Sexual Abuse

Statistics... Are they correct or are they just a guess based on some guy that has a degree in accounting and predictions? Who knows, right? Well in this case, from the photo above, it's facts, proven on things that have happened and that are continuing to happen. Sexual abuse is something that gets pushed under the rug often. We need to address it. Once it's addressed, go to the source and get that issue out in the open. There is nothing like public humiliation. Let's get into what it's like to be a victim.

I'm a victim of sexual abuse. I'm 32 now so it's been years, but it's years of my life I will never get back. It's years of my childhood that I will never know what it was like to be a young black female growing up in a good neighborhood. It all started around the time I was nine-years-old. It went on until I was 13. It was my mother’s husband. I say husband because she is still married to him. We lived in a two-bed brick home on the east side of town. It was a simple home but I liked to say we lived on the outskirts of the ghetto. I say that because just a few streets over were drugs and everything under the sun, so we happened to get a house in a good part of town, right down the road from my elementary school and my mom’s work so it was perfect. That's what it seemed like on the outside looking in. On the inside, there were secrets: physical abuse, drug usage, sexual abuse and emotional neglect. We played the perfect family when we were out in public but once we went in and the garage closed, it went back to what I knew as normal.

I have an older sister. She is six years older than me so by the time this all started, she was already off with her friends and trying to find a job. Rarely was she ever at home. We didn't get along much either so anything to be away from each other was the key. My mom worked two jobs for the most part. She was a teacher for special education for her main job and at night she would sit with elderly people that just needed someone there in case they needed help. On her days off, she still had a life. She would go out and do a lunch with friends or family and things like that, things that even as an adult, I enjoy doing now. When she would leave to do those things, she would leave me at home with her husband. I didn't mind at first because I was a home body; I still claim to be that even today. I hate going into the out, as I call it now. However, that all changed on summer afternoon.

My mom left out to do run some errands around town. It was a normal weekend day. You know, the day where we all wake up and clean up the house and then once it's all said and done, and the washing machine has pushed out its last load, your mom would run out and pick up lunch for the family and get a few good rentals from your local video store. She left me there with her husband because I wanted to stay at home and play with my Easy Bake Oven and cut off the hair of my sister’s old dolls — things that an average nine-year-old would want to do after they've worked hard cleaning up small things all morning. We had our own bathroom in our room. It was nice! I loved never having to come out of my room just to pee or blow my nose. He didn't waste any time on this day. She wasn't backed out of the garage good enough before he entered our bedroom. He asked "Hey! What are you up to?" I remember saying, "Just playing with some things I found in my closet after cleaning up." He said, "Well you want to see something that you can’t see when playing with your Barbie’s?" He grabbed my hand and shoved it in his pants. He kept telling me to squeeze it and that's what a real man felt like — nothing I could get from a Barbie at all. From that moment there, I knew nothing would be the same. I didn't know how to tell my mom at all. I didn't know if he would beat me or beat her. There was already evidence that he would hit her and cause her to be bruised and beaten before. I didn't know if he would snap back to that life at all. It only got worse from there — things like he would touch my breast and squeeze my nipples. He would hold me in the bathroom and tell me not to make a noise, but I maybe would feel a little pain.

This went on for years to come and I didn't know how to tell my mom. One year, she bought us a computer for Christmas. It was a Packard Bell with Windows 95 on it. I'm talking old school. Me being the geek I am, I got into it, using it to type and figure out the printer and everything I could do on it, from using dial up to downloading songs from LimeWire to playing games. I typed out a letter to my mom to let her know of the things he was doing to her baby girl. I took it to her room and sat on the edge of the bed while she read it. Her words to me after that cut me like a knife. She looked at me and said, "Well, just try to stay away from him. You know he has issues." I didn't know what to do. I was so young. I didn't know who to call, who to run to, or anything. I sat in my room for days just trying to figure out how to be a kid, how to go outside and ride bikes with the other neighborhood kids. How to just enjoy being a kid period. I didn't know how to interact with people. How to have a conversation and exchange my things that I like to do. Years went on and I tried to have a conversation with my mom about it and she called him into the room to defend him and not take up for me. Our relationship will never be the same. I have trust issues and a hard time with understanding and commitment now.

This is to say, watch your child or loved one. If you see something is different about them, ask what changed? Get into what they do on a normal day. If you see that a person is generally bubbly and happy but suddenly they go dark, something has changed in their life at that moment that caused them to change outside of their normal behavior. Don't let it keep going. A person changing who they are is sometimes a cry for help. It's a noticeable sign of something different. We can't always sit up and tell you that something bad happened. We shut down. We go back into our shell and we go into hiding. It’s what introverts do best.

Sexual abuse is a circle that must stop, and it must stop now. It can't continue and expect for society to just keep going. Boys and girls are affected by this daily, but we must be more aware of the signs that something has happened and get that person to talk it out. Be proactive.