How can I start telling this sad, sad story. Well let me start by saying that I think I had the most depressing childhood. When I was just a little girl maybe like 7 or so, my father started molesting me. He was always drunk and my mother and he will always fight like men. We are a family of five sisters and one brother. My mother was always depressed and my dad was always drinking.
I remember a couple of men coming to stay with us, since they had arrived from their home country and didn’t have a place to stay my parents decided to let them stay with us for a couple of months while they stood on their feet. Well, those months were years of terror for me.
They would arrive from work and I would be playing in the living room – wearing my pajamas – and I remember how they would say “O.K. now show me whats under there.” Their look was very uncomfortable, since I didn’t want to make them angry, because I was only with my older sister that was only a couple of years older than me, I just acted shy and said “no.” On other occasions, one of them would come home from work on a hot summer day and he would make me sit on a chair, and then try to open my legs; so that the pig could see my private parts. Of course back then I didn’t think much of it. I just knew it was wrong inside my tiny head, I thought it was wrong. As time passed, they decided to leave.
On other occasions my father would come home from work drunk, and that was my greatest fear. Sometimes he would not even come home for days and those were the days that I could breathe.
Things got even worse when three of my cousins started to molest me at the age of ten. I remember when one day one of them tried to put me in a closet. I tried to get away when I heard him unzip his pants, as I tried to get away he would grab me with more force. Again I never told anybody but his sister who was my best friend at the time, but she would not believe me. In another occasion, I was spending the night sleeping with my female cousin in the basement and at about midnight I heard some noise coming from the stairs. I clearly saw it was my cousin who used to molest me and I immediately closed my eyes and rolled to my back. I was so afraid to let him to confront me. As I rolled back I could still see him standing there beside the bed and staring at me. It wasn’t long before when he started to pull the covers from me, and I just rolled back face up and pretended to be asleep. He pulled the covers back to cover myself. When I did that he would just duck and when he thought I was already back sleep he would come back up and try to touch me again. This happened for about an hour or so. I was hell for me, I prayed to god that my female cousin would wake up, but she never did. He touched me as much as he could, while I tried to move as much, and interrupted him as much as I could without opening my eyes. Finally he left and the next morning I tried telling this to his mom, she would not believe me, she said I was dreaming.
Ever since I remember my dad being drunk, and only god knows what mother was thinking when she always dragged us to all those parties I remember being to. Those were depressing parties filled with drunk people everywhere, my mom never drank she would just follow dad. In one of those parties another cousins of mine would invite us to the upstairs floor to play hide and seek. In one of these ‘games’ one of these cousins hide with me in a room and closed the door, and showed me his penis. I felt terrible and when I tried to run he grabbed me by the waist and threw me on the floor. He was already 17 or 18. I was about 9 or 10. When I screamed his mom knocked on the door, when he opened his mom just looked at me with eyes that killed, I never told anybody about this incident. I knew no one would believe me.
After I became a teenager I would dress-up in baggy clothes – not ever exposing my body except my face and arms. I would not even wear shorts.
Years later, I met the man who is now my husband. I recited and told 22 stories of abuse, abuse committed by my father and a cousin. He felt sorry for me when he heard these horrific stories, and I never brought it back up again until today. He started saying that my childhood was really filled with sad memories. He also said that all these was my mother’s fault because my dad had confessed to him (my husband) that my mother would not let my dad touch her for up to 6 months at a time; and added “how the hell is he going to say that to ME.” “Now because of that my father is going to choose to molest his own daughter, because my mother doesn’t want to have sex with him. What about all the damn prostituted that he could have found in any street corner.” These statements made me really angry. My husband made me feel guilty and even made me a question and think twice about the man that I chose to be my protector. He asked me “well, how did you dressed when all these was taking place?” It doesn’t matter how I was dressed when was seven or eight or even ten. I was a little child who was abused. Period.
Thanks to all those people that did these horrible things to me. Today I am an insecure woman. I see myself in the mirror and I see a worthless woman.
This is my story; and maybe this is the wrong place to have it written. But I just needed to get it out. My chest was exploding for many years.
I look at my children and one of them is seven now, and I would do anything to guarantee their safety. I swear I would kill for their protection. Thanks to those sick bastards now I can’t even rub lotion on my babies’ bodies without something uncomfortable taking over me. I stop and think countless times. Why choose a child if there are prostitutes and women everywhere. WHY?
