Men value their silence, it is something that they take to the grave. This man valued his silence and I will forever carry his shame.
For almost 3 long years that house was a living hell. It was cold and distasteful, but it did not start out that way. For a long time it was just my mom my sister and me. We lived in California, and I liked it that way. We were surrounded by family and often went out to see plays and other events.
My mom started seeing this guy she met from college. I never really liked him, even though I was young I could tell that something was off.
A year later my mom told us she wanted to move, then asked how we felt about living in Seattle. Of course I did not want to move; I was only 8, everything I knew was in California. Obviously, we did not have a choice because the next thing I knew we packed up the car, and was on our way to Seattle.
Living with him was different, I felt uncomfortable. He made us do things for him like if his coat fell we had to pick it up and hang it up nicely, if the remote was too far we had to stop what we were doing and get it for him. He was an immature imbecile and I resented him.
A year later, things started to change. The house felt cold. I could hear my mom yelling, no, screaming in her room. She would walk out like everything was fine but as a nine year old I could not detect that something was wrong. My mom had gotten another job so she was often absent from the house, and that is when things really changed.
I remember the first night like the back of my hand. It was dark, the moonlight was peeping through my window. I was half asleep when the man silently creeped into my room. He laid on the edge of my bed like he was holding his breath. "come here." He said in a soft whisper. I felt uneasy laying on his heartless chest, but at the same time, I did not think too much of it other than this is what a dad is supposed to do.
We laid there for a long time, then he grabbed my hand and pulled it lower. I did not know what I was touching other than it did not feel right. I knew about penis but only from a child's perspective. Whatever it was, I knew it was below the waist, and that meant private parts. After a while, I felt uncomfortable and moved back to my pillow. He got up and left my room. I laid down putting my hand under my pillow, flummoxed about what just happened, pondering until I closed my eyes and fell asleep.
The next morning I tried to avoid him. I did not want to make eye contact and I did not want to say anything . He acted as if nothing out of the norm happened the other night and I could not comprehend why. Why not apologize for making me touch him?
The same thing would happen almost every night except, he would not lay with me, he would touch me. He put his hands in places I could not understand. He took my face and put it in an unfamiliar place. I was scared! I remember he woke me up in the middle of the night and told me to take a shower. At first I was okay with it until I was in the bathroom. For some reason it did not feel right. I felt as if a heavyweight was in my throat suffocating me, I was stuck. I felt as if my heart dropped into my stomach and a burning feeling in my chest, so I locked the door. I jumped as I heard the doorknob rumble. He was trying to get in. Only God knows why. After I was done with my shower, I stayed in the bathroom for a little before I felt it was right to come out. When I walked into my room on my bed laid a dress and underwear. I felt my body being possessed by rage. I was vexed, "He was in my stuff." I said in an angry tone. I quickly got dressed, closed my door and moved my dresser by the door so he could not get in. I lost it; I was overwhelmed with emotions. At this point, I was scared for me and my sister's safety, although he was not molesting her, he would talk down to her and belittle her. My sister was only 6.
The next day I decided to write a letter telling him how we felt. I told him I hated him and that we did not like how he was treating us. I also made it clear that he was not our father. Slowly walking down the hall I get a rush of nerves throughout my body; I peeked into his room, looked around and saw that no one was there so I ran to his laptop and put the note on top. I do not know which was worse, the idea of me writing the note or him reading it. After that I tried my best to avoid him, but my mom made him take us to school and that is when we knew we were screwed.
"The next time you guys have a problem, say it to my face instead of leaving a stupid little note on my desk." My sister and I looked at each other, then looked down. At this moment I felt belittled. All I wanted to do was look out for my sister, but I was failing. This man was a monster that had no remorse, no sympathy. The feeling that you cannot save your sister from a monster, is one of the worst feelings. I was defeated.
The touching became worse. It seems like every night he would walk into my room to touch me. I tried a lot of things to get him to stop, but he would not . I would tuck in my covers to make it harder to rip them off, I would sleep with my sister thinking he would not mess with me if she was with me, but that did not work.
It seems like the more I tried the more I failed.
A lady from my daycare noticed that me and my sister looked distraught when ever he dropped us of.
" I noticed that you and your sister always have a gloomy look when you walk in, what is going on? Is he putting his hands on y'all?" I froze, I knew that I could not say anything about the touching so I told her about the mental and physical abuse.
