Trigger Warning: The following post will contain mentions of sexual abuse. It will be an emotional post but also freeing. If sexual abuse is a trigger then please skip over this post.
For those of you on social media, I'm sure you have seen the Me Too movement spreading around. The post states,
"Me too. If all the people who have been sexually assaulted wrote "Me too" as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem."
I have read where some people feel like this is victimizing the people that have been sexually assaulted and calling them out. Instead of the monsters that did these acts coming out and owning up. Truthfully, I don't agree. It takes true strength to come out and admit to friends and loved ones that you were sexually assaulted.
Sexual Assault can be defined as Sexual assault is any type of sexual contact or behavior that occurs without the explicit consent of the recipient. Falling under the definition of sexual assault are sexual activities as forced sexual intercourse, forcible sodomy, child molestation, incest, fondling, and attempted rape.
Tonight I'm choosing to share my story. It might seem broken in parts but it's a story that I've held in for a long time. It's a story that I feel calls awareness. I've shared bits and pieces but overall, I've kept pretty quiet about it all. At the same time, I don't feel like I'll ever be ready to face my offender because they are in my life everyday. I cross paths with them although over the last few months I have almost severed ties with them.
When I was 13 I was up late one night with my father. It was a common thing for us to do. He would usually let me stay up later than my brother and sister. I remember that night clearly. It often haunts me in my sleep.
We were watching The Crow. I had just gotten my nails done. I remember I had finished up dishes and I was picking underneath them. I can still feel my nails hitting each other. My dad had playfully slapped my hand and told me to quit. He was complaining about his back hurting and I told him if he wanted to sit in front of me he could. I remember rubbing his shoulders and the movie coming to a close.
He grabbed my left hand and kissed it. I went to pull away but he pulled me closer to him. I felt frozen in time. I couldn't move. That's when he caressed my breast. I jerked away quickly and played it off as nothing. Just to escape.
I went upstairs and bawled my eyes out. I tore off the clothes I was wearing. I blamed myself for it. I tried to call my mom at work but worried that my dad would hear me. I slept in the loft upstairs and I could hear my dad. I waited patiently for him to go sleep but eventually fell asleep crying myself.
The next day I broke down to my grandmother and told her everything that happened. She immediately called my mom. My mom came over and kept guilt tripping me. She went from being on my side to against me in an instant. My dad's parents made me feel terrible. I eventually felt so bad about this I told my mom I lied about all of it.
I was told my father couldn't be around me and I would need to go live with my grandmother for awhile until everyone was able to heal from the hole I ripped into my family.
Over the years my relationship with my parents has been fractured but I've tried to keep it somewhat together for the sake of Ally knowing her grandparents. I know it doesn't make sense why as an adult I didn't just sever ties from my family but part it is I was raised to be a people pleaser. I was raised to believe Divorce wasn't an option. To always be charitable. To always keep a kind heart.
So I blamed myself for all the shit between my father and I. I worked tirelessly to always mend the damage that was caused. I think this is part of why I am so damaged as an adult. Why I don't function well as often as I would like. Why some days are heavier than others. I am getting better about talking but sometimes I just feel heavy.