Child Abuse

Anonymous Story: A Molester Is A Rapist 1

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Sometimes being an adult that suffered from child molestation or rape never leaves my mind and the repercussions of it have affected me deeply. The effect is a scar just like the kind that you receive when you’re badly injured and get stitches. I cannot speak for others as I have only had my own personal experience.  The severity of mine was very bad, it was cruel, it was terrifying, it was unmentionable and scary.  I was frightened most of my young life and it was ongoing from 7 to 17.  I was in a very innocent age at the time being born in the 50’s.  My generation did not have TV depicting much about wholesome family unit shows.  I had no Internet to look up things and asking people might have revealed something I felt ashamed, guilty, uneducated, and unknowledgeable about.  I had a small teaching of the Bible from a few Sunday School classes.  I often begged and cried to my grandma and mom not to leave me but without any explanation as to why except that my Stepfather was very mean to me.  I was extremely immature on top of my situation. I was being tortured and I did not even understand why, or why I was being punished and being disciplined with such cruelty.

My mom was a cold, unloving person. She was always thrilled beyond belief to leave the responsibility of child-rearing and discipline to someone else, so she could go to work and make money and do a few split shifts and double shifts or banquet shifts as a waitress.  My mom worked at a Resort and if she wanted to work all day, sleep and work again, she just stayed at work because she was given a free room to rest up in.

I was left with no protection whatsoever to fend for myself with a sexual predator. 

I honestly had no idea what was even going on in my young life. My mom married this monster when I was 6 and my sister 12, to my knowledge she hardly had a date with him. When he appeared, my sister and I were sleeping together one night, and she said that she hated him, and I not even knowing him or understanding him began to sing a song saying we hate you, we hate you, as he peered his ugly head into our bedroom door.  

He mostly liked to pretend he was playing with us and tickling us and he was always very rough and mean. He would take his face full of Brussels/ 2-day whiskers and rub our faces with his face, our face becoming raw and he’d hurt us, then flip us upside down pull our pants down and bite our butts very hard.  My sister protested to my ignorant mother and she flippantly would say that he was just playing.

I noticed as time went on the whole dynamics of the house changed slowly, not that we had a lot of dynamics or order in a house with three children left alone all the time while a mother works or goes to the bowling alley or dates or hangs out with friends.  My brother was the first to go, he was put into the Navy at 17, so that left my sister and myself with my stepfather who never seemed to work.  My mom was pregnant immediately and soon we had a crying baby in the house.  

I saw fights exploding between my sister and stepfather and one time it became very violent. He would grab her coming out of the bathroom, like surprise attacks and fling her in a bedroom across the bed and she would yell for me to help.  I was so young, I thought that they were playing, and I would run in and jump on him and try to pull him off to save her when one day, he turned and said get the FUCK out and shut the door.  I remember it like it was yesterday, how surprised I was to hear that word and how helpless I felt not being able to help my sister who kept screaming, please help me. I remember one time him pulling a towel from her body and her running. I remember him peeking in a hole in the door while she showered in a back bathroom by my brother’s bedroom.  

I think the more he chased her the more violent things became and one day she was putting a bag of crystal ice in the freezer and he came at her or was yelling and picking on her like he did non-stop and pow, she slammed that bag across his face and head and then ran as fast as she could down the hall and into her bedroom locking the door.  My stepfather ran as fast as he could after her and slipped and crashed into the hall closet at the end of the hall that it pushed the door back in the other direction.

My mother was not home. Did she see all the violence that had happened? Yes, she asked what had happened and she did nothing to correct the situation.

Well, one day I stayed home from school with the chicken pox around the age of 7, almost 8, and he called me into the bedroom to touch his pecker and I had no idea what that was about and remember thinking that it was a yucky mess. I think he was a molester, a pedophile all his life and we drew the unlucky card of him coming into our home and destroying our childhood forever.

My stepfather called the Goodwill and had them remove everything that was not nailed down from my sister’s bedroom, and she was never the same after that.  A room she lived in her whole life was completely empty of her childhood toys and memories, all of it… gone.  My stepfather was mean and spiteful and out to fix people.

The other day my step-sister ( my dad’s new  wife’s child) told me that when she was 16 she got her driver’s license, her and my sister were great friends, and they were planning to go for a swim, so she drove my sister over to our house to run in and get her swimsuit but my stepfather was home and my step sister said my sister never came back out of the house so she went to the door and witnessed my stepfather slugging my sister in the back with his fist and telling my step sister that my sister wasn’t going swimming and to leave.

My stepsister ran home and got my dad who called the police and went back to the house, my stepfather held his fist to my sister’s back and told her to tell everyone that she was just fine, and so she did with him threatening to kill her if she did not.

We lived in terror and violence and soon I was being put to bed when it was still daylight, I guess so he could plan his next attack on my sister with me tucked safely away.

Finally, after my sister suffered torture from the age of 12 to 14, she went to spend the summer with my Aunt and my mom, my stepfather and my little baby brother moved away to a desert town in Lancaster Calif. into a trailer as small as a travel trailer in the middle of no place.  My sister refused to ever go back and live with my mom again.

So, he took up with me when my sister left, and I was so scared of him. One night I was home alone while my mom and stepfather were at work, I was outside still playing with my friends.  I was in the 4th grade and I ran like the wind to jump into bed to pretend that I was asleep when I saw his car coming down the road. I crashed into the overhanging light with my head and shattered glass all over. I was greatly relieved that with the broken glass all over he had to clean up the mess and he left me alone.

I could tell story after story of pretending to be asleep and him coming into my bedroom regardless if my mom was home or not. He raped me at 11 and a half and I ran and locked myself in the bathroom in pain.

 

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