I have never been able to speak to anyone about this, as I have been to afraid of being shunned amongst people because of the person I am and the baggage I carry. I need to get some things off my chest. So this myTake is going to be long. Those of you who read this despite its length, I thank you beforehand. So, here it goes..
In my earlier years I believed there was something wrong with me. My cousin, uncle, step father, and grandfather molested me. My cousin and uncle from ages 3 to 7. My grandfather was once, at age 4. My stepfather molested me from 6 to 10. The abuse stopped when my mother divorced him, though she never knew of the abuse. I never told anyone because as a child because I lied my way through everything. I can remember it clearly even while being 21 now. I learned to be a good liar while trying to hide the sexual torment I went through. I was manipulated and made to believe that I wanted and liked it. And was also told, only once, that my mother and my baby brother would be killed if I told anyone. It was "our little secret."
There was no sexual abuse from ages 11-14. But there was physical.. My mother ended up hooking up with a man after her divorce and he turned out to be an abusive drunk. On countless occasions, I witnessed my mother being beaten senseless. She would have me run down the road with my brother to my grandmothers house. She would tell us to stay there and wait for her. But I never did. I dropped him off everytime and ran back to the house, watching through the window as he beat my mom repeatedly, until he finally got his fill and walked off, leaving her unconscious on the floor. The police were at our house every other day to escort him out of the house. Where he was always drunk, he would have someone come pick him up, and they would always drop him back off after the cops left. I got it easier than my mom and my brother did. He hated my brother. He would jump up from the couch and start chasing my brother around the house while my mom was outside doing yard work, determined to get his hands on him. Even though my brother was overweight, he was still quicker than this man. My brother and I attempted suicide together. We went to the medicine cabinet and took all the pills out of every bottle and swallowed them down, hoping to end our lives. I was 11, he was 8. We didn't even get sick. It had no effect at all, though we both took at least 15 pills each. (My mom didn't like having meds in the house except Ibuprofen or Tylonol). And I felt like I was less of a person because I could never do anything to save my brother or my mother from the beatings. The abuse stopped when my mom got pregnant with twins.
We moved out of my hometown to get into a better home, more suitable for children. My mother now had 6 children. (My other two siblings were at their fathers a lot and didn't see half of the abuse which I am thankful for). This man stopped drinking and stopped beating on us. And surprisingly, he was a great guy when he wasn't drunk. But it was shortlived. Five weeks after my baby sisters were born (yes, twins), I woke up to my mother screaming. At first I didn't understand what she was saying, but as reality kicked in, I ran to my mothers room where she was on the floor, trying to revive one of my baby sisters. The man was on the phone with 911 and they were walking him through the mouth to mouth process, which he was repeating to my mother. When the ambulance arrived they brought my sister outdoors and tried reviving her behind the doors of the vehicle. But shortly after, they came in and said they were sorry and there was nothing they could do. My mother collapsed to the floor, defeated. I had never seen my mother cry before. But there I was, age 13, witnessing my beautiful mother crumble to pieces and begging God to take her instead. My mom ended up packing up my other baby sister and rushing her to the hospital, for the fear that the same thing would happen to her as well. That entire night I slept with my 4 year old sister laying on my chest. Everytime I started to doze off, I would quickly panic and wake myself up. Shaking my sister awake, because I too was afraid of her dying as well. Two long days after, I got a phone call from my mother at the hospital saying that DHHS had just come in and ripped my baby sister from my mothers breast as she was nursing her and then escorted her out of the building. She told me to leave the house and take my sister with me. My brothers had already left to go to their dads. And then, my mother told me that my now ex-step father was going to be picking up my sister and that he would meet me soon.
I had not laid eyes on my step father since his last sexual abuse. And now, I had to hand over MY baby sister to this evil, sick, pathetic excuse of a human. I remember looking in this mans eyes as I buckled my sister in her carseat, and telling him directly, "If you even so much as have a thought of touching my sister in any way, shape, or form like you did to me, I will fucking kill you." He sat there, mouth open, staring at me. I turned to my sister, who handed me the lollipop I just bought her and saying "Dont foget me sissy." And I still have that lollipop. I was forced to go with my father, whom I didn't know at all. He had been practically absent my entire life. A DHHS worker called me shortly after arriving at my fathers house and said "You have the choice to stay living with your father or go to foster care with your baby sister. But I want you to know that if you dont go to foster care with your sister then there is a chance that she may die as well." These are the exact words this woman said to me. Jill Hunter out of the Biddeford, Maine DHHS Office. As you can imagine, putting this into a 13 year olds head, I was torn. They didn't even end up keeping me in a home with her. I bounced around from multiple foster homes that year. Only in a home with my sister for a short 3 weeks.
I turned to drugs and alcohol to keep my mind off the inner demons I was faced with. The constant desire to kill myself and end my misery was most of the time unbearable and I dont know how I managed to stick it out. But eventually, a year into foster homes, we were all able to go back home with my mother. At this point I had decided to be "lesbian". I only did it to rebel against my foster parents who repeatedly told me I couldnt be gay. But, I grew to like it nonetheless. I was content within my abusive relationship because that was the only kind of relationship I knew. My girlfriend at the time treated me like a slave. Sexually and otherwise. She was 18, and I was barely 14. My mother quickly disapproved of it and made me leave her. She saw the abuse take place, and regardless of the person some people will believe she is, she would never allow any harm to be done to her children if she had known about it. So I moved on from the abusive relationship and I ended up telling my mother what my step father had done to me. I wrote her a letter explaining everything about my step father and my attempted suicides. I never told her of anyone else. And I regret the timing now, because it broke her.