"He would yell at us and call us names making us feel like we are dimwitted. He would grab us by the neck and shoves us in the corner for not cleaning our room, for not keeping it in order. He would flick us in the forehead multiple times and sometimes we would not know why and then he would flick us again if we were to cry, this man is a monster."
She stood in shock as she took all the distasteful informaton in, “please do not not tell.” I said trying to fight back the tears. “I promise I will not.” she said back in a sympethic tone. I trusted her, in a way it felt good to finally have someone listen, to finally have someone care to ask and show sympethy.
That house was not a home, no, but hell. A prison where they steal your dreams, your childhood. This man took my voice. I had no choice but to stay silent, and silent I stayed.
I was at school when my teacher told me I was needed in the office. “Hi Maiah there are people here for you.” said the office lady. I followed the people up to the counseling room. As I took a seat analyzing the nicely dressed people I could start to feel the warmth in my chest. I did not know why I was there but I could tell it was something bad. I was afraid that they would ask me about the man.
I do not remember everything, but what I do remember is running out of that room. I felt all the air leave my body. tears flowing out my eyes like a waterfall. I was conflicted. I felt betrayed, I did not want her to tell. I knew that he could go to jail and I did not want that because he is my little sister's dad. I knew they would talk to my sister so I tried to find her before they could, but I was too late.
"What did they ask you?" I said in a panic. " Not much, just that he hits me sometimes." She said looking at me puzzled. "Well do not tell them too much, just do not say anything." I did not want to get in trouble with my mom, I knew she would be mad.
“why are the cops talking to me? why are they asking about this man hitting you guys? and what am I hearing about abuse?” My sister and I looked to the ground. “If something is going on it needs to stay in this house! They will take you guys away from me, is that what you want? Great now I have to go to court. "
"I needed to get out, that man has changed. That man is not the man I thought I loved. I do not know what to do. If I leave where would we go? All our family is in California. If I leave this will be my third baby daddy,how will people see me? What would they think? That house is a cold place I rather not stay."
In a way, I think my mom knew what was going on, but did not want to believe it. She was protecting him. A while back I told her that he laid in my bed and put my hand in a place I did not understand, but she did not seem to care. She just sat there with a blank stare. But did nothing.
I spoke out to a woman who was supposed to help, I spoke without a doubt. but no one seemed to hear me. I spoke without a voice, I was left alone without a choice.
looking back, I can fully understand that this man was not a man, but a monster. I was supposed to have a "normal" happy childhood, but that was taken away from me at the age of nine.
looking back I see my mom was vacant from my life, a huge gap setting me up for a trap I was not prepared for. a huge gap forcing me to grow up and take the mother role. A huge gap opening my eyes to just how cold this world was. At the age of nine I was ready to die. I cut myself hoping that if I cut deep enough that I would reach a vain. I had enough, I was not being heard. No one cares, no one ever cared.
I told my mom about the monstrous act this man committed when I was 12. I told her I did not want her to say anything. In a way I was protecting him because I felt that no matter what, I am tied to this man. She let him into my life and did nothing but walk away and leave me to fend for myself.
Later I found out he "did what he did" because he was on two kinds of drugs . My mom thought that telling me that would help me get a better understanding of why he did what he did. She wanted me to forgive and forget. I can never forgive him for the hell he put me through. He never even said sorry.
In a way I feel as if she is trying to justify his wrong doing. But there is no just in this situation. Drugs do not make this okay. If anything it makes things worse.
For the rest of my life I have to live with the horrifying memories of the crimes this monster committed. I am chained to him, Bondaged. It will take time for me to be free. When I forgive him is when I truly know that you do not have to be tethered molester who molested you. But only time will tell.
The crime did not just destroy my childhood, but it destroyed my relationship with my mom. I resent her for not being there. Mothers are supposed to be there for their children when they are in danger. But she was never there. His crimes changed my perspective of my mom. A once strong women became weak. Too weak to detect that something was wrong. Too blind to see that we needed to get away from him. Too spineless to stand up and confront this monster.
He made me feel worthless, he made me see other men in a whole new darkness. I feel like I cannot breath if another man sits next to me. I cannot walk past a man without feeling as if he wants to molest me too. I live in paranoia, the anxiety eats me alive.
This man stole my piece of mind. This man forgot that I am the one who carry his shame!
The story's tell us beware of the monsters under your bed but mine was in the room down the hall.