The Molested Forgotten
by Annie M
As a third grader, a fourth grader, a fifth grader, and finally, a sixth grader, I was abused. If you had known me back then, you would have never guessed. I flourished in school, received all A's and read books in my free time. I had a group of friends that I would hang out with after school and on the weekends. We would go to movies, play at the park, and watch way too many Spy Girl episodes. I lived with my parents and my two little sisters, S-- and E--. My life at home seemed happy and normal too. Family game nights happened on Fridays, home cooked meals were served every night, and as a whole, we were always content. But those things aren't all that happened in my home.
My mom was a teacher, and would leave for work around five in the morning, leaving me, my sister (E-- was not born yet), and our dad alone in the house. My parents married in 2005, and had been dating for a while before that, so I knew J-- pretty well. Well enough and young enough that I started calling him "Dad" without even realizing it. I trusted him and looked up to him. Sometimes I felt closer with him than I did my mom. I didn't know how much closer I would be getting. Because my mom left so early for work, about a two hour gap was left in between her leaving and us being woken up to go to school. Two hours. I dreaded them each morning.
J-- would pick me up from my bed and carry me into his and my mom's room. A sheet was put over my face, sometimes a pillow. I don't know if this was so I wouldn't "wake up" even though I'm sure he knew I was awake, or if it was to forget who I was so he could stomach what he would do next. My shorts would be pulled down, and my shirt would be lifted up to my chin. Then, silence. The silence was terrifying, all I could hear was him breathing while standing in front of my naked body, unmoved. It felt as if this happened for an hour, but probably only ten minutes at most. He would open a drawer, and take something out. I always wondered what it was, and as I got older, I figured it out. He took out lubricant and rubbed it on himself. He would flip me over onto my stomach and bend my knees forward, so I would be in child's pose. I was never "entered," it was just pressed against me. Over and over.
This happened every day for the first couple of years, which is probably why he decided to change it up. Later on, he would lay me on my stomach first, facing him with my own shirt above my head. The first time this happened, I was absolutely terrified, because by now, I knew what he was about to do. He stuck two of his fingers inside my mouth, prying my teeth open because I had pushed them together so hard. I gave up; he was stronger than my mouth was. No one would have ever
guessed I gave my first blowjob at the age of eleven at six in the morning in my parent's bedroom. But it wouldn't be the last time. Looking back, I have no idea how I would go to school and be so normal. I feel disconnected from that girl, as if she isn't me.
The summer after sixth grade, I told my mom. At this time, I was in trouble for texting a boy that was 17 while I was 13. I was grounded, had no phone, and was miserable. I told the truth to be manipulative, simply. But, this made the truth sound not-so-truthful. When I was telling my mom, he walked in. I looked at him, and I felt angrier than I had ever felt before. My mom somewhat believed me at the time I think, and she took me to my grandparent's house. She told my grandma, and my grandma came to talk to me. She said, "Annie you know what these accusations do to people's lives, you've seen Law & Order." Thanks Grandma, but my "accusations" were true, and that man deserves so much more than what happened to his life.
My mom went back to the house to confront J--, and he admitted all of it. I don't know how that conversation went, but I read in a text from my mom to her brother that J-- said it was all true. I felt relieved I guess. This is where everything started to get more complicated.
My mom took me to the courthouse the next day. A man brought me into his office and told me to sit on the couch. He brought in two drawings, one with a naked front and back female body and one of a male. He said it would be easy. He pointed to parts of their bodies and wanted me to say what I called them. For example, did I say "breasts" or "boobs." I picked breasts, thinking boobs sounded too vulgar. But I didn't know how vulgar this session would get. He made me tell him every single thing that happened, in detail, while circling the body part. It was awkward and shameful and embarrassing. After this was done, J-- went to jail for two days.
I'm not sure what changed my mom's mind, but she wanted to talk to me about it. She asked me, "Do you really want your sisters growing up without a dad? You realize we'll have no money, right?" At that time, I felt guilty and ashamed of myself, I didn't want my sisters growing up without their dad. But now, I feel that I was manipulated and victim-shamed so my mom could keep her extra income. Thanks, Mom. At first I looked at her as a hero because she believed me, and she took care of it fast. Then that all changed, and I resent her for it. I resent most of my family now, knowing that they know the truth, yet invite him to every holiday, birthday, and get together. I normally sit by myself, or leave. My family cares more about how the divorce between my parents would look and the fact that we took in a molester. They forgot about the molested.