Living Through Sexual Abuse

My Sexual Abuse

I think I was about 9 years old when I started getting sexually abused by my aunt's husband and it went on for years. If I'm being completely honest I don't remember the first time it happened, but I do remember that I was really young. I don't think it's right to go into any details obviously, but what I went through is something I'll have to live with for the rest of my life. It affected my mental health which eventually also affected my physical health. I fell into a pretty deep depression. I wasn't eating, I wasn't sleeping. I was skipping class in school and letting my grades drop to failing. Eventually, my anxiety became terrible too. I was too scared to sleep at night that I would wait until I saw the sun coming up. I was too scared to sleep next to people even my own family. I was too afraid to go outside or be around strangers. To me it felt like I was in a dark hole that I had no way to get out of, and every day it was getting deeper and deeper.  

I feel so disgusting. Sometimes I get this ache feeling in my stomach like I'm being touched even when no ones around me. I try covering myself because somehow I think it'll make that feeling go away but it doesn't. I remember my mom used to hate when I used to sleep with jeans on but she didn't know that that was my way of feeling safe when I went to sleep. I hate that that's the girl I had to be: weak and vulnerable.

It think that's why I hate sleeping next to family members because he was one, and he used to trick me and tell me that I would be more safe staying next to him but I was so young I didnt understand. He made us watch a scary movie one night. I was so scared so he told me to sleep next to him so I would feel safer. I woke up in the middle of the night because I felt his hand in my underwear and he said I'm sorry I was just checking to see if you wet the bed. And in my little girl mind it made sense. Sometimes it makes me hate myself so much. It makes me hate being me. Being in this body. Being someone who has to live with that for the rest of my life.

I didn't tell my mom until I was 13, which I know is too late, but I was just too young to understand it, and too young to understand consequences. I know for sexual abuse survivors justice is like nearly impossible, which is why I was at least hoping to get justice within my family, but it didn't happen. Some people didn't believe it, someone called me a liar, and now every time I see them I still have to hear my family talk about him and I still have to see pictures of him hung around the house. It feels like I have to deal with my trauma over and over.

Luckily my mom tried to help me in the best ways she knew how, I've gone to therapy, I've tried at-home remedies to help my anxiety, not much luck with that part sadly, but the therapy did help a lot. Writing helped me a lot too, it's been my passion since I was able to pick up a pencil. I'm not saying I've gotten through it, because I haven't, but I do have hope that things are going to get better for me mentally. 

I think it's just important to remember that getting through this isn't a linear process. Sometimes there are good days and sometimes there are bad ones. There's been times when I've had great weeks and then all of the sudden I have a terrible day. And there are also times when I've had horrible weeks and I suddenly wake up one morning feeling happy and hopeful. 

My goal is to have more of those happy and hopeful days in my life, and I'm dedicating every single day, even the horrible ones, to achieving that.