There were many things that I went through while the sexual abuse was going on. Over the years as you could imagine I changed a lot with the sexual abuse happening. I acted out a lot, not anything dangerous but enough for my parents to be concerned. I also withdrew myself and was not a person they became familiar with. My parents… I guess you can say reached a point where enough was enough. Thus, my journey of countless visits too the Psychiatric Unit began.
The first time I went too the psychiatric unit was when I was thirteen. It was during that time I was diagnosed with Anxiety, severe depression, and Bi-polar disorder. I always agreed with being diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Now Bi-polar on the other hand I completely disagree with. I disagreed with it then and I disagree with it now. I have my reasons for disagreeing with that diagnoses. 1. I felt it was too early too diagnose me with it. 2. I was thirteen still going through puberty. What thirteen-year-old doesn’t seem like there going through a Bi-polar stage at that age. And 3. Considering what I was going through. Not only was I going through normal thirteen-year-old growing and life experiences, I was also going through sexual abuse. Plus, even before everything my dad wasn’t the easiest person too get along with.
I was dealing with a lot more then what most teenagers would deal with. I acted out just like any sane person would going through what I did. But unlike most people what do I get out of it. I get sent too the psychiatric unit and diagnosed with depression, severe anxiety and Bi-polar. Anyone whose met me especially now will say I’m from being Bi-polar. I would be happy to admit I had Bi-polar if I was. It’s not something I would be ashamed of. It was also then that I was put on medication for the firs time. I was on more medication than any adult should be on let alone a thirteen-year-old. I was on Abilify, Zoloft, Invega, and lithium. They weren’t at the lowest doses either. They weren’t crazy high but high enough.
I withdrew from life even more. The medication made me gain a lot of weight. The meds itself put pounds on me and it also made me hungry a lot. I also was going through depression, so I ate my feelings away. The weight gain is when being made fun of in school happened which made everything worse. I was sent to the psychiatric unit more than twice and every time I did they raised the dose. I couldn’t be happy or sad or angry without my parents assuming it was due to the Bi-polar. So, I was sent too the hospital and therefore sent to the Psychiatric unit.
So, I stopped showing what I felt but it came to a point where the medication also zombified me and kept me feeling anything and everything. I didn’t do much of anything except home, school and where my parents went. During all this the abuse was still going on. By the time I was 21/22 I had been on the medication for almost ten years. I had enough of being on meds. Yes, I was legally an adult by eighteen and I could have said something sooner, but I wasn’t ready at that point. So, at 21/22 I told my doctor I couldn’t and didn’t want too to be on medication anymore. She said I do. I told her that with or without her guidance I’m going off them, but I prefer her guidance through it. She said alright and overtime I was off them all.
I am now Twenty-seven and feeling like myself whomever that self is because I don’t know yet. I don’t feel stuck anymore. I’m starting too feel EVERYTHING now, but I’ll be talking about that in a different blog. I can finally breath and although I still go through tough moments I handle them differently. Being in the psychiatric unit was not fun at all. I wouldn’t even wish being there on my worse enemy. I always told people that if I ever have kids and doctors recommended daily medication for them I wouldn’t. That I will exhaust every option I can physically and financially do before I resort too putting my kids on medication. I have firsthand experience with meds, so I know how it feels or doesn’t. I wouldn’t want too to do that too my kids unless I absolutely had too.
The psychiatric unit was and is no life for me and I’m happy I don’t have too go through that anymore.
The way i dealt with everything i’ve been through was through my writing. especially through poetry. I wrote a poem too the abuse.
why did you come my way?
i was so young so innocent.
You stole my childhood away.
you stole too shine.
You stole my friends.
You stole my life.
What did i do?
What did I do to deserve this?
Was it my bad grades?
Was it because i didn’t listen to my parents?
Please, please abuse.
I’m begging you tell me.
Tell me why come my way?
What did I do to deserve this?
You came into my life.
Why?… I still have no idea.
You bring me down.
You bring me down real hard.
I’m still here.
It wasn’t easy but I survived.
Oh boy did i survive.
It was tough but I made it.
I’m still here and i’m here to stay.
I just want to say:
You gave me the strength.
You gave me the power.
You gave me the power to survive.
I stood strong yet so fragile.
But I’m okay.
I still have a life.
I still have friends.
I’m here to stay.
You can’t control me anymore.
You will come back into my life.
You will come back in many different shapes and forms.
But for now I say Good Bye
Many say that those being sexual abused will most likely be abused by a family member or friend. Abuse wouldn’t happen by someone random and this would be true. I was abused by someone who I considered too be both family and a friend. Biologically he wasn’t, but I was molested by someone I considered an Uncle. Currently I have known him for almost twenty-eight years. I don’t remember life without him in it in some way. For sixteen years he was a constant figure in my life. For the last ten plus years he has become a man (if you want to call him that) I once knew. The memories I have of him were once happy until the day I realized what he was doing too me was wrong.