While we were in foster care my mother slept around. She ended up getting pregant with twins, again. I remember hearing her crying all hours of the night, thinking that one or both of these babies would die as well. There was nothing I could do to comfort her, so I thought, so I hid behind my closed door, crying with her from opposite rooms. But when she had the twins, they were both very healthy and perfect babies. (By the way, my baby sister died of Braydiacardia Disease that went unresolved in the hospital before sending her home). At this point I was 15. My mother moved us away. Away from everyone who had hurt me. Away from the man that beat her. We just packed and left one day and didn't tell anyone. Three months into living in our new home, my landlord came on to me. I was sitting on the dryer in the basement while my brothers stacked wood with him, he was also a good friend of the family and I had known him since I was nine years old. My brothers went outside to grab more wood and when they did, my landlord put his hands on both sides of me and leaned in for a kiss. I backed away, and he called me a tease. I was 15 and he was 30. For months he persued me. Everyday after I got out of school, he was there. My brother stayed after and the younger kids got out later than I did. And everyday for 3 months, he was there, trying to kiss me. And one day, I kissed him back. I was shocked and dont know why I did it. But it went downhill from there. He pushed sex on me 3 days later, and he was the man I lost my virginity to. I was with this man for a year and a half. I thought I was in love with him. And 3 weeks before my 17th birthday, he left me for someone else. And I had to sit there and watch him with this woman, with my mouth closed because I knew if I said anything, he would go to jail. I didn't want that. As revenge, I fucked somebody who worked with him, and low and behold, I got pregnant.
I kept the baby. Because in my eyes, it was not the childs fault that I made a mistake. But my entire pregnancy, I was hopeless. What would my son even think of me when he got older? He would surely blame me for his father not wanting to be around. Just as I had blamed my mother for my fathers absence, though it wasn't her fault. But once I had my beautiful, perfect boy laying on my chest, every single pain and fear I had vanished for a moment. My boy, my beautiful, beautiful boy saved my life. I was so excited to start my journey and provide my son with a better life then me. But when he was a week old, he stopped breathing. De ja vu; memories of my sisters lifeless body filled my head. The fear and the panic resurfaced. I yelled for my mother who came running into the room and I handed her my child. Her face went white. And she looked into my eyes with tears pouring out of our faces and she pushed me aside. She handed my son off to my grandmother and started using a 'booger sucker' to clear out his nose and throat as I ran outside to call 911. I was such a coward that I couldnt even stay in the room with them trying to revive my baby. Everything that was playing out was a blur. My mom on the floor begging God to take her instead of her daughter, and here I was following the same suit. I collapsed to the ground and begged God. I begged and pleaded and threw myself completely into Gods welcoming arms. Losing myself in my own sorrow until the ambulance showed up and my mother was behind me, picking me up and putting my son back into my arms. I looked down at my boy and my baby was staring up at me smiling. My mom had saved my boy! My boy was breathing. I lost myself again in a whole new round of tears as I cradled my son in my arms. And as I stepped into the ambulance, I glanced behind me one last time and saw my mother through the kitchen window, on the floor with her face in her hands and my grandmother behind her comforting her. My boy turned out to have a cold and the backed up snot had caused him to stop breathing. The doctors sent me and my son back home with a nebulizer. I couldnt sleep at all for a solid 3 weeks unless someone was awake with my son. I was so afraid that he would stop breathing again and I would not realize.
A month and a half after my son stopped breathing on me, I met someone. I fell for him quickly though I thought it was impossible. And I have been with him now for 4 years. He took in my son as his own only 2 months after being apart of my life. He filled the shoes that my sons father couldnt. And he taught me that not every man is the same. We ended up having another child. A baby girl. My son is now 4 and my daughter is 2. Without my children and without my boyfriend, I dont believe I would have made it out alive. Everything had been going so perfect. I had moved out, had a stable job, the perfect children and the perfect man, all while going back to school. Until exactly a year ago today, I got a phone call that would make my life start to fall apart again. My mother was crying on the other end. I could hear my siblings crying as well. I could barely understand what she was saying until the very end, right before she hung up on me... Leukemia. My baby brother had Leukemia. This is why I am reaching out for help. I have had a rough life. I was very suicidal. But I was getting better. And now, my baby brother who is only 6 years old has cancer. And I dont know how to be strong. I dont know how to keep it together for myself, let alone for my mother who has already lost a child. I dont know how to step out of the shadows like I did before. My boyfriend had helped me overcome my childhood. he's tried helping with this but he can't. My mother is the strongest woman I have ever met. She has suffered so much already. She saved my boy. She was the only person I ever had (before my children and man). And I feel so cowardly sitting back in the depths of the shadows and grieving instead of comforting her. I feel hopeless again. And I dont know how to bring myself out.
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