She Doesn’t Believe Me…

I was 17 years old when I was forced to disclose to my mother that my stepfather had been raping me for the past 14 years.   I was still very hung over from the 64 sleeping pills I had ingested the night before and the ½ bottle of straight  vodka I drank to wash down each death pill.  I’ll never forget my mother’s finger in my face calling me a liar and a drug addict.   Here is an excerpt from my book, “From Sorrows To Sapphires,” where I describe that horrible day in my life:

“Rejection and Rejuvenation

I can barely write what took place over the next few hours. I had arrived at Nicole’s father’s law office physically exhausted after the night I’d endured.  I could not stop shaking.  My body quivered from fear and exhaustion. The stress of the night, the sleeping pills, and the alcohol’s effects were still in my system.  I was sitting upright in a chair when my Mother entered the room.  She showed no mercy but immediately lit into me. She screamed that I had set in motion a chain of events that would now ruin her life. She blasted me with both barrels:

“You have ruined my life.  How could you do this?  How could you embarrass and destroy our family?  You must be on drugs.  You’re shaking like you’re on drugs.  I knew you were on drugs.  You’ve become a drug addict.”  She never let me open my mouth. She continued to berate me, her eyelids blinking frantically, as I sat in the chair with my head hung down low.  “I’ve contacted the Wells, and they said they would take you. You can go there this afternoon and leave us alone. This can’t be true. It’s all a lie. You are a liar. You’re a big liar.” She was fireball-red from the top of her chin all the way down her neck with red blotches screaming anger and fear out of her skin.

She would have hit me had she not thought she was being monitored closely.  I could tell she wanted to rip me to pieces.  She could have pulled every hair out of my head, and that still wouldn’t have solved her problems.  She told me I could come to the house and gather my things, but I needed to make it fast.  “You don’t need to put us through anymore today.  We’ve had a horrible night. You have really ruined our lives, and I want you as far away from me as possible, out of our lives for good.  I want you out.  I don’t even know who you are.  You are not the little girl I raised and loved.  You are not the little girl I sacrificed my life for.  I’ve called the Wells, and they’re going to take you in.  You can go there as soon as you get your stuff, and I don’t want to ever see you again.  You need to be with the Wells.  You need to be with them now!  Maybe they can figure you out,” her voice quivered. 

Her eyelids were batting faster, as they always did when she was nervous, and her voice was stern and detached, and her neck was covered with red blotches.  There was no sympathy in her tone. There was no wavering in her decision.  I had told the unthinkable, the unbelievable, and her response was to bury herself in denial. The reality of what was happening at that moment was more than I could process. She turned her back to me, and even more heartbreaking, turned her back on me.

She walked out and slammed the door. Nicole’s father must have known I needed a few minutes, so I was left alone in the cold conference room.  I was flabbergasted.  I did not even have the strength to lift my head up.  Never did I ever imagine she would turn her back on me.  That was the final blow.  The worst blow I could have received. “Why God?  Why didn’t you take me last night?  Why is there no end to my suffering?”  My soul had been ripped out, my heart shattered to a million pieces.  My Mother didn’t love me enough to fight for me, to believe me.  I’d spent years enduring the unbearable, all those years protecting her and protecting the secret.  She chose him.  She turned her back on me and chose him.  She betrayed me. I had no one and nowhere to go.  I wasn’t going to Danbury. The Wells’ left me and never looked back. They walked out of my life.  I wasn’t going to beg them to take me in.   I didn’t need them.  I didn’t need anybody.

The door opened and Nicole’s father towered over me, as my head was still hanging between my legs.  “You have to make a decision.  We can seek justice.  I need to know what to do, and I need to know right now.”  His stern, deep voice shocked me back into reality.  

“Can I have some time to think this through?  I’ve protected them for so long.  I never wanted her to know.  I never wanted to hurt her like this.” 

