“Many abused children cling
to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom.
But the personality
formed in the environment of coercive control is not well adapted to adult
life. The survivor is left with fundamental problems in basic trust, autonomy,
and initiative. She approaches the task of early adulthood――establishing
independence and intimacy――burdened by major impairments in self-care, in
cognition and in memory, in identity, and in the capacity to form stable
relationships.
She is still a
prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she reencounters
the trauma.”
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and
Recovery
Tucked away gently in a small cubby with my braided hair,
petite figure, and a self-protective attitude, I am hidden from any harm; or so
my seven year old mind is led to believe anyways. Occupying a place full of destruction and damaging
people who prey on young outgoing and trusting children, you become a defensive
person always looking for ways to protect yourself after one too many encounters
of painful events taking place. I find solace in hiding from the chaos of
children that play, cluttering the daycare that we all attend. A constant game
of hide n seek, only I hope to never be found. Suddenly, the curtain on the
cubby is ripped back and squatting down beside me is a group of older roughed
up boys staring at me with fierce eyes and vulgar expressions. They grab my
feeble arms and yank me from my place of consolation and encircle me with their
larger bodies. I am surrounded by pre-teen young men who are starved for
attention and damaged by god knows what that goes on in their homes. Frightened
and alone, I let them take turns at teasing me and tormenting me with their ravenous
hands. One of them retrieves a pocket knife from his jeans and holds it up to
my delicate and exposed throat asking me if I want to taste blood. (As if
anyone would even say yes to this question). I don’t utter a single word I just
stand frozen, immobilized while he runs the blade across my skin gently. A young
woman yells from another room signaling that lunch is ready and we are to be
seated in our assigned seats immediately. The boys release their hold on me and
lunge towards the lunch area to begin eating. I grudgingly follow, taking my
time along the way to collect myself. Upon entering the other room I notice the
other children are already feasting upon their plates laid out, I find my chair
and plop myself down. Displayed in front of me there is canned beans and
microwaved frozen chicken nuggets, talk about gourmet meal. I find my appetite
has escaped me completely and therefore I just sit and stare at my meal. My
older brother is shoveling his food into his mouth down the table and looks up
only for a moment to lock eyes with mine, I motion for the food in front of me
and he nods. I then push my plate down towards him and he scoops up the nuggets
and beans in a quick gulp, then proceeding to shove the plate back. I stand
from my chair and display my empty plate for the young woman to see that I have
finished and she points towards the trash can telling me to clean up my mess. I
do as directed and then proceed to ‘go play’ outside as per her orders.
I enter the playground and without any hesitation I head for
the swings, they are without a doubt my favorite. After a few minutes or so I
am joined by the rest of the children who are cluttering the playground. When I
spot the younger woman and another young man approach me from the daycare
center, I tense up.
“Hey little one, why don’t you come inside with us? I have
something REALLY cool to show you.” She speaks with kindness and no sense of
dishonesty. Boy, was I naïve little girl.
I follow her and the young man into the back room of the
daycare, the area that the children are not allowed to venture into, also the
area that the attendants spend most of their time occupying. They usually come
back with glazed eyes and seem really distant, displaced from everything. They
aren’t around much which is usually why the older kids tend to get their way
with the younger ones. Story of my life it seems. Inside I find tipped over
chairs and furniture and a disheveled mess of garbage and other items strewn
around the room. There are needles and tiny bags of substances that I can’t
place as to what they may be tossed on the table towards the wall, the other
attendants are inside propped throughout the space, and apparently waiting on
us to arrive. The woman closes the door and turns towards me, standing there in
the middle of the room. I am the center of attention, the main act of today’s
show. I look around shyly, confused as to why I was brought here. The woman
reaches out to me and asks me to take off my clothes.
“You know when you take baths with mommy and daddy and they
have you take all of your clothes off? Well just pretend you’re going to take a
bath and go ahead and take your clothes off. It’s okay, really.”
Not wanting to disappoint my leaders whom I see daily after
school and spend almost all of my free time with while my parents are away, I
begin removing my clothing from my small body. Once completely naked they take
turns taking photos of me cooing me with sayings like “you’re so pretty”, “you
are like a movie star” and “this makes us very happy, you want us to be happy
don’t you?”
After our mini photo shoot my body was used as a slave to
the men and women who wanted to touch, poke, prod, and defile for the next
hour. I was put in different positions I did not understand, and forced into
sexual favors I knew nothing about. After it was all said and done they decided
it was time to ask me a few questions before I leave.
“These are really fun games huh? You can only keep playing
if you just don’t tell anyone about them. Because people will get jealous and
want to play the games too, so make sure you never tell anyone. You’re the only
special one and that’s why you get to have an extra snack at snack time today
and you can also pick the book during story time. Promise you won’t tell our
secret?”
“You pinky promise you won’t tell your parents either, they
don’t need to know, okay?”
“You don’t’ want to upset us do you?”
