Story by h
My truth
Posted on by H.
My Truth It's time to speak up. I need to quit lying to my family, myself, and to the world. I was hurt, but no one knows to the extent. Every time I think about it or the truth perhaps, it reminds me of how much of an idiot I am. Maybe people will think I wanted it or me coming back to the situation was asking for it. I kept everything to myself because I already felt defeated. Everyone and myself was against me. It kind of felt like sirens attacking from every direction. It was dark. I never knew why I didn't care as much as I should´ve. Why did I cry out because I couldn't see my attacker again? Or was I just used to it? I didn't see it as a big deal. That is probably why I lied. I can say this truly. I've never regretted something more in my life than allowing myself to go through what I went through. There is no start to this story or a specific date. What happened to me was all from the age of six up until the age of nine. It was normal and due to that I don't remember. What I do remember is it started when my parents split. If you don't know my attacker, it is my father. My father. I still can't process that. Every time I think about it doesn't make sense. I was his daughter. I couldn't be anymore clearer than saying Was. Now he is the force that pulls and yanks at my heart and everything I was and is. I would be lying if I said those three years made me an amazing and happy person today. If I am being honest all it gave me was a painful childhood. If there are more words to give you a clear understanding, it left me with a scarring, sorrowful, miserable, and downhearted life. I was left fighting the past. There was this one night I remember (vividly) than others . It was probably the first night I woke up to him trying to do something to me. I was six, so the memory is fuzzy. My dad lived in a small one room apartment building located on the second floor. I remember there was a church on the bottom floor. The space was big to me because I was small. In reality, it was a small box. The apartment smelled like leftover alcohol mixed with dirty laundry. There was only one twin bed and that's where me and my sister slept. My dad would usually sleep on the couch. That night he didn't. Well from what I know now this probably wasn't the first night. It was likely the only night I woke up to it. I can imagine myself sleeping not having to fight. Not having to twist and turn until my body ached. Then I remember me sleeping through it wasn't saving myself. I was giving myself to a monster. I was so wiggly I remember I couldn't stay asleep. My eyes opened slow and blurred. I remember not comprehending what I was seeing. . At this point in the story you don't have to believe me. I completely understand. It is dark and the consequences are unbearable. When I looked at him, I saw what a daughter should never have to see. The simplest way to describe it as a six-year old, it was bare skin spread, laying in front of me. He was naked and my tiny corse was laying in between his legs. I remember lifting my neck up and looking up at him with my soft eyes. He glanced at me. He told me to go back to sleep. I remember thinking, why? The worst part was I giggled and said okay. I didn't know what he was doing, but whatever it was I should've listened to my young gut. Wait, my sense of gut wasn't even developed. Maybe that was the problem. I could only make so many excuses for myself. I should've known this was gonna get worse. Maybe then my future would've been different. One week later myself was almost saved from the worst. It didn't work out that way because the lie that I had forced out my lungs flooded the car windows. The windows were pushing against my head, telling me to tell the truth. The windows wanted me to tell my mom what I told my sister, but I couldn't. During that week I told my sister what I saw our father doing. What his intentions might have been. I said to her that I thought our father was trying to touch me in a weird way. Saying, I thought, was a lie. She ended up telling my mom in the vehicle on the way to our father's apartment. We went to his apartment most weekends. My mom freaked out like a normal person would. I said to her that nothing happened, and my sister must've been confused about what I told her. I reassured her that nothing was going on. Being saved was impractical at that point. I did it to myself. I did this to myself because I loved my father and I never knew how to hate him. So I couldn't bare the thought of not having him in my life. I never wanted to be that child without their father. That meant no father and daughter dances. Not getting to walk through the aisle, talk through, and live through life with a father. My life went on. I was probably seven. I was still getting touched and grabbed. I never talked about it to anyone. It was still a secret that had no ambition to emerge. I thought I could deal with it. It was only a weekend and then I was free. I was sure I could handle it for one to two nights each week. Was I convincing myself , forcing myself , or trying to be strong? Sometimes I think about how my sister didn't know. She was right next to me every night. I know it's not her fault. I just wonder about things that don't make sense. I wondered like trying to understand how to pick myself out of the somber and how to get out of the dimness. How?, why?, and what are you doing?, were all the questions I asked myself and still do. Eventually my father moved into his parents' home. I loved my grandparents. They showed me how to love family, and they made my life enjoyable. Good things always come to an end though. My grandparents lived on a farm. The farm was huge with a natural feeling of freedom from the outside. The view that kept me motivated. I loved it there. All the stray cats, tractor rides, and Thanksgivings. Even the art projects and rice crispy bars we made together. I never regretted those moments. That saying that life is like a box of chocolates is true. You never know which one you're gonna get. It is just like saying there are bad and good moments in life. You never know how many good or bad you're gonna get. Usually the good moments would make up for the bad, but they didn't in this situation. I risked myself for my family. The only thing that made sense struggling for. I wanted to see them, but later in life it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Every week was the same. I spent