I often think that my life began when I was 6-years-old. That’s when my parents, after a shotgun wedding and the years of arguing following decided to finally split. I imagine that if things hadn’t gotten serious afterwards, that would’ve been the biggest turn my life would have taken. I think it’s important to point out that I’ve always had a comfortable lifestyle when viewed by a stranger. Always had a roof over my head, provided for, lived in really nice houses in really nice areas. Not even always suburban, for a time my mom owned a small farm, now I live in a suburban area in a moderately large home. My father lived with his parents in a modest farm house with a lot of land in a quiet, country setting. When they split, my sister and I stayed with my mom and spent every other weekend and holiday with my father. At first I thought it was kind of scary being away from my mom, I often stayed home and never went to my father’s house and I think that’s because he was so mean when he argued with my mom. After a while I was made comfortable (coxed with toys and going out places) and I enjoyed going to my fathers.
That’s when things started getting out of sorts. I can’t say I remember everything that happened, specific details (a lot of it has been suppressed, and only recently have I begun remembering specific events via nightmares and flashbacks…that’s the worst) but I remember it began with my father telling me that what he was doing (touching me while we “cuddled”) was something that most fathers do with their daughters, and he promised to buy me toys if I let him keep going. Eventually, he started a system with my sister and I, during the two nights we stayed we each got to spend one night “staying up late” with him. So, on Friday night my sister had to go to bed early and I got to stay up late and watch a movie with my dad, on Saturday night vice versa. This is when he took most advantage of us (my sister has never spoken about what happened to her, but during the investigation and arrest, confirmed that she was also a victim). He showed us porn (mostly child pornography), touched us, and sometimes asked to take pictures of us “like the pretty girls in the pictures”. When I got older, things got a little worse. And then a lot worse.
Around age 9 was when my dad started asking me to touch him. I wasn’t too comfortable with it and often said no, but sometimes he would convince me that it was ok and that it’s what daughters and fathers do all the time. I was also starting to get more aware of my body, and he started to take advantage of that too. He would teach me about basic sex ed, but by using porn and would ask me if he could check me out to make sure everything was maturing properly. He would say it’s ok to be open with your body and too show off as long as no one was hurting you. He started asking me to do porn with him around then too. I kept saying no, acting shy. But like before he would constantly try and convince me that it was normal and ok. It was around the age 11 or 12 that he raped me. I never gave into doing porn with him, but he once asked me if he could see if things were maturing correctly. I remember him doing this before and assumed it was the normal procedure of him feeling around and examining me, but this time was different. Excluding the gross grimey details this time he was seeing how well he could fit himself in me…well that was his excuse.
When I was 12 and 13 I was going over his house less and less because I was spending my weekends with my friends and was less interested in spending them with family. Subconsciously I think I was made uncomfortable by him. I knew that there was something wrong, but after years of being trained and convinced that what happened between us was normal I wasn’t sure I should’ve said anything. And even when I did go to his house he would still attempt to touch me, “I miss the way we used to cuddle.”
I remember the day that I realized what was happening was wrong like it was yesterday. I was having a sleepover party with my then best friends, I was 13 close to 14, and we were telling stories about our families and some bad things that happened to us. Nothing really out of the ordinary “My mom once grounded me for sneaking out with Josh! What a witch!” and I just let it out. It was almost automatic, I hardly knew what I was saying. I was telling the story to these girls and I don’t even know how I knew what to say. After I said it, “So ya…I think I’ve been sexually abused.” I knew it. I knew what had happened to me was wrong, and my friends were there to confirm that it was not normal and that I needed to tell someone. I didn’t. I still couldn’t have been sure that it was justifiable to send my father to jail because I just didn’t know if it was wrong.
Later that summer, in August, after I had turned 14 my mom held an anniversary for my grandparents. My older half sister (same mother) approached me when I was alone. She said, “Hey, I just wanted to check on you. I know you’ve been having a tough time and I’m worried. Recently I had a dream that your dad was hurting you and it kind of freaked me out.” (or something of the sort. Also, during this time I was going through normal teenage girl troubles…boyfriend broke up with me, very little friends to rely on, about to start high school.) Well that’s when I told her what happened. I asked her to keep it to herself because I hadn’t decided what to do. She didn’t, she told my mom immediately, she freaked, there was a “family meeting” (in which my sister hid in her room to avoid talking about it) and we decided that it would be better for everyone if we called the cops. It was the first (and last time) I had ever seen my older half-brother cry. Really really cry. My families reaction to this breaks my heart to this day just thinking about it.
My father plead guilty as soon as he was arrested. There was hardly an investigation except what needed to be done and the following March was his sentencing. In between the time he was arrested and sentenced, his family stopped talking to me. They didn’t send any holiday cards, stopped calling me like they used too every week, and I was worried. I didn’t want to lose part of my family because of this. I called my grandmother to try and talk to her casually. She told me that she knew it wasn’t my fault that my father was in jail, they knew it was a lie and that it was my mother who convinced me to make such an outrageous lie and call to the cops. I was heartbroken. I was expecting my family to support me, my father to apologize, and for things to work out in the end. But my father convinced them that he didn’t hurt me and my mom put me up to it.
It’s been six years since then and we haven’t spoken a word to each other. I still sometimes hope that things will work out, that my father will apologize to me, but I know it’s a long shot. In general I don’t even call them my family. I’ve even legally changed my last name to my mothers maiden name. But they cut off ties with me, and I eventually learned to accept that.
My life since has been a roller-coaster with mostly downward slopes. I don’t use what happened to me as a crutch when I hurt myself and attempt to blame my own stupidity and inability to cope, but the cold, hard fact is I’ve developed PTSD from the experience and am feeling the effects. I used to take drastic measures to cope when I feel disappointment, sadness, jealousy, or any other overwhelming emotion. I’ve spent a week in a psych ward, been in the ICU, in and out of therapists. But each thing I put myself through eventually teaches me a lesson. I need to put what happened to me behind me, I need to stop falling back on my mental disorders when things hit me hard, and I need to learn more safe coping methods. Recently I’ve learned that picking up new hobbies help and it’s been my saving grace for the last couple everyday mental tragedies.
Many choices I’ve made so far I feel may have been self-consciously prodded by my PTSD, but I feel stronger and better for it. I’m opening myself up (I made this resolution a couple days ago) to a new life. I finally changed my name legally, I have a new job, I’m looking to go back to school, and I’m finally going to live on my own. I’m going to try and live my life like I should at my age. Having fun and taking responsibility. Basically, a terrible thing has happened to me, I allowed it to make part of me who I am, but I’m making a stop to it now. I’m going to make the difference and be stronger and not let it control me anymore.
Woo! Alright. That’s that. Feels good to finally say everything.