The earliest memory I have of the sexual abuse starts in 2001. I was ten going on eleven years old that year. If anything happened before 2001 I don’t remember it. I was at an age where body started developing. You know a young girl growing breast, a figure starting too form, growing hair where I didn’t know I could grow hair. He was always nice to me, and he always paid attention to me but, when all that started happening he paid extra attention and became extra nice. I didn’t think anything of it because I was ten. I trusted him, and it was normal for me. Nobody else didn’t think anything of it because it was just normal, it was who he was.
Now this is where it’s going to start getting a little more graphic. It’s not too crazy especially compared to getting into this further but it will get a little more graphic but only briefly.
I was around him for various parties, certain holidays, and random a get together. The a get together were almost every weekend. Occasionally during the week depending on what was going on. So, I did see him a lot. When he was around he would take any chance, he could to get me alone. When he did manage too get me alone it didn’t take long for him too start touching me. He would touch my breast and my vagina. Sometimes he would focus on my breast first then my vagina or vise versa. Other times he would come up behind me, so he can position himself too be able to touch both at the same time. Kissing me on my neck would happen a lot. He gave me a hickey once. I didn’t know it was called a hickey at the time. Too me it was bruise on my neck and I didn’t make the connection at the time. I think about a year two later I found out what hickeys were and how they appeared.
I realize I’m constantly using “HE” so I’ll give him the name Bob. Now of course Bob didn’t just stop at kissing my neck or touching my breast and vagina. Bob would kiss me and stick his tongue in my mouth and he would move his hands too my butt squeezing it. He would move his hands up my back pulling me closer too his back. Too this day I still smell his cologne and beer. More times than not he would make me touch his penis. Some days he would make me stroke his penis with my hand other times he would put it in my mouth. Bob would have me keep going until he ejaculated. Many may ask what if someone caught you guys? He was good at stopping whatever we were doing if he heard something. We could’ve only been alone five minutes or thirty minutes. If he heard someone coming he would stop.
I think something inside me felt uneasy about what was going on like it was wrong. But I was young and naïve. It became a routine over several years, so it was normal at the same time. I had told my parents once but all they had him do was apologize. I felt like they didn’t believe, he still came around and the abuse continued. It did eventually stop in 2006, I was fifteen going on sixteen that year. I was also graduating eighth grade that year. Eventually I told one of my teachers and I was finally being heard. But nothing really came out of being heard in the end police wise at least. They investigated but despite Bobs admission they said there wasn’t enough evidence. Crazy right? The only good thing that came out of it is that the sexual abuse stopped.
My relationship with my parents was different when I felt they didn’t believe me. There is a difference between them though. My mom made effort to change early on. Even too this day we still have our moments of course but she changed. My dad asked my permission too still be able too hang out with Bob. I told him no. My father being, my father despite me saying no he kept asking and asking. Until I eventually just gave up and said yes. We don’t talk anymore, and he’s done a lot of other stuff too warrant me not too talk too him anymore. But even if he didn’t do anything else still talking too Bob is enough for me too stop talking to him.
I think what’s still hard even too this day is sometimes I do miss it. It’s not the abuse or bob it’s the routine of having someone that close too me. Whether the circumstance was good or bad. I don’t want him back in my life and I don’t approve of abuse. It’s like having your mom make doctors appointments for you all your life. Now as in adult you have too do it and it’s a new routine you have too do it yourself. That might be a horrible comparison, but I think that’s one we can all relate too.
Even after the sexual abuse stopped it still has big effects on me too this day both good and bad. Hope you will stick around.
This is it…
This is my time too get personal, my time too get vulnerable, my time too submit. I’ve spent a long time being so dominant and keeping everything in. A few people I’ve come too trust do know my story, but I’ve decided too to go bigger. I’ve been wanting too to tell it for a while now and with the whole #METOO movement going on I say why not now. So, I thought how do I want to tell my story?
I thought maybe a video a week on YouTube. I said no. As cool as YouTube is for me that site is not my platform. Well at least not yet. Then I went with my original idea with writing a book which I was already in the process of. But again, I said no too that as well. Why you ask? It’s because I thought blogging would be a good way too go. I want to release a chapter or two a week until I feel my story is over. There’s going to be some heavy content being discussed. Also, it will be great to have some open discussions in between each chapters if we decide on it. It’s a no pressure zone.
I want to give a glimpse to the good and the bad I experienced after the abuse. It may be hard for those involved meaning you all it could bring up things so please be cautious and it will be hard on me, but I want this to be my most vulnerable truest moment and hopefully yours. The sexual abuse is the worst and biggest thing to happen to me so far; but I have been through some things. I wouldn’t even wish for my worst enemy.
I still haven’t haven’t worked out a schedule yet on when the chapters will come out but I look forward too getting to know you all soon. i hope you all feel the same about me.
Heavy content will be discussed during the writing of this blog not recommend for those under 18 unless okay-ed by parent.
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton