My Survivor Story
Abuse is a bad word no matter how you look at it. There are many types of abuse, physical, emotional, sexually, and verbal, are some of the basic categories of abuse. For many children in the world they are abused in some form at some point in their life. I am one of these children.
My name is Jennifer and my abuse started at the age of four. I have been a survivor now for 9 ½ years. It has been a long hard road for me. One that I decided to basically walk on my own. There is no easy way to explain what happens to a child of abuse, but in writing this I hope to give someone the courage to stand up and take control of their abuse and try to put their life back on the right track. I will begin by telling my story as I remember it to happen.
The first abuse that I remember happened at the age of four. I was with my mom visiting our landlady. We were living in a trailer park, in Wilmington, North Carolina. My mom and I had just walked my brother to the bus stop and stopped by the landlady’s house so my mom could have coffee. I was playing in the living room when a 19-year-old boy walked in. I knew he was the son of the landowners. He sat in the chair where he could not be seen from the kitchen, where our
parents were sitting. He called me over to him. I went to see what he wanted, I had no reason to fear him because he never really did or said anything to me. He had undone his pants and told me to put my hand in there and touch it. I did, not knowing any better, I got scared. There was something in there that was hairy and hard. He then grabbed me and
put his hand in my pants and touched me, which scared me even more. I wanted to go with my mom but he would not let me go. He told me to play with it, that it was okay to do this. I continued until I almost started crying because I was so scared then I lied and said I had to use the bathroom. He left me go and I ran to my mom and would not leave her. From that time on whenever we went to their house I would stay in the kitchen with my mom. When I saw him come around I would get real close to my mom. This is the first account of abuse in my mind but unfortunately like most I forgot about it until ten years later.
At the age of 11, we were living in Newport, North Carolina and it started again. I remember my
father telling me to take a shower with him. He would touch my private parts and ask me if I knew what they were called. I would shake my head yes and he would ask me to say what they were called. When I would not answer him, he would tell me the name of these parts. I remember hearing the words, “This is a p****”, come out of his mouth and,
“This is a d***”. I could not believe what I was hearing. I got real scared and wanted out. He got out of the shower and told me to clean myself and get out. I would and then run to my room at the other end of the house and throw myself on the bed crying. That is the first memory I have of being abused by my father. There was more.
When I was 12 he
would tell me to lay down on the bed with him. He would be naked and I would not know until I was laying down. He would take my hand and put it on his penis. Then he would tell me to play with it. To feel it and enjoy it. He would then put his hand in my pants and touch me on my private and begin massaging it. He would tell me to go up and down with my
hand, and go faster. After he was finished I went again running to my room crying. I did not understand what was going on, but I knew it was wrong.
The next time was when I got in trouble at school; I skipped class and got caught. That happens a lot when I decided to do the wrong thing. I got home and my father found out what I had done. He came into my room
and closed the door. He asked me why I skipped class, I told him that I didn’t know, I just did. He stood up at the end of my bed, I was sitting on the side near the end. He told me to pull down my pants and lay down. Then he undid his pants. I remember thinking what is he doing. My brothers and sisters are outside playing and he is in here doing this
to me. Next thing I knew he was putting this hard, big thing into my body and it hurt. I tried to move away, but he was a big guy and I could not go anywhere. He continued going in and out, while he was telling me, “I am doing this so no one else will. So you know what it is like and you won’t let it happen to you”. I did not understand
what he was talking about. He was hurting me but he did not want anyone else to do it? He stopped before he ejaculated and took it out, finally. Then he told me to take a shower and get cleaned up.
I went into the bathroom across the hall from my room; I climbed into
the shower. I had the water running hot and got the soap and scrubbed as hard as I could. I was trying to take it off, take off the feeling of guilt. I cried. I got out of the shower and went back to my room, shut the door and cried. I wished for him to die. I wanted him and my mother to get a divorce. I wanted God to make them leave each other and
I could go with my mom and live a happy life. This was not the end of it however. There was another time.
I got in trouble at school again, but I don’t remember what I did this time. My mother was leaving to go help my great aunt at the Flea Market, I was mopping the dining room floor. My brothers and sisters were outside playing. I wanted to
scream and cry and tell my mother not to leave me. I knew it was going to happen again. I wanted to beg her not to leave me there with him. I could not make myself say the words though. I finished cleaning the floor and put the chairs and the table back. My father called me into the living room. I went in there, slowly. He told me to pull down my pants.
I told him no. He told me again. I asked him why. He said, “Just do what I say, now pull down your pants”. I could not make myself do it for him. I kept saying no and asking him why. I started crying and he still would not leave me alone. Finally I became
so weak inside I could not fight him anymore. I did what he said; I pulled down my pants. He looked at me and I will never forget the words he said to me. He said, “You look stupid”. I pulled up my pants and ran to my room to cry. That was the last time.
I went to school one day in May and I started crying during our courtyard break. I could not
make it stop. I don’t even know why it started, I just knew there was no way to stop it. The counselor walked by me and asked if I broke up with my boyfriend. I told her no. She asked me what was wrong then. I could not make myself tell her. She made me go to her office with her and wanted to talk to me. I finally decided to tell her that my father was
abusing me. She told me that she had to call social services and report what I said. I took the phone from her and begged her not to call. I said the next time he did it I would come and tell her and then she could call. She told me that is not the way it worked. She made the call.
