I've been writing this blog for this whole weekâŚin my head. Trying to figure out if I want to post it and what I want to say.
My whole history is a series of events that are reactions to one action that started somewhere between the ages of 10 and 12.
At some point in these ages, my brother-in-law turned less of a brother and into something more deviant. It is a struggle I have faced every second of every day since the moment he first hugged me differently and told me I was so beautiful, in a voice Iâd never heard before.
For the last three years I have been on a journey to find out why I became a Victim of Domestic Violence because I swore it would NEVER happen again! I would break the chain the second my ex went to jail, and I promised my son that from the moment my ex walked away in cuffs held by the West Seneca Police Department.
Iâve also attended group this whole time as well. On and Off less and less the last year or so, but I still truly believe having this kind of support system is what helped me turn my head and never look back. Two years ago during group we talked about our past. I think the group leader was trying to get us to think about our families, and specifically our parents and anything that was wrong in that area, but something she said had me zone in on my brother-in-law. I ended up going home and doing a little research. I searched the term: âmolestation.â And the search that came up was the very first definition was something like âany unwanted sexual contact with a minor who cannot provide consent due to age by a person who is above 18.â This is not a quote; this is the definition that I would give anyone who asked me.
I had always thought molestation was something far more closely to rape, but seeing this definition had me at my whitâs end. It sent me through a moderately insane psychological series of anxiety, depression, night terrors, and over all bad feelings. Growing up at such a young age, you might wonder how anything wrong could be happening and the youngster wouldnât say anything... why? My answer isnât very simple. For one thing I have always wondered if I was over dramatizing everything I was experiencing. He was doing things at such a low degree, and an even lower supervised degree. What if I said something and people told me it wasnât actually bad and I was just weird for feeling wrong about it.
Another huge part was at that age of 10 to 12 I had had a crush on this brother-in-law, but in some redneck fashion. He was the man in my life I started looking up to. He took care of his body, exercised, ate write, believed in god, LIVED WITH ME for a little while, but did I know back then to care about self-protection. A child never even thinks twice about something like that out of pure innocence.
I mean he wasnât trying to get me in bed, but he was certainly copping a feel whenever he could. Hugs lasted longer and my bum was always grabbed. My chest was suddenly always in the way when he tried to walk by, or take a child from my arms, and suddenly I was stuck in intimate gazes while he told me how beautiful I was, in strange slow ways. HINDSITE 20/20? Yeah he was a total perv!
Around the age of 16 I started bringing my best friend with me camping. I do not remember how she knew what was going on, but just that I know she knew. There was also a time when he stopped even caring if she was around.
And still the biggest thing that got me was that at this age I wanted to be told I was beautiful when everyone at school said I laughed like a hyena. I wanted to be told I was so beautiful when everyone around me made me want to kill myself. Another HINDSITE 20/20 you should now knowâŚHE MADE ME WANT TO KILL MYSELF.
How gross did I have to be to ever get any sort of self-gratification from him speaking to me or wanting to touch me, or telling me he liked my bum. I began to hate myself and looking back I can watch how fast he stole my self-confidence and replace it with anxiety and doubt. I can look back and watch my innocence be swept away with the broom that was his perverse sexual abuse.
The psychology in molestation is kind of right on key. âAbstract
The authors investigated the association between sexual abuse in childhood and subsequent incidents of deliberate self-harm in women.
There was a clear statistical association between sexual abuse in childhood and self-harm that was most marked in those subjected to more intrusive and more frequent abuse. Self-harm was also associated with major interpersonal problems in the subject's family of origin and with becoming involved in further abusive relationships as an adult.
Sexual abuse in childhood is associated with later incidents of deliberate self-harm and may well be an etiologic factor in its development.â
This was found on this site: https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=eiological
I began cutting myself, and stitching into my own skin. I started piercing myself, and journaling my depression. I started fighting with my mother, and getting in trouble in school. With no true idea as to why it was even happening. I was just so beyond angry and I didnât know how to control it, or why it was happening. I hated my body, and I hated myself. I was so depressed that I had considered ending my life too many times to count, but I was a coward to say the least. At around 13 I began not eating. I could skip every meal possible and only eat when I knew my mother was paying attention.
Anorexia took over. And then bulimia. And back to anorexia, and so on. Not out of control. I didnât do it for the control; in fact I was pretty lazy about it. I did it because I didnât like my body. I didnât like my personality. I didnât like the way I laughed. I hated getting made fun of for everything under the sun. I didnât get along with my family. My sister moved out, and my mom got so much angrier. The fights with my mom and I had the police coming more than once. I was always grounded.
And somewhere in here around 6th grade I started stepping up this game and talking to boys in a way that I shouldnât. Talking to them before I should have been talking that way. You might think church schools are the place to put your children when there is nowhere else to turn, but I did more in that school then I ever thought in another one. I was not sexually active but I certainly didnât feel innocent.
Still fighting to stay away from my brother-in-law I turned to other men, in a way to protect me. But I still cut and now it was in an organized fashion. Not to kill myself, but just to do it. Prove I could feel something, and take away or bring on the numbness.
Anorexia was the reason I started this blog that you are reading. I recently heard again in group that it is a lifelong disease. And it kind screwed into my head and thoughts all week. Over the last two years everything began to click in my head, and every choice and decision I ever made, suddenly made sense. All the scars and mental breakdowns. All the holes in my skin, and self-confidence ripped away. The trail of tears from one lover who abused me only at the end of the relationship and kidding behind booze he went into my past. To another abuser that would almost end my life countless times, but out of that nightmare came a blessing; my son. He was the one good thing that snapped me out of my bitch ass dumb mother fucking bad decisions, and brought light to my eyes in the darkness that was my life. Â
Anorexia is something that I still suffer from. It is SO easy to just ignore eating. It is the last thing on my to do list every single day and the first thing I forget when I go through what I am forgetting that day.
ALLLLL the things that make me, me are right in front of me. The difference is that since I realized that yes, it was wrong. And yes, he shouldnât have been doing anything even if it wasnât âTHAT BAD.â It still meant something to me. It still took something from me. And it wasnât until two years ago that I understood what it was, why I did what I did, and then a year ago it clicked further in a way that let me begin to heal and move on.
When youâre fighting a losing battle completely oblivious to the reasons for so long it seems like it is so very much your own fault. When bad choices are made reoccurring over the course of years upon years and the child doesnât know why, it canât be helped. Last year I started to feel myself coming back. Last year I started to heal. This year I am the best form of myself. I am accomplishing things, and righting the wrongs with every smile.