He stayed on his point as a lawyer: “I’m sorry, but you have to make a move now.  I have no choice because you are a minor.  You have to focus on you now.  I will prosecute.  We can put him behind bars, we can get justice,” he urged in a deep firm tone. 

“There is no justice in this, no justice,” I said. “I just want my freedom.  Please get me my freedom.  I don’t want anything but my freedom, please,” I whispered in a soft crackling voice.  “Just my freedom.  Please get me my freedom, and I’ll go as far away from this place as I can get.  I promise, please just let me out of this hell, please let it be over.” 

He saw the utter despair in my face, and the total hopelessness of my situation.  Out of pity, he asked if I wanted to stay with them a few days until we figured things out. I was in such a pitiful state; he had no choice but to extend a hand.  I thought I was at the end of my rope on the bridge last night, and within a few hours, I had slipped even further down.  There was no fight left in me.  I was tired, I was alone, and I was defeated.  I truly know what it feels like to be at the end of yourself and sitting on the bottom of life.  At that moment, I had no more of me to depend on; I had only God.  All I had was blind faith and a verse I clung to: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

Within what seemed like minutes, I was getting my emancipation in front of a judge and my petition for freedom granted.  “Get your education and make sure to make something of yourself,” said the judge.   “Don’t let this ruin your life.  You can rise above.  Many others have done so,” he continued.  Nicole’s father assured him he would seek therapy for me, and I would be living with them for a while.

Nicole drove me to

465 Briar Patch Place

. Mom, Carl and my two sisters peered through the window as we got out of the car.  The reception was cold.  It took less than ten minutes to gather my belongings. I was given two black trash bags.  My heart raced with fear and exhaustion. Carl stayed out of my way, my Mother cried, and my sisters clung to my legs, pleading for me not to leave them.

I was so angry, so fiercely angry, as I shoved my clothes into the bag and grabbed my eight-track player and all my eight tracks. I asked if I could take my bicycle, and they agreed.  I found my schoolbooks, but not my diary.

“Can I have my diary please?”  She said she didn’t know where it was.  “It was in the car last night,” I replied.

“No, you can’t have your diary. It’s gone. He burned it in the ditch this morning.” [The diary, it turns out, was not destroyed, and miraculously, years later, I was able to find it, well-hidden under the armoire in the master bedroom at

465 Briar Patch Place

. The “Journal” entries within this book came from this diary.] 

Her reply didn’t register, as I needed to get out of there immediately before I started doing dishes or making the beds or worse, grabbing a butcher knife and going stark raving mad.  I had to get out of there before I buckled, before I wrapped my arms around my sisters, thinking that I needed to stay to protect them more than I needed to go to protect myself.   Leaving them behind made my gut ache. I wrapped my arms around them, held them close and said, “You both look me in the eye now.  I love you, and I’ll be back to see you.  You can call me at this number if you need me, and I’ll be back to see you.  Be good.  I’ll be back, I swear, I’m not leaving for good.  Just a little while, and I’ll be back.”  Tears streamed down their cheeks. “Please don’t cry, please,” I pleaded.

      I had to leave my bicycle behind, as I threw the bags in the back of Nicole’s Toyota Supra. She said, “Help me take the tee-tops off.  I have an idea.” We took the tee-tops off, and she told me to stand up in the front seat and scream to the top of my lungs.  She said, “Experience your freedom.  Scream ‘I’m free!’” 

There was a mass in my throat.  I couldn’t talk.  I choked, but in a matter of seconds, I went manic as I screamed and screamed - all the way down

Fontaine Drive

and all the way down Highway 217.  She drove me all over town for hours screaming.  It felt so good.  I was free, and I had so much to scream about. I laughed, I cried, and I screamed.  She was the best friend a girl could have.  She kept driving, and I kept screaming all the way down

Victory Drive

(that was its name and it symbolized what I was experiencing!)