I went to the office and called my house to talk to my mother, who was not
at home. I then called the arcade that my father managed and thought my mom would be there. My father answered the phone and I got scared. I asked him if my mother was there and he said no, she went to the bank. He asked me what was wrong and what I needed. I told him some people were going to the house to talk to him. He asked me why. I told him, “because of what you did to me”. I remember his words exactly, he said, “I
didn’t do anything to you”.
I was scared to go home that day. When I got off the bus, I went with my friend to her house and she told her mom what had happened. Her mother called my house and told my mom. My mom said she would talk to my dad and for me to come home. I went home. My mom did not say a word to me and neither did my dad. I found out that she never said a word to him about it. The next day after school I went with my friend to her house again and called my mom to tell her where I was. She was crying when she answered the phone. I remember her telling me I had to come home right away. I went thinking something bad had happened. While I was walking down the road I saw the sheriff car and another car at my house. I went inside and found my mom in her room crying, she
told me that they were there to take me somewhere. My great aunt was there and took me to my room and told me to get some things together so I could go with them and stay somewhere else for a little while. I remember them telling me it would only be a few days. I did not take many clothes or anything with me. I grabbed my teddy bear from my bed. I walked into
my brothers’ room and told them bye and I would be back. I went to tell my sisters bye. I walked outside and found my older brother there. I hugged him like it was the end of my life. I did not want to let go. I told him bye and I would see him at school. I walked back inside and into my parent’s room. I remember clear as a bell, my mom
sitting on the bed crying. I walked over to her and hugged her and told her I loved her. I remember her words to me, she said, “I love you and just do what they say, I’ll see you in a few days”. I walked out of that house with a sheriff thinking I would be back.
I never was and I never saw my mother again. The last mental picture I have of my
mother was her sitting on her bed with tears pouring down her face, holding a supena for my father in her hands.
The foster home was about 30 miles from my house. They were good people but they were not my mom. I cried everyday for the next two weeks. I had to go to court and tell them what I remembered had happened to me. I was told not to look at my
mother or father, and I never did. I felt that I had to relive all that was done to me by my father while I was sitting on that stand. I was being questioned by an unruly lawyer that my father had for a long time. He asked me questions that I could not answer and when I told him I did not know, he would ask me how I could not know. It is apparent that he
had not done much reading on abuse victims.
Going through that trial even though it was only one day, was the most horrible thing I have had to do. In the end, my father stayed out of jail and I stayed out of the house. He agreed to give up his rights to me and to seek counseling, in return he got to stay out of jail. In part I can understand his plea
bargain. In my eyes he had five other children to take care of knowing that my mother could not do it on her own. To give up one of them is not a big deal. I could keep talking to my brothers and sisters and there was a no interference clause on the court papers. He could not stop my calls or letters. He had to let me talk to them when I called, collect
or not.
I stayed in the foster home for seven months and then was shipped off to Texas. I started going to therapy but did not like it and did not want to continue going. I felt like I would do this my way and when I was ready. I would heal myself through my own ways. It has been 9 ½ years now and I feel that I have done a good job on healing. I did it on
my own and that was okay for me. It is not something that I would recommend to everyone going through a traumatic experience. I just felt that no one would understand my feelings except for me. I knew how I felt and I knew how to deal with them. I would not say that I
am completely recovered. I believe I am only half way there. I don’t know if I will ever be completely recovered from the traumas in my life.
It was not until after I had moved to Texas that I started to remember things that had happened to me early in my life. I remembered things that I did to others and what was done to me by other people. There
may never be an end to the feelings of guilt and regret, but it is something I have learned to deal with on a day to day basis. Every morning I wake up and look in a mirror I have to remember that I am a survivor of sexual abuse, there is no way to erase that part of my life. I just hope that in some way I can help someone else who needs to know it is
going to be alright. Someday and in some way, everything will work out in the end. I have yet to go back home and see my mother or my siblings, but that is a dream for someday.
Update: 2-27-2001:
It has been almost three years since I wrote this story for my site. I have been volunteering at a parent/teen class and am taking an active role in the fight against child abuse. I have recently invited my sister who is now 17 and was only 5 at the time I left home, to see my site. She has been asking why I left home and noone has told her anything. I feel it is right that she should know. I wanted to wait until she was old enough to handle it and not be confused.
I want to take this time to tell you that my healing journey has taken some major steps also. I can speak freely about what happened to me anytime someone ask. I am able to relive it for the most part without crying and feel that my inside is starting to heal. My heart has been torn but is starting to come back together. I was able to leave a bad marriage without thinking that I was giving up on something that was good. I feel that I have made some major progresses in my road to healing. I can not say that I will ever be "over it" because it is a part of my life and when someone askes about my life I have to include it. Sometimes you can get a feeling that people don't want to hear about it but that is the person you need to talk to so that it won't happen.
Thank you for taking the time to stop by and read my story.
If you would like to submit anything to be added to this page please feel free to e-mail to my address: jennymaria25@hotmail.com . I will be doing routine updates to this page.