All of these questions caused me to wonder whether or not it
was the right thing to do, even my seven year old brain knew it didn’t feel accurate,
but I didn’t want to make them angry nor did I want to make the other kids
jealous. They already harassed me and treated me poorly; I couldn’t give them
more of a reason to do so. I agreed and made a pinky promise to the attendants
and bowed out of the adult room.
Come snack time, I got an extra cookie and I also picked out
the book. The giving tree- My favorite.
Just keep giving, give
it all way.
Just keep giving, let them take it away.
Just keep giving them everything they want,
because eventually you won’t have anything left to give and they just might
give up on you.
Give, give, give, and they can keep up the
take, take, take.
One day you can escape
just go ahead and fake.
Let me explain, this did not start on this particular day.
My nightmare began years prior to this. Ever since I was five years old I have
been in therapy, ever since I was two years old I have been sexually abused and
used by countless different older humans, ever since then I have been
emotionally and mentally fucked up. Although I can’t put my finger on a lot of
events that took place before I reached the age of five, I know that they did
happen. I know because of stories that are told to me by others, I know because
sometimes I have night terrors that wake me up in the night from what I assume
is past recollections, and I know because sometimes I will hear something about
young children being mistreated and it stirs a flashback in my mind that brings
reality to my heart. They say that mental anguish always results from the avoidance
of legitimate suffering. For the longest time I couldn’t fathom as to why I was
so petrified of walk-in closets, they simply just frightened me; I couldn’t be
inside one alone without having some form of panic attack rise within. It was
frustrating and honestly sort of embarrassing. One day I woke from a dream
where I was inside a walk-in closet tied up and shaking uncontrollably, I was
bound by my wrists, ankles, and tape was covering my mouth. I later went to identify
this as the time when our babysitter prior to daycare had locked us in there
like that whenever we were “naughty”. I believe I was only three at the time.
These sorts of memoirs come spilling out of me at night usually and I start to recall
what abysmal things that took place years and years ago. Wanna hear more? I am
full of them. Perhaps, another day I can start to unravel those threads of
discomfort.
Back to the whole daycare fiasco, my two brothers and I went
there every single day after school. We were picked up in a minivan and driven
to the location a few blocks from our house. The attendants were all college
age minus the woman who owned the institution was much older, a very daunting
and frigid looking woman who always smelled like smoke and coffee. We stayed
there until roughly six in the evening when our father would come and pick us
up after work and take us home. My mother worked graveyards and slept during
the day, so as not to disturb her and her rest we would go to daycare. On the
weekends we were there from seven in the morning until the same time at night
when either our mother or our father would arrive. All can I decently say to
put this in the finest terms was it was like hell on earth. It was by far the vilest
and most dismal time in my life, and as you all know I have been addicted to
drugs and beaten by men who have hospitalized me. This tops all of that, by a
long shot.
I can recollect the
first grade on Valentine’s Day walking out of my classroom with my Valentine’s
box full of chocolates and sweets overfilling my little arms towards my brother’s
big kid class, to meet him before we embarked to the minivan that awaited us outside.
Upon approaching him with his Valentine collection I proposed that we skip
going to daycare and walking home instead to hide in the basement while mom
slept. I begged him to not go to the dreadful place and just be really quiet
when we got home so as not to wake her. He agreed and together we held hands
and left the building out the back way to head home. We snuck inside and kept
as silent as we could downstairs in the basement while we picked at our treats
and whispered about our days. My mother being the light sleeper that she is
must have heard a few giggles that escaped out of our mouths and woke up. When
she found us she was infuriated, she screamed and stormed off to get dressed in
order to deliver us to daycare. I literally got down on my knees and pleaded
for her not to, I wept so hard I thought I might burst, and I screamed for her
to let us stay with her. She did not budge, she never did, ever. I cannot even
begin to count how many times I have come home bruised, bleeding, scratched,
and crying and she still did nothing. She didn’t even bat an eye lash. N O T H
I N G.
I remember all of this, every little detail of that day in
particular. Do you know why? Because it was Valentine’s Day, the day you tell
someone you love them including your family. I did not love my mom that day. In
fact, I started to really resent her from then on.
It’s appalling to think that I could hate my mother, the
woman that gave me life; but when I rationalized it back then….what life did
she really give me? Because that shit wasn’t even worth living if you ask me. I
did not wish to be ‘gifted’ with life; I wished to be given a family and a home
where they protected each other, a place where I didn’t have to live in fear
and discomfort. Not a perfect little doll house full of statues that felt no
emotion and did nothing in ways of showing us sentiment. That’s all that I
wanted growing up, to feel okay with myself and not question every little
detail of my existence. I can even recall putting down on one of my Christmas wish
lists to Santa, “Having daycare burn to the ground.” I was fucking nine years
old. I was wishing arson on what is supposed to be my ‘caregivers’ building’
instead of asking for a damn pony. Does this flash red lights to anyone else?
Because I’ll be god damned if my children start writing ridiculous things like
that down and I don’t take notice.