This was so very different for me. Often I would let my breakdowns explode inside my head, and I would scream silently. But now, thanks to Nicole, the screams were boiling out. And now, also thanks to Nicole, I felt release.  She smiled at me as she drove, and I enjoyed the freedom to scream. I enjoyed the freedom to smile.

For those that are in this place of denial by your mother and other family members, my heart bleeds for you.  I know your pain but please know that there is hope that you will get past this grief and build a happy life.  That life may or may not include your mother or your family, but regardless we need to forgive those that have so deeply wronged us.  It is not about releasing them from responsibility or accountability, it is about freeing ourselves from all the anger, the resentment, the pain they caused us.  Love, Joy and happiness cannot coexist with rage, vengeance and hate.  I have heard a quote that goes like this, “Unforgiveness is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.”

I am still trying to build a relationship with my mother and it is always one act of forgiveness at a time.  I have to give extra forgiveness for her insensitivity, her callous remarks about my childhood, and total lack of responsibility and accountability for her own actions.  The conversation always turns to her mental state, and her inability to face this situation in her life.  She justifies all my pain with what a good person she is and what a good life she lives.  So I swallow and I make the decision to continue to work on our relationship to the extent that it does not hurt me emotionally.  I have suffered enough and I continue to build good boundaries when it comes to a relationship with my mother.  I realize it may never be like the relationship I have with my own daughter but I love my mother and I wish her nothing but the best.

If you are hurting and need prayer please contact prayer@voicetoday.org.  To order “From Sorrows To Sapphires,” go to www.voicetoday.org and visit our e-shop!

Molestation-A Very Sanitary Word

One way to avoid facing the violence, violation and trauma of child sexual abuse is to characterize it with a word that does not conjure up a harsh image.  In fact “Molestation” does not bring with it any particular image at all.  Child sexual abuse is a crime where an adult takes power and control over the child and forces or entices the child to engage in sexual activity. 

When a child is shot, you picture a gunshot wound and blood. When a child is stabbed you picture a knife and a puncture wound. In both cases the outcome may be death or serious harm, but when you hear the word “molestation” you have no picture.  Our minds don’t want to travel to dark side of child sexual abuse so, for sheer protection; we visualize some form of inappropriate, if not gentle, contact. We don’t consider that the first “gentle” contact is only a precursor to severe sexual violence. We don’t consider the emotional trauma that comes with even that “gentle” touch.  We may tend to process what we see or hear in the context of an adult relationship, when sexual activity is fun and enjoyable.  For the child nothing could be farther from the reality.

Why don’t the media report that a child was raped, sodomized, penetrated with a blunt object, or forced to perform oral sex?   Why does society package and hide all these heinous acts behind the sanitary word “molestation”?  The answer to this question is, in large measure, that society is offended by the visual image of a small, maybe 5-7 year old, child being raped, sodomized or performing oral sex.  The most critical point that society misses is that it is much easier to read and watch a video reporting these things than to live them.  How does the child get true understanding, empathy and help, if society cannot and will not embrace the reality of the violence they experience.

It is time for our culture to wake-up to the truth about child sexual abuse and be educated on the issue, the devious behaviors of predators and prevention steps that enhance the safety of children.  Child sexual abuse is not like an allergy or an infection, where one takes medicine, the problem goes away and in a few months is forgotten.  It is an crime that tears at the very fiber of the child’s being and it alters your identity in such a way as to coat you with shame and self-hatred.   For many victims there is not a day that goes by that their childhood sexual abuse does not haunt them in one way or another.  Child sexual abuse is indeed the murder of innocence and thus the picture seen, the words used and the penalties imposed should mirror the gravity of the acts.

