I was used to waking up during the night by age 10, i knew the drill, sometimes i would wake up at the sneaky back or stomach rub first and sometimes if i was really tired i would wake up at some point of the actual molestation and go to my little cave and wait among the fairies till morning.
I was woken yet i keep my eyes closed, i could sense him, i always could even though he remained always so silent and so stealth. I try to open them a tiny bit to look to the curtains in front of my bed to gauge what time of night it was, i could still see the moonlight peeