Rain said 9 years, 1 month ago:
Before you start reading, I want to warn you all that this can be really triggering. If you went through abuse and/or you’re struggling, I urge you not to read this. I just want to let some things out because maybe that’ll feel like a relieve. It can also save me from explaining this over and over to a few people, though I warn every reader that this is more detailed. So please, if you can’t handle it, don’t read this.
I’ve been sexually abused from age 9 to age 14. It all started back at my mother’s house. It was a summer day and they were renovating the roof outside. A few family members were there to help. Back at that age, if I wanted to drink, I had to ask. I was thirsty so I asked to drink. My grandfather, my mother’s father, went inside with me to get me something to drink. I’ll never forget that day. He gave me a glass of milk. While I was standing there drinking, I felt something strange against my hand. I turned around and my grandfather stood there with his thing. I cried and ran away to the living room, where I went to hide myself between two closets. My grandfather walked up to me and he told me I couldn’t tell my parents. He told me if I would tell my parents that the police would take me away and bring me to a prison for children. He said they would lock me up in a special cage, like they lock up animals. It was supposed to be our secret. That day a part of me began to die. I was at my grandfather’s place every Wednesday after school, because on Wednesday there was only half a day of school. He often picked me up or was already waiting at my home to pick me up. I always refused to touch his thing because it made me want to vomit. He always touched me everywhere and sometimes he French kissed me, which really grossed me out. I still find French kissing gross, I can’t stand it and it’s one of my many boundaries.
Sometimes my chest was all blue and purple because he used to place his mouth there. As a child, I often used to bathe with my younger sister, who always asked me how my chest got so blue and purple. I made strange lies that I fell or something like that. Of all things I was the most grossed out by all the times my grandfather went down on me. I absolutely can’t stand anyone doing that, it’s my most absolute boundary. In relationships, some have tried, but as soon as they try, I push them away and I cry. Then I sit there hours crying without saying a word. When I was around 11 years old, my grandfather took me up to his room and undressed me completely. He French kissed me for a while and then he tried to rape me, but it turned out he was too old to have sex. Despite everything that has happened, I feel a bit lucky that he wasn’t able to rape me. There have been times where I would yell at him and take his phone while threatening I’d call someone to tell on him. During those times, he got angry while yelling back not to do that. One day at school I had a fever and they brought me to his place. Even then, he couldn’t keep his hands off my body. That day I cried and begged him to take me home. Sometimes my grandfather stood in front of me while masturbating, which also made me want to vomit.
When I was 14, on a certain Wednesday morning, I got up and my mother had a talk with me. She said that my sister told her while crying that our grandfather had took her hand a few times to put it in his pants. I didn’t knew what I was hearing. I had no idea he started things with my 4 years younger sister too. My sister was 10 when he was just starting things with her too. My mother explained that with my sister, all he did was put her hand in his pants. My sister was way more talkative than I am, so she didn’t stay silent about it. My mother asked if anything had happened to me. I froze and quickly mumbled that I had to go to school. That day at school I was pale white and people at school kept asking what was wrong. When I got home, the police was waiting. They took us to some place. I had to go first for being the oldest one. They placed me in a room in front of a camera. I felt like I wanted to die. I can’t even stand a picture being taken, so I definitely can’t handle a camera. There was a lady from the police who asked about my hobbies first, but I knew it was a trick to try to win my trust and to get me to talk. I got interrogated for nearly two hours and I didn’t say a word. That day was a hell for me. Afterwards I got to hear that my grandfather had told the police everything, while they used a lie detector. They also diagnosed him with schizophrenia.
Everything that happened got spread like a fire in my family. My father tried to talk to me about it once, but he acted like I was a child and I snapped at him. After that my father and stepmother never brought it up again. Sometimes I randomly share a few words and then they listen, but when I drop it they do too and that’s much better for me. My mother on the other hand handled it differently. My mother and her mother both asked the same questions. “Is it true you enjoyed it?” I was shocked. Apparently my grandfather truly believed I enjoyed all of it and therefore, my mother and grandmother believed that too. They also asked “is it true you asked him to go to his room to do things?” The memory of those questions still sickens me. I haven’t had contact with my mother and grandmother in a long while. Family or not, I feel a certain hate towards them and not just because of that, but also because of other things that have happened.
I also feel as if my mother and my grandmother are keeping something from me. I already found out they lied about one thing. When it all happened, they said it happened to my aunt too when she was a child. Her abuser was also my grandfather. So basically it never even had to happen, they should have known it or suspected it. Later when I tried to bring it up, they lied and said nothing happened to my aunt, that they made a mistake and that they were wrong, but later on they confessed that it was indeed true and that my aunt went trough the same things I’ve been through. My grandmother once told me that there was a secret about my mother and that my mother used to have a journal which my grandmother kept. I asked to know about it, but she told me she would tell me once I’d be old enough, but that I couldn’t tell my mother. She never told me. I believe that part of the family is hiding something. When I talk with my doctor, he suspects my mother has schizophrenia too, but I believe there’s much more. Once when I had a panic attack and lost it, she tried to give me anti-depressants, which makes me wonder how she even had those. I think my mother also went through something that she’s not telling. I feel bad that I never knew it had started with my younger sister too. I should have seen the signs. Sometimes when we were together at our grandfather and I went to the bathroom, my younger sister went with me. She never wanted to be alone with him. I should have known, I should have protected her. Our grandfather got a street order and he had to pay my sister and I a bit of money. That was it. My mother didn’t care about the street order, so even after all what happened, she still forced my sister and I to visit him whenever she did. How could she? If I would ever have children and if someone would do that to them, that person would be dead to me. Over a year ago, my grandfather died. My mother which I don’t have contact with in years, had the guts to contact me to ask to go to his funeral. I never responded. That day I called my father and stepmother. I told them that the only reason I’d ever consider going to his funeral would be to get another nail in his chest.
I buried my past and pretend mostly like it never happened, because I wish it wouldn’t have. Things would have been different if it wouldn’t have happened. When I’m in a relationship, I have so many boundaries and it’s complicated. For me it would even be more complicated to be with a girl, because of certain things. I realize this is a very long vent, but I just wanted to get this out. I feel disgusted because of all these things. It’s difficult to write this all out, but the most difficult thing is to actually verbally get it out. During my therapy, I’ll have to talk about it and relive it again. I just can’t understand how someone can do that. Definitely not from family. I can’t understand how someone can do that to his own granddaughters. I also don’t understand how a mother can force her children to still see their abuser. I had to get this out because it was eating me up inside. This is one of the many reasons why I want to die so badly.
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