One summer I went to my grandparents house expecting a wonderful, funfilled summer. What I got was a disgusting memory and feelings that I was a worthless person that would haunt me for years. I was about 8 or 9 years old. I was in my Aunt’s bedroom, on the floor sleeping. I heard my grandpa open the door and say my name quietly, as if he didn’t really want me to hear him. I heard him. I don’t know why, but I was always afraid of my grandfather, so I stiffened up and pretended like I had heard nothing and was still asleep. I heard his boots coming closer to me, his breathing was unusually loud. I had my eyes open just enough so I could see him but it still looked like I was asleep. He got down on his knees and blew in my ear. It sent shivers up my spine. He stroked my hair and back, and after a few minutes of that got on top of me. I will never forget how truly afraid I became at that moment. He began moving himself up and down, back and fourth on me. I felt sickened. I wanted to scream, but it was if I could not move or speak because I was so afraid. After a few minutes of him rubbing himself on me and breathing loudly in my ear, I “woke up”; and tried to move. He noticed me moving and quickly got up off me. He just said he was trying to wake me up and walked out of the room like he had done nothing wrong. I told no one. I honestly don’t know why. Maybe fear or denial. But it didn’t pay, my keeping quiet. Because the next summer something similar happened. I came from the back of the house, going into the kitchen. I saw my grandpa in his maroon chair, watching an old western show. I avoided eye contact, as usual. I was deathly afraid of him ever sience the last summer. He asked me to come and sit on his lap. Not wanting to disobey an elder, I did as I was told. He then wrapped his arms around me, pulled me closer to him, and started blowing in my ear. I automatically had flashbacks of the past incident and began to feel sick. After a minute or two of that he began licking my ear, again breathing hard and fast. I could not take it anymore at that point. I pulled myself off of him and went outside. That night I was afraid to sleep out in the living room on the couch like usual so I asked my Aunt if I could sleep in her room. She asked me why, and I told her what my grandpa did earlier that day. I was astonished that she didn’t at all seemed suprised. She just said okay, sleep in here. That was it. I thought for sure she would tell my grandma or my parents, but she didn’t. And that was it. I still went there every summer. I just slept in my Aunt’s room. He died a few years later, and it was a huge relief to me that I didn’t have to be afraid of him anymore. Just a month ago I worked up the courage to tell my mom what my grandpa did to me all those years ago. She seemed suprised, yet not. She said that my Aunt “April,” the one who’s room I had been sleeping in, told her when she was a kid to be careful around him because he had “done stuff” to their other sister, “Maria.” I didn’t get a chance to ask her myself about it though, because she died at a young age of lukemia. I still haven’t fully gotten over those awful and haunting experiences, but I am working on overcoming my feelings of guilt and worthlessness. And for everyone out there who has experienced a trauma like sexual harrassment, sexual abuse, date rape, or the like, I am truly sorry. But please know that it is not your fault, and you cannot let the scum who did that to you ruin your life. Please have the courage to speak up and be heard. Don’t be stupid like I was and wait until it’t too late for anything to be done about it. But even though I was stupid for not telling anyone until it was too late, I learned from it. That’s why I am sharing my story now. Again, please speak up and be heard. It is definitely the right thing to do. No matter who did it to you, a friend, relative, employer, teacher or anyone else. SPEAK UP!!
I have been sexually abused in my lifetime and taken advantage enough times. My 2nd oldest brother sexually molested me when i was 9 & 10 years old. It would of continued if i didn’t start to feel scared more & more often. My parents only found out about it Christmas night of 2004, and im not saying theyre bad parents, but they did nothing. They cried & blamed themselves and when my 2 other brothers confronted the one, he denyed it all. And no punishment was brought against him and he still lives here. I will never forgive him for it but i’ve been trying to forget about it. As a direct effect in my opinion, i started having sex when i was 14. I didn’t ever sleep around with anyone. They all meant something & promised me they wouldn’t hurt me, typical guy’s lies. But i think i was forced to grow up and be more mature. I’ve been thinking about going to meetings for any of this plus the more secrets i consume to myself. I live with it and have survived it so far.
I’m not really sure how old I was when it started. I remember a few little thing: an inappropriate touch in the swimming pool, him always wanting me to wear dresses. So, I wore the dresses and didn’t think about it except when the PE teacher got mad that I wore dresses on PE day. There were other concerns in my young life.
But, then, when I was 8, my parents sent me to stay with him alone. I still have the journal I started that vacation. I wrote about my plane trip and one more day, but after that some events required words that weren’t in my vocabulary. I stopped writing in the journal. That night I was taking a shower and he was “helping” me. This means he was sitting there watching me. I remember he got up–there were two sets of doors leading into the bathroom and he closed both of them. I’m not sure where my grandmother was. He said I was old enough and he was going to “teach” me something. He told me to get out and lie down on the floor. There was a white rug. Part of my back was on that and part was on the white tile floor. It wasn’t clean, but that doesn’t matter- I wasn’t going to be clean for much longer.
He told me to bend my legs. He separated my legs with one hand on my left knee and put his finger inside me. I said (or whispered): “Please, no, that hurts.” He said: “Bad girls say it hurts. Good girls like it. You want to be good, don’t you?” He sounded irritated and determined. Then came the space. I would get familiar with these spaces over the years to come. This one wasn’t as scary because I didn’t know what was coming and I didn’t know if I’d be moved I’d be hurt- that all came later. He always took his time after. I think he liked to see me lying there– it turned him on. He would use this space to prepare himself- it took a while for him to get an erection. Sometimes just me lying there was enough. Sometimes he would invent an excuse, (like that I was moving) to jam his finger into me a few more times. Sometimes he needed me to whimper to turn him on, but he didn’t need any of that this time. From the few times I opened my eyes, he was rubbing himself. Then he got on top of me. He was an old man. It took him a while to get down. Then he was inside of me and the pain overshadowed everything else. It felt like I was being split apart. I begged him to stop. He told me I had to learn and that if I was good it wouldn’t hurt so I must be bad. All I really remember is pain and fear that I could taste. When he was done I was so dirty inside- I don’t know if it was his semen or my blood or both. But he wiped me and put the paper in the toilet and flushed it away. As he pulled up his pants and told me to put on my underwear and clothes, he told me I had been bad and hadn’t learned, so he would have to do this again. He said if I told anyone they would know how bad I was and would hate me. He forced me again, the first of many times that night in bed. It would be 10 years before I told anyone.