How can I gain the strength to tell the world that it's okay to share your pain? My name is Angelica and this is my STORY.
As a child I found myself: alone, abused (sexually/mentally/verbally), bullied, neglected, and so much more. As a child, you should not see the worst in yourself. At the age of eight, I experienced rape. What man will take advantage of a child? Something so pure, small, and innocent. Well I'll tell you, a man that is insecure of himself and adorns the feeling of having power over a child. Not only did he take my innocence but he repeatedly broke my small fragile body multiple times up until I was the age of twelve. Four years of sexual abuse. Can you imagine a child's mind broken and corrupted from a incident that could've been avoided? As a child, you didn't quite understand what rape was but as soon as you entered middle school entering that sex education class, you were able to understand and develop exactly what rape was. One day after school, I found myself walking into my mother's room where she was sound asleep. Growing closer and closer to the bed, tears begin to blur my vision and my heart began to crumble faster than I could handle. Here my mother was sleeping so peacefully in a bed where I was raped multiple times for years. I couldn't find myself to step any closer to the bed due to images flashing through my head. I hurried out of the bedroom and to the back patio. At this time, I needed fresh air because it felt as if my heart were going to jump out of my chest.
Minutes later, I found myself in my older sister room. She held me as I cried. Before fixing her mouth to ask me, what was wrong, she wiped my tears. What a big sister? Everyone hopes to have a older sister that will love them, support them, and protect them. Sitting across from her, my mouth opened and poured out all the horrible things that my mother's boyfriend did to me when nobody was home. She stood from the bed and stared at me in denial. In my head, I kept saying, "I knew she wasn't going to believe me." As the tears slid down my face, we heard the front door slam shut. We peeped our head around the corner and found my mother's boyfriend standing over her with his hand raised back. Not only was he raping me and stealing my innocence time after time but he was beating on my mother. My older sister held me as I cried into her developing breast.
Middle School. This is where I began to understand myself somewhat. Though I was battling with being a rape victim, I was battling with my sexuality. I didn't know if I were interested in women because I distrusted men due to the rape incident, but I found myself in love with women. Well that was until I met one young man that I could trust. Not only did I open up enough to trust him but he protected me from the one individual that I couldn't protect myself from.
Trial and error is what I called us because he was such a hot head. Especially if he had to fight over me. I remember coming to school with a long sleeve shirt and long jeans to cover up the bruises my mom boyfriend created against my skin. Walking into the cafeteria and distancing myself from my crush, he could tell that something was wrong. He accidentally grabbed me by my wrist a little rough and I winced in pain due to me having bruised wrist. My wrist were bruised from him pinning me down while tearing me from the inside out. My crush found himself building enough courage to pull up my sleeve. The moment he saw my bruised wrist he began screaming at me causing me to break down into tears in the cafeteria in front of everyone.
Humiliation. That's exactly how I felt. He humiliated me in front of the whole seventh grade. About a hour later, I was called into the nurse's office where my crush stood in the corner. How could he do this to me? He was the only one that knew my truth. Why would he go share it with a complete stranger? Minutes later, my crush was out in the hallway while I stripped down to my training bra and underwear. The nurse examined the bruises before taking pictures. After it was over, I instantly hurried to my clothes and began getting dressed. This was all a mistake. When I arrived home later that day, DCF (Department of Children and Families) and the feds were walking out of my home. Out of my home with a suitcase filled with my things and my mother's boyfriend in handcuffs. My mother's face was still bruised from the other day. I wish she was strong enough to press charges on him for her own sake. She's not even fighting for me right now, she's crying while my sister is the one begging the social worker to not take me away. As the social worker, stuff me into the back seat I witnessed my sister pushing my mother to the ground for not being aware of my sexual abuse.
Someone please come save me! Help! I don't want to spend a night with a house full of strangers that I don't even know. Here I am in a corner of a group home crying. I don't want to be here. I don't know these people. A figure walked past me and I kept my head in my knees. Moments later, I felt multiple hands rubbing my back. When I lifted my head, there were three girls who all seemed to be older than me. There names were: Nicole (16), Kanesha (14), and Victoria (16). They all held me and allowed me to feel comfortable. The other girls in the group home seemed mean but Nicole, Kanesha, and Victoria were all different. Though I'm only twelve, I grew a bond with the three girls and I was able to know why they were in the home. Nicole, well her mother was a crackhead and she was automatically placed into foster care from birth. Nicole has supervised visits with her mother. Kanesha, she grew up stealing and her grandmother didn't want anything to do with her so she sent her away. She has no family outside of Nicole and Victoria. Victoria, she's in the process of being adopted once again. Her previous adoptive family were sentenced to life because they were selling her to men.
When Victoria was adopted, we all cried because this meant we'd probably never see her again. LIES. Victoria's new parents left their house phone number with us and said we were welcomed over anytime. When the time came for me to leave the group home, I promised Nicole and Kanesha that I'd either visit or write them. The day my mother showed up at the group home, I was relieved because I hated it there but I was also scared because I didn't know if her boyfriend was still at our home.
Maybe eight hours later, I was standing in front of a apartment building. I just turned thirteen about a week ago. When I entered the apartment, there was balloons and family members standing in the living room. I cried and hugged everyone because I truly did miss my family but of them all I truly missed my older sister.