I was always labeled as this weird kid, very distraught and
out of place. I was apparently ‘crazy’ and a pathological liar (that’s my mom’s
words….nice right?), and disturbed….I was disturbed.
Are you kidding me???? Am I taking crazy pills? This is what
people actually said about me, including my own mother! Out of all that I have
been dragged through, this destroyed me. I still, to this day, have an immense issue
with my relationship with my mother. Rest assured, she probably won’t read
this, and if she does…..Good. She needs to. I mean yeah, we communicate, and we
say I love you sometimes, (I love you is a new thing for us, sort of a huge
improvement as well) and we do things for each other but nothing and I mean
nothing will ever forgive and take back the years of antagonism, fury, and sting
that has been built up and bottled. I have changed and reshaped myself in a lot
of departments in my life, I try to be a brilliant person to everyone I meet
warranted or not, but this is my vice. My one thing that never seems to be unchanging,
I can’t get over it and I am not sure if I ever will in all honesty.
“A
statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with
an upturned face
A name is written
on a polished rock
A broken heart that
the world forgot”
These problems went unnoticed by my parents for years; I was
in that daycare along with my faithful brother (he’s like my lifeline) up until
they closed it down. Why did they close it down? It was under investigation for
a while, why anyone would let their children still attend a place that is under
heavy investigation is beyond me…but anyways, it was shut down for drum roll
please……
#1 Child molestation
#2 Narcotic trafficking
#3 Steroid and social drug use
#4 Child pornography
#5 Distributing alcohol to minors
#6 Condemned for termites, cockroaches, and mice
#7 Outdated building permits
#8 Uninsured and no medical equipment or personal available
in the need of emergency
#9 Cleanliness and bacteria outbreak
Yes, all nine of those things caused the business to go
under and the attendants as well as the eerie owner to be arrested and taken
into custody. The building was later on torn down and rebuilt; unfortunately I
can’t say the same for myself. My parents chose the option of never talking
about it or even just bringing it up when it happened. They just went back to
finding us babysitters instead, but of course I was still attending counseling
as always for my ‘personal issues and mental breakdowns’ as they called them.
Just a crazy girl in need a of a good talking to, but god forbid I mention the
real issues at hand, my mother would fire that therapist so quick and find me a
new one. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff, no need to fill a doctor with
all of my lies….right ma?
Oh that scrape?
She probably got it during recess
.
Those bruises? She
likes to play rough, I mean, she has brothers ya know?
Why is she bleeding
from her ass? She probably ate something bad and has diarrhea.
Yep, I am just a really poor eater who plays super rough and
goes hard at recess. What can I say?
Now, before this turns into an attack on my parents (Whom I
promise I do love and care about very very much) I would like to address the
fact that eventually some of these matters subsided and I was able to get over
them. It took immense amount of therapy from doctors, my rehab facility, my
friends, other family members, and me as well as time. The saying time heals
everything. You heal things yourself, through your own means and methods.
Sometimes it just takes a little while to put those methods into action for
some people. I don’t hate my parents nor do I blame them for everything that
happened to me during that time, however yes, I do hold a little bit of bitterness
inside; I could never bring myself to truly hate them. They made a mistake; it just
sucked because I was affected by it so negatively. We all deal with things
differently, for them they can’t bear to speak of the issue or to address it…but
whatever. I addressed it myself and came to terms with it. I feel as though I
am a stronger, wiser, and smarter person from it. I can now take the right
steps in preserving my own children and keeping them away from some of the
world’s tribulations that skulk in some of the places you would least expect.
I am a harsh person on the outside when it comes to
children, I show discipline and yell at them when need be, because kids do need
that. However, on the inside I just want to love every child and show them the
hero/mentor that they deserve. My heart is full of nothing but comfort and love
for kids of the world, sometimes I dream of owning an orphanage or daycare
myself so that I can restore faith in those places and bring hope to children
all over that there is decent human beings out there despite all of the evil
you hear and see through the news. I even wish that I could become a supporter
to those who have been affected by the same trials as me. Every child deserves
to keep their innocence, to be loved in every single way, the RIGHT way. It
blows my mind that today, sexual abuse, child pornography, minors addicted to
alcohol, and physical abuse is still a vast concern in society. It disgusts me
that there is still people who continually inflict this sort of punishment on
others especially our youth. Nobody deserves to be treated that way particularly
our little ones.
I am pleased to say that though I have endured some trials
that I wouldn’t even wish upon my worst enemy, I am a resilient, independent,
and full of life person. I look forward to continuing on this path for the rest
of my life, surrounding myself with the correct people who build me up and help
me whenever I am falling down. Because yes, I still trip from time to time and
occasionally I stumble pretty deep. However I keep
my will/drive from ever faltering. I can’t wait until one day I have a family of my
own where I can show them (especially my children) unconditional and faithful
love throughout every aspect. Let it also be known, if I ever catch anyone and
I mean anyone messing with my family I will ruin them.
There are only two lasting bequests we can give our children,
one is roots, and the other, wings.