I remember a couple of men coming to stay with us, since they had arrived from their home country and didn’t have a place to stay my parents decided to let them stay with us for a couple of months while they stood on their feet. Well, those months were years of terror for me.
They would arrive from work and I would be playing in the living room – wearing my pajamas – and I remember how they would say “O.K. now show me whats under there.” Their look was very uncomfortable, since I didn’t want to make them angry, because I was only with my older sister that was only a couple of years older than me, I just acted shy and said “no.” On other occasions, one of them would come home from work on a hot summer day and he would make me sit on a chair, and then try to open my legs; so that the pig could see my private parts. Of course back then I didn’t think much of it. I just knew it was wrong inside my tiny head, I thought it was wrong. As time passed, they decided to leave.
On other occasions my father would come home from work drunk, and that was my greatest fear. Sometimes he would not even come home for days and those were the days that I could breathe.
Things got even worse when three of my cousins started to molest me at the age of ten. I remember when one day one of them tried to put me in a closet. I tried to get away when I heard him unzip his pants, as I tried to get away he would grab me with more force. Again I never told anybody but his sister who was my best friend at the time, but she would not believe me. In another occasion, I was spending the night sleeping with my female cousin in the basement and at about midnight I heard some noise coming from the stairs. I clearly saw it was my cousin who used to molest me and I immediately closed my eyes and rolled to my back. I was so afraid to let him to confront me. As I rolled back I could still see him standing there beside the bed and staring at me. It wasn’t long before when he started to pull the covers from me, and I just rolled back face up and pretended to be asleep. He pulled the covers back to cover myself. When I did that he would just duck and when he thought I was already back sleep he would come back up and try to touch me again. This happened for about an hour or so. I was hell for me, I prayed to god that my female cousin would wake up, but she never did. He touched me as much as he could, while I tried to move as much, and interrupted him as much as I could without opening my eyes. Finally he left and the next morning I tried telling this to his mom, she would not believe me, she said I was dreaming.
Ever since I remember my dad being drunk, and only god knows what mother was thinking when she always dragged us to all those parties I remember being to. Those were depressing parties filled with drunk people everywhere, my mom never drank she would just follow dad. In one of those parties another cousins of mine would invite us to the upstairs floor to play hide and seek. In one of these ‘games’ one of these cousins hide with me in a room and closed the door, and showed me his penis. I felt terrible and when I tried to run he grabbed me by the waist and threw me on the floor. He was already 17 or 18. I was about 9 or 10. When I screamed his mom knocked on the door, when he opened his mom just looked at me with eyes that killed, I never told anybody about this incident. I knew no one would believe me.
After I became a teenager I would dress-up in baggy clothes – not ever exposing my body except my face and arms. I would not even wear shorts.
Years later, I met the man who is now my husband. I recited and told 22 stories of abuse, abuse committed by my father and a cousin. He felt sorry for me when he heard these horrific stories, and I never brought it back up again until today. He started saying that my childhood was really filled with sad memories. He also said that all these was my mother’s fault because my dad had confessed to him (my husband) that my mother would not let my dad touch her for up to 6 months at a time; and added “how the hell is he going to say that to ME.” “Now because of that my father is going to choose to molest his own daughter, because my mother doesn’t want to have sex with him. What about all the damn prostituted that he could have found in any street corner.” These statements made me really angry. My husband made me feel guilty and even made me a question and think twice about the man that I chose to be my protector. He asked me “well, how did you dressed when all these was taking place?” It doesn’t matter how I was dressed when was seven or eight or even ten. I was a little child who was abused. Period.
Thanks to all those people that did these horrible things to me. Today I am an insecure woman. I see myself in the mirror and I see a worthless woman.
This is my story; and maybe this is the wrong place to have it written. But I just needed to get it out. My chest was exploding for many years.
I look at my children and one of them is seven now, and I would do anything to guarantee their safety. I swear I would kill for their protection. Thanks to those sick bastards now I can’t even rub lotion on my babies’ bodies without something uncomfortable taking over me. I stop and think countless times. Why choose a child if there are prostitutes and women everywhere. WHY?
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