the days worried, and I was left at the end of each week with guilt. Each weekend I dreaded going to sleep. The same thing happened to me over and over again. It was as repetitive as the constant leaves falling and never getting to rake up everyone, because no matter how much you raked they still would fall. I was scared and now I'm ready. I'm ready to tell the truth or have I already? This is the hardest for me to write but I'm ready to let go. The past is what rips and tears apart the pieces of my future storyline. The normal Saturday night for me was knowing there was gonna be no sleep. It was called fake sleeping. It started with me waking up to his breathing as he would get on top of me. That puke, alcoholic breath suffocated me. Then he would forcefully kiss me. The taste was sickening. He would rub his dick up against my butt . It led to him pulling down my pants. I can't express to you how tough I fought, but he still would get them down. Me always still. I remember the shakiness that would develop out of my control. It was hard to move from the force and scare. He tried to put his in mine and I know how much of a battle I put up so that it didn't happen. The constant turning and rotating my body until it ached. I sometimes would have to put up a fight for two hours and till he would give up. It started to feel like my body wasn't my own, but his. I wished that I could detach myself from my body. The worst thing he did was mentally imprint scars all over my body. I always acted as if nothing happened when I woke up. I thought that was what I was supposed to do. He did too and now looking back it disgusts me. He had to have known I was awake. The amount of times I would moan in a cry for him to get off of me. Why me? You're probably thinking did it ever stop. The answer is not for around 156 Saturdays or weekends. At least god eventually answered my prayers and saved me. He opened the doors and made it possible for someone to know. He knew I couldn't handle it myself because I was too little or weak. It was my time to rise, and he grabbed my hand and lifted me from the upside down. The miracle he created made my escape possible. There was no paradise for me until… The first weekend in August 2016 is when I was set free and my secret would be revealed. It was the last Saturday I would have to struggle. The exact date was August 7th, 2016. The same events happened that always did. This time God sent an angel to help me. My angel was my sister. That night she woke up to him on top of me. Finally. That was the word to say it's been too long. I was almost suffocated into nothingness and it felt good to know change was coming. I was still scared by the consequences. My sister doing the right thing told my mother. I remember everything shut down. I wasn't a person. I was a rainforest and no matter how much I rained It didn't make a difference. My mind was gone. I remember running out on our deck because I couldn't breathe. Remember when I said I cried over not being able to see my attacker. I did but it wasn't that. It was the fear of losing everyone. Mainly my grandparents. I couldn't eat or talk. I was numb for a while. Everything turned into nothing. My mom later called the cops. That's when my life changed forever. I was almost ten years old, preparing to testify in court against my own father. I was still foggy in the head and my bed was all I wanted. I went from being obese to a normal weight. There was this woman that came to my house. She checked up on me every week. She asked questions, and she even gave me a tour of the court house. She tried to help, but I never let her in. I didn't want it. I wanted to sink into hell. It was the roughest time. I don't think I was there mentally for months. It felt like everyone around me wasn't there. The worst part was my grandparents didn't believe me at all. They wanted nothing to do with me. They didn't say that, but they didn't need to. I felt betrayed. It felt like I lost everyone. Truth is, I kind of did. I lost the most important thing I need to live. Me The court day came. The day that I never wanted to happen. My grandma didn't show up . She couldn't face the cold-hearted reality. My grandpa was there. Before I went up on the stand he asked if I wanted to pet his dog. I was really confused. I didn't dare ask where my grandmother was. I walked up and swore that I wouldn't lie. They made me stand up in front of my father that destroyed me. They treated me like an adult. His lawyer was acting like I was old and like I've been through life. He even implied I was asking for it because of the outfit I wore that weekend. The pain that question caused. Yes or no was the only words allowed to leave my mouth. I could even explain. The worst part was when the strongest left me I broke in front of a lier. He said he did nothing. He is lucky because it's my fault he got away with it. I apologize to this day to any teen or female he might attack. He was found not guilty because of my lies. Well, it wasn't a lie, it just wasn't the full truth. What I mean by my truth is everyone thinks I was only molested once by my father. They didn't know It had happened for years. I didn't want people to know what I went through and question why I went back. I didn't want people judging me. Thoughts flooding in my head kept me from never telling the truth. I thought people would think I wanted it, wonder why I went back, and why I acted like nothing happened. The point of writing this is so people know my truth. You can shame me or understand. I don't want him to look any better and to keep letting myself down. I know I am strong but I obviously wasn't strong enough at the time. The only reason he suffered no consequences was because it wasn't possible for me to explain one night in detail when it happened too many times. I hope I build up enough courage to show and tell my mom someday. The life after was different. My grandparents didn't like me anymore. We would meet up sometimes but never at the farm. They would fake liking me just to see my sister. The truth was, I lost a whole part of my family and myself. My mental health was and never will be the same. What hurts the most is never having justice. You don't always get what you want. Recently I learned life can get better but only if you let it. That is why I wrote this. To let go and cope. I hope you understand my truth isn't really true unless you believe me. Well, that's how it works in the system.