Child Abuse Story From Diane
by Diane C R
(Coquille, Oregon, USA)
I was 4 going on 5 when I started being molested by my uncle. I remember him coming to stay with us while my father was away on Guard Duty, which was quite often while I was young.
The first thing I can remember is him giving me a bath. He then sat me above him and he performed oral sex on me. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was giving me kisses. He was the adult; I believed him. Besides, my parents never talked to us about inappropriate touching.
My uncle would find reasons to send me to my room while my mother was gone. He would tell my sister to stay in the living room and watch TV. He would have me touch him, and that was the first time I remember him penetrating me and how bad it hurt and I was bleeding. He got angry and told me that I was a bad girl and that I needed to take a bath and get clean and told me that I was never to tell anyone especially my parents or they would punish me.
The sexual abuse went on for 3 years. I cried when I had to be left alone with him, but was too scared to tell anyone what he was doing. Finally, one day it stopped when he moved away, but the damage had already been done. As a way of making myself feel better, I would eat. When I was 9 years old I started to gain weight, because I was trying to protect myself from being hurt by other men. If I was fat, nobody would hurt me like my uncle did.
Things were good until I was 13 years old, when my cousin started touching me while I was sleeping. He would cover my mouth with one hand, and then he would grab one of my hands with his other and put it on his genitals. He would fondle my breasts, and just as quick as it started, he stopped and said if I made a sound or told anyone he would just deny it and nobody would believe me. I knew he was right about nobody believing me because in their eyes, he could do no wrong. So every time I would spend the night at our grandparents' house, I tried to make sure he wasn't there. He lived with them, and if I knew he wasn't home, I would spend the night, but sometimes he would show up in the middle of the night and especially if he had been drinking he would come to where I was sleeping and fondle my breasts and put his hands between my legs and touch me and that was all he would do until one night he came home drunk and again while I was sleeping he forced himself on me and told me to keep quiet.
That went on for a year, when I finally told him what he was doing was wrong, and that if he didn't stop, I was going to tell and I didn't care if anyone believed me or not. I knew the truth and that's all that mattered. He never touched me again after that day.
Unfortunately, as a result of me keeping it all inside and never telling anyone for fear of punishment, I now suffer from PTSD, depression, panic and anxiety disorders. I will have to spend the rest of my life taking medication just so I can have some semblance of a normal life.
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