across from me is the bathroom.

It's a cute little house, on a nice street, and the school isn't far away. There are other kids around, and we all make friends, and all walk to school together. I'm in grade 1.

Things were okay I seem to remember, but my brain goes all Swiss cheesy here too. See, in the last house, I can remember so much. I remember school, and my valentines, and playing marbles in the dirt, and the girl who lived down the street, and the swing set, and singing Bon Jovi's 'livin' on a prayer' at the top of our lungs... and so many things about that time... but here... in this new house (herein called House2) my brain turns to cheese, and there are holes again.

This house was not a home for more than a few days at most. This house became a place of nightmares for me.

Before the summer ended, the boys and I would walk over to the store, and get Slurpee's, and make swamp water and get candies. I remember that they used to hate getting up when they were comfortable, and would leave their candy wrappers all over. One time, they bribed me to take the fall for the candy wrappers, and presented me with more candy for my trouble. They'd figured that since I was younger, cute and hadn't been in trouble for it before, I"d get off easier.

I didn't get off easy by any stretch of the imagination. I got a spanking, and spent a day or two in my room, but in my mind it was worth it to sit in my closet and eat my hidden Punky's (remember Punky's?)

Small things, like the teacher giving me hell for not knowing how to spell my name (apparently, S-h-a-n-a was not correct, and I was too stupid to know), the same teacher sending me to the office because boys had smashed an apple on her desk, and I decided that was unacceptable and cleaned it up. And the girl from down the street, the girl who invited me to her birthday party and I got her my pet monster. It's no wonder that even though there was an age gap that we became fast friends... we were both going through the same thing.

And I think I've danced around that part enough.

My mom would sometimes go out with friends, and leave us in the care of friends, or sometimes my uncle. I heard them argue once, and Buffalo was where he accused her of going, and she'd leave him with us while she'd scratch her itch.

One night... he came into my room after the boys were in bed when my mother was gone out.

I have to say he never physically hurt me. No broken bones, and my hymen remained intact, but there was a hell of a lot of mental damage. He was more interested in making me touch him. Most of this is confined to the blackness, but parts of what he'd say to me, slipped through...


This one night, he was laying in my bed beside me, and he had my hand. He said to me "your mother really loves this part" and he started to pull my hand to him. I struggled, and he tightened his grip like a vice on my wrist. He forced me to touch him, to caress him, to manipulate his erection.

All the while he was telling me how much my mom loved that, and him. How if I told her she'd hate me. How I'd ruined her marriage to my father, and how I shouldn't ruin her relationship with him. That it was my fault. That I shouldn't have worn thin night gowns and seduced him. On and on his diatribe would go as he'd make me handle him.

And here I was, 6, and he was an adult. What could I do. And I thought he was right.

That's the worst part of it all. I thought he was right. Everything he said was RIGHT.

I'm not sure how long all of this went on to be honest. I know there was snow on the ground when it started, and that it was summer that it all ended, but I wasn't the greatest at keeping time, or diaries back then.

I know that I started having hardcore nightmares at this time, and my mom wouldn't help me get back to sleep after I woke up from one. They'd be nightmares where I'd be paralysed with fear, and unable to scream. When I'd finally work up the courage to spring from my bed, it was harder still to walk into the unknown shadows of the hall and the kitchen. But I'd go, because my mommy was going to help me. She was going to save me.

Unfortunately, I'd barely be able to get a word out of her. She wouldn't get up, she'd just tell me to think of nice things and go back to sleep. Thus, by the time I was 7, I became an insomniac. I couldn't sleep because who knew what would come out of the darkness after me.

Finally... one day everyone was gone from the house and it was just B2 and me there, I told him what was going on with the uncle. B2 was always the pacifist of all of us, and the hatred and rage I saw in that moment is etched in my mind forever.

(Fuck... I'm starting to cry....)

I thought he was mad at me, but he told me everything was going to be fine from now on. That he had my back, and that he'd keep me safe. He told me he was going to tell my mom, and that everything would be okay.

True to his word, he kept me safe, and he told my mom. And my mom got me to family and children services... and she pressed charges on my uncle. I remember talking to the judge, and telling him what happened and that I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. My uncle plead guilty because he said he "didn't want to put us through the trauma of a real trial"

They don't really do much to child molesters... not here at least.

I remember my mom telling me that I should talk to her about it, because she'd understand... but the words he'd said to me as he'd put my hands on him were still burning in my mind, and I kept my mouth shut. And while I"m sure counseling was offered, I never got any.

And again, we moved. But I think this is enough for now to be honest.... I'm scraping the bottom of the emotional barrel, and am going to exercise for a bit.


Princess of the Universe said...

Oh Honey- there is absolutely nothing I can say. I think you're amazingly brave for putting this all out there.

Elise said...

That is one incredibly fucked up story. I really think that people that sexually abuse children should be put to death... You are incredibly brave to put something so personal in such a public place, and I commend you for doing it. I'm also glad that you told the right people and didn't bottle this all inside for years and years, as that would probably have lead to serious problems down the road. I'm sorry that this had to happen to you...

eva said...

people capable of being this cruel can be very manipulative. i've been manipulated by people as an adult, so i can only imagine how defenseless a child would be against a manipulative person. especially one that you are taught to trust, like an uncle.

things like this doesn't just go away, it's still not too late to get therapy, i would reccomend it. i personally go to therapy for some things that has happened to me and it's helped a LOT.