Child sexual abuse, and all the acts packaged into this crime, is a hard pill to swallow and a difficult issue to discuss.  However, each of us must get past the initial shock, recognize the devastating, life-long impact of the violence and get tough and aggressive about protection and prevention.  Our children are being victimized at an alarming rate.  The CDC reports 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys will be sexually abused before their 18^th birthday.  As if those statistics aren’t scary enough, know that these facts are based on reported abuse and millions upon millions of cases go unreported.  Of the thousands of survivors in the VOICE family , only a handful reported their childhood sexual abuse to authorities and sought justice.  Also note that the CDC statistics reflect only penetration and fondling.  Other forms of childhood sexual abuse like exposure to pornography, exhibitionism, voyeurism, and other forms of evil perpetrated against a child are not included in these reported statistics.  Regardless of the numbers, the victimization of one child is too many.  

What can we do?  If you are an adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse, we encourage you to find a safe person and break your silence and begin to heal.  You need to tell your story to heal and others need to hear your story to learn about the predator, about the issue and about prevention and protection. Stop using the word molestation and have the courage to report truth.  Join The VOICE Movement at www.voicetoday.org and get involved in breaking the silence and cycle of child sexual abuse through awareness, prevention and healing programs.  

I am a survivor of child sexual abuse.  I wasn’t “molested”.  I was raped thousands of times over 14 years by my stepfather.

MY STORY 

All I Want For Christmas...

At five years old, toothless, I sang, “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth,” but deep down I wanted so much more.  I wanted a day without fear of abuse.  I wanted that childlike wonder that I saw all around me at Christmas time.  Abuse came in all flavors in my home.  One wrong move and it was all out war, with screaming of obscenities, swinging of fists, open hand slaps across the face, pulling of hair, shaking until  fireworks burst in my head.  Then in moments of calm I tried to catch my breath, but I was lured behind closed doors.  Shockingly, my stepfather was even so brazen to conduct his evil out in the open.  He forced me, with his iron hand, to perform perverted acts and tell me how much he loved me and this special time was our secret.  He said he needed to teach me so much about life.   If ever I rebelled the violence would escalate and then he would turn on my mother and blame me.  As I grew older he threatened killing my mother if I ever told.  My abuse started at age 3 and did not end until age 17. 

As a grown woman I know too much about life.  I know about the most evil acts perpetrated on a child.  Though for years I felt to blame, I know now I did nothing to deserve such inhumane violence.   

Days before Christmas my heart breaks for to the millions upon millions of children that are suffering in their own personal hell, bearing the burden of abuse alone with the world turning a blind eye.   There are millions of children whose childlike wonder has been robbed by child sexual abuse and I know that pain.

I may be idealistic but all I want for Christmas is a world that is safe for children and healing for survivors.  My Christmas wish is for adults to face the silent epidemic of child sexual abuse with a courage and compassion to make a difference.   We can not continue to look the other way while millions of children are slaughtered by sexual abuse, and while millions of adults live in the shadows, hiding the pain of abuse with most of them suffering in self destructive behaviors.    Courage means that you become vigilant and a protector of the most vulnerable among us, and compassionate to those who have suffered.  My Christmas wish is to save the innocence that is stolen and to protect the childlike wonder and joy that is destroyed through these vile acts. 

I wish more people would (that you would) get involved with our Movement, THE VOICE MOVEMENT, to battle for social change in terms of addressing the root issues behind abuse, legal change with removing the statute of limitations for prosecuting, and educating adults who work with and around children about prevention and protection.  As I plow through all the daily  issues and challenges associated with VOICE Today, I wish for the resources and the people to do the work needed, and for strategic relationships to be established that will allow us to get our prevention and protections training materials recognized, accepted, widely distributed, and everyone is trained to predict and prevent.   I pray for a day when my phone doesn’t ring with another story of a child whose been brutally assaulted and left confused and injured to navigate life, which already holds mountains of challenges.  My wish is for THE VOICE MOVEMENT to become viral to promote awareness, prevention and healing programs worldwide.

You can help make my Christmas wish come true.  Please take five minutes to watch the VOICE Today POP Points.  VOICE Up, have courage to protect the children in your sphere of contact.  Join the VOICE MOVEMENT – donate, volunteer, host a prevention and healing workshop in 2012! 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!