AllThatIsLeft
July 3rd, 2009, 01:16 AM
The hardest thing to get over are those we do not realize they had marked us. Even the obvious ones, they sneak undetected for years until the snapping point happens and everything comes rushing back into our heads.
Usually when a parent hires a babysitter they trust that their sons and daughters will be safe from harm. Usually when a parent let’s someone take care of their child they trust that nothing traumatizing will reach their child’s senses. Usually. However, I was not that lucky. To say it bluntly, as a child I was raped, not once, but multiple times. If I had been lucky it would have been by one person, I wasn’t that lucky, it was by two different guys. They were both the older sons of my babysitters, and at age three and six, I was violated by them. To be honest, this didn’t do me anything at the time. I didn’t realize the way my subconscious built a shell to keep harm away from me, and for ten years I didn’t let anyone near me. I grew up hostile, and I didn’t understand why.
Not only did I experience sexual violation but I also witnessed Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, Drug Addictions, etc. It wasn’t a pretty childhood. Children aren’t supposed to be exposed to such things. I was, and it is incredible that I turned out the way I did, and not as fucked up as I could have.
Many people might wonder why I am the way I am, the way I’m so open sexually, would indicate probably that I am a slut, whore, hoe, sleazy, easy, whatever you want to call it. Or the constant exposure of my cleavage is me trying desperately to catch people’s attention. The real reason for such things is that when you have been through what I’ve been through, trivial things like cleavage are really not important in this book.
It took me four years to get over the facts after I realized them. When I finally figured out that the reason I was so isolated from the world, so hostile towards people was because I didn’t trust them, and I would not risk getting hurt in such manner again. It took me four years of training to let those things go. How did that happen? Well, I was lucky that my uncle decided to enrol me in Martial Arts. It may sound cliché, but it was an incredible self-esteem and confidence booster. The basis of my fear was being hurt again, now with all this knowledge I finally felt like I was in control of my life again, and it helped – did not cure – to get over it.
The other half of my rehabilitation was a mental one. These thoughts were buried so deep in my head that bringing them back was really painful. Even now as I write this, I feel the chills of recalling the events. I talked it out with some friends, not that it really made a difference, but they deserved to know the truth as they were and still are my very good friends.
The only time I mentioned it to a family member, it was the snapping point, I had never told it to someone with that much power over me. I didn’t want to be treated differently so I promised myself that my mother or anyone with power over me would never know. Well I told my uncle, I broke down in front of him, and though I didn’t verbalize what happened he understood what happened to me immediately. And instead of treating me like I was a poor thing to be protected from the world, or looked on differently, he told me exactly what I needed to hear.
“Chin-up and dry those tears that you are a strong girl and you can face this straight on.”
No hug, no comfort. He was cold and collected.
The reasons for not telling my mother have changed. She would not be able to take it. It would a blow that she would not recover from, and will never do such harm to her. She doesn’t need to know.
Since then I vowed to myself that I would never let such things happen to my children. I have strong views on violence against women, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, or abuse in general. I prefer to be kind and helpful, I care for people with strong emotions, and I wish to do much good in society. I want to make a change in the world even if it is a small one. I took my experiences and learned from them. I don’t wish this on anyone, but I wouldn’t change my life. I love the way I turned out, and if I had to go through it again, I would without any doubt or hesitation.
I tell this story, not so people know. But maybe it could inspire someone to be strong, as it was strength what kept me sane.
Usually when a parent hires a babysitter they trust that their sons and daughters will be safe from harm. Usually when a parent let’s someone take care of their child they trust that nothing traumatizing will reach their child’s senses. Usually. However, I was not that lucky. To say it bluntly, as a child I was raped, not once, but multiple times. If I had been lucky it would have been by one person, I wasn’t that lucky, it was by two different guys. They were both the older sons of my babysitters, and at age three and six, I was violated by them. To be honest, this didn’t do me anything at the time. I didn’t realize the way my subconscious built a shell to keep harm away from me, and for ten years I didn’t let anyone near me. I grew up hostile, and I didn’t understand why.
Not only did I experience sexual violation but I also witnessed Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, Drug Addictions, etc. It wasn’t a pretty childhood. Children aren’t supposed to be exposed to such things. I was, and it is incredible that I turned out the way I did, and not as fucked up as I could have.
Many people might wonder why I am the way I am, the way I’m so open sexually, would indicate probably that I am a slut, whore, hoe, sleazy, easy, whatever you want to call it. Or the constant exposure of my cleavage is me trying desperately to catch people’s attention. The real reason for such things is that when you have been through what I’ve been through, trivial things like cleavage are really not important in this book.
It took me four years to get over the facts after I realized them. When I finally figured out that the reason I was so isolated from the world, so hostile towards people was because I didn’t trust them, and I would not risk getting hurt in such manner again. It took me four years of training to let those things go. How did that happen? Well, I was lucky that my uncle decided to enrol me in Martial Arts. It may sound cliché, but it was an incredible self-esteem and confidence booster. The basis of my fear was being hurt again, now with all this knowledge I finally felt like I was in control of my life again, and it helped – did not cure – to get over it.
The other half of my rehabilitation was a mental one. These thoughts were buried so deep in my head that bringing them back was really painful. Even now as I write this, I feel the chills of recalling the events. I talked it out with some friends, not that it really made a difference, but they deserved to know the truth as they were and still are my very good friends.
The only time I mentioned it to a family member, it was the snapping point, I had never told it to someone with that much power over me. I didn’t want to be treated differently so I promised myself that my mother or anyone with power over me would never know. Well I told my uncle, I broke down in front of him, and though I didn’t verbalize what happened he understood what happened to me immediately. And instead of treating me like I was a poor thing to be protected from the world, or looked on differently, he told me exactly what I needed to hear.
“Chin-up and dry those tears that you are a strong girl and you can face this straight on.”
No hug, no comfort. He was cold and collected.
The reasons for not telling my mother have changed. She would not be able to take it. It would a blow that she would not recover from, and will never do such harm to her. She doesn’t need to know.
Since then I vowed to myself that I would never let such things happen to my children. I have strong views on violence against women, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, or abuse in general. I prefer to be kind and helpful, I care for people with strong emotions, and I wish to do much good in society. I want to make a change in the world even if it is a small one. I took my experiences and learned from them. I don’t wish this on anyone, but I wouldn’t change my life. I love the way I turned out, and if I had to go through it again, I would without any doubt or hesitation.
I tell this story, not so people know. But maybe it could inspire someone to be strong, as it was strength what kept me sane.