I was so young. I puked all over your dad’s living room floor and ran a fever that came out of nowhere. This was my body's way of rejecting what you just did to me in the bedroom of your dad’s house.
I physically got sick from you asking me if “that was all I had.” I didn’t even know such a thing was possible, to have something happen to you and then instantly get sick.
I remember my mom coming to pick me up and my tiny body being carried out to the car so I could go home, to where I was safe.
The cold air against my hot skin felt so refreshing, but not refreshing enough to keep me from taking a bath when I got home because even at seven, not sure of what actually happened, I knew I felt dirty. I felt used and worthless.
And that was the night I learned what it meant to lie on purpose. My mom asked me what was wrong, and I told her I just got sick, which wasn’t a complete lie, I did get sick, but I didn’t tell her WHY I got sick.
You took my voice that night, along with many other things. Did you know that most kids don’t even realize there’s a word for being touched inappropriately? I didn’t. I had no idea that I was 'being molested', I just knew that it shouldn’t have been happening.
Even though I knew it shouldn’t have been happening I didn’t tell a soul. Why? Because you frequently said, “Shh” or my favorite, “Be quiet.” So, I was quiet.
I had it set in my head that people didn’t talk about things that were wrong. (Which I’ve recently discovered, is why it’s so difficult for me to talk about any aspect of my life to anyone).
You took my innocence and took away any safety I ever thought I had. You took away my dignity and you took my voice.
I realize I will never get some parts of me back, after five years of being “shh’d” something deep inside of me disintegrated and will never be as it was. I did get my safety back, though.
And my dignity and self-worth have slowly made a reappearance throughout the years. And I finally have my voice back. I'm finally not ashamed of what you did.
I’ve allowed you and your actions to have control over me for years and I refuse to allow it anymore.
I refuse to worry about stepping on peoples’ toes or offending anyone because of something you did. For years, I blamed myself, as do most people who have been sexually abused in some way.
I will admit, there are still days when I get nervous to be alone in a room with the opposite sex. I don’t trust men I don’t know and I always pay attention to my surroundings and I carry mace in my car.
If only I could’ve had mace when I was seven, I’d probably be normal and well, you? You’d probably be blind. So, to you, who silenced me, here’s a nice friendly F you.
I can finally say that to you now that I’ve found my voice.
