The Untold Truth

When I was three years old, my innocence was ripped away from me and I was forced to relinquish my dignity. Now, as a fifteen year old, I am finally beginning to have a childhood. I am allowed to make mistakes and fall down; I'm allowed to be vulnerable, and I can talk about what is going on in my life and the things that have happened in the past. The truth is, I shouldn't have been silenced for such a long time. My experiences have led me to believe that every person, no matter how old or young, deserve to be validated and allowed to be heard.
My mom has an older brother who has Trisomy Twenty-one [Down Syndrome], and if you asked anyone, including myself, they would say he would never intentionally hurt someone... but he did. I remember once when I was three years old; I had been sitting in his lap, and he was talking to me. No one was around because they didn't expect anything to happen, especially for him to act inappropriately. He said to me, "You my baby, I want to love you. You sexy thing, Lemm'ee play wit' you". Something didn't feel right, but I was too young to understand it.
Growing up, his behavior had became a normal occurrence so I didn't fully comprehend the gravity of the situation until I was in 7th grade; we had a speaker come to school. He had been talking about the different types of abuse: Sexual, physical, mental, emotional/verbal, etc. Listening to him talk about what abuse entails, I realized that it was similar to what I was experiencing myself with my mom's brother. I had given up long ago on trying to open up because I had been invalidated so many times in the past, when I had tried to tell my family what happened they told me I was lying about it, and I didn't think anyone would ever believe me. I was only twelve years old... What could I do? More importantly, who would believe me?
Fast-forward to when I was fourteen years old... I had officially reached my limit and had been struggling with anxiety as a result of the abuse I had endured, and had frequent panic attacks as a result of my PTSD. At this point I had been in therapy for six months, and decided to finally tell my therapist about what was happening, which resulted in Child Protective Services getting involved. My grandmother, who was close with her son, was very distraught and had a conversation with him in the hopes that she could help him understand that what he was doing was unacceptable. After everything was out in the open things improved for about three months until it started again, worse than ever before.
Finally I turned fifteen... It was a big milestone for me, and I was excited to spend time with family and friends at my birthday party. Unfortunately, my plans went awry when he showed up. It happened again: The inappropriate touching and verbal abuse. My family promised I would never be alone with him, but somehow he always found a way to catch me when I least expected it, whether it was in the bedroom, backyard, basement... Anywhere I went, he was never far behind. I would try to escape, but he was stronger than me. The last time he touched me I kicked him with all of my strength, and made a run for it. CPS got involved again because my family was unable to handle this situation on their own. They gave me the option to never see him again, and while that's what I wanted, I refused because I thought it would destroy my family. I was afraid they would hate me, and I couldn't handle that on top of everything else.
Six months later, I broke again. The stress of seeing him and constantly worrying about what would happen was wearing me down, and I didn't know how to cope with what I was going through. I sat in the nurse's office at school, my arms bandaged, screaming that I refuse to see him again because I couldn't handle it anymore. I made the choice to do what I needed to do in order to survive and I've never regretted that decision since. I needed him to be out of my life, for good this time. Thankfully, it happened.
At last, after almost thirteen years I have not only been listened to, but heard. I truly do believe that every single human being deserves the opportunity to tell their story without fear! Now I can walk down the street unafraid of a stranger trying to harm me because I understand the repercussions of those situations and do my best to stay away from dangerous scenarios.
When people find out about my experience with verbal and sexual abuse, they always ask me the same questions: Why didn't you tell someone sooner, and what advice would you give to other people struggling? My answer is almost never the same: I didn't tell anyone for a long time because I was afraid and wasn't prepared to deal with the outcome. When abuse occurs within a family it's a lot more complicated and difficult because nobody wants to believe their loved one could be capable of something so horrid. As for the second question, I would tell them that it's okay to struggle and to reach out. It's important to remember that getting help doesn't make you weak; it makes you stronger. Most people will never understand the courage required to come forth and talk about what they've been through, for fear of being misunderstood. While invalidation and victimization are hard within themselves, when added along with abuse it can become overwhelming. Reaching out allows you to begin to move forward with your life and not only survive, but attempt thrive.
Now as the time passes by, I am almost sixteen. It has almost been a full year since the last time my moms brother put his hands on me. That should feel releiving to me. But no. It terrifies me, thinking that someone could decide that I am fine and bring him around. I am paralyzed by that fear, no matter how rational or irrational.
At school, I am an eleventh grader, some random kid grabbed my butt in the middle of the hallway. I turned around to smack the kid, I looked at them and I saw my uncle, I slapped him and kneed him in the only place I could think of to get him away from me. The kid ran down the hallway, and I fell to the ground crying, shaking violently, maybe five minuets go by, it felt like five years. Someone found me, he kept asking if I was alright always putting his hand on my shoulder, I screamed, I was so scared. No one could touch me. I would never let anyone touch me. Any touch could turn in to something more. I thought I was safe that he couldnt hurt me anymore. He will always be able to hurt me. He is a part of me, part of my history. What makes me, me. And I hate it, with every fiber in my being I hate it. But that is what it is. I have come to terms with that. But that dose not mean that I am okay with what happened. I will never be okay with that. Everyday I write in a notebook, looking at old entries from time to time. The blame flows off of the paper and back into me. I blame myself. I should have told someone. I should have hit him harder. I should have known better.
I was three I grew up in a world thinking that my head was supposed to be shoved into his crotch. Thinking that he was supposed to tell me, " I love you, I want to see your beautiful body, I wanna play with you and your kitty, you are so sexy let me play with my neice" that is not normal. Or at least it shouldn't be. It is normal for so many people, and I hate that. People gathering and talking about the change that needs to happen, dosent help. I brought my situation to Child Protective Servies twice, both forcibly through school. School found out and contacted them, they are people that you would expect to be good with kids, they are not. They are detached from their emotions, it might help them make their job easier but it is terrifiying if you are the kid they are talking to. I spent over two years bowing down to the addiction that is self harm. I have spent the past six months fighting the addiction. Every day the feeling of resentment and hatred towards myself beggs me to cut or burn or just stop it all. How the world would be so much better. But I have my people the three people that dont scare me when I am in a spiraling pit of depression, self loathing, and self harm. It is so important to find your people. Or your person. Someone that you can count on weather it be a parent or a sibling, a teacher, a friend, a friends parent, any one you would trust with your life. Let them in to your head, your past, and your pain. Because only then will they truly be able to be there to help, help you through the trauma and the pain and the fear and all of the other emotions that come along with it. And come out with your story when you are ready. Do everything in your power and more to get out of the situation where you are being caused pain, it dosent have to be like that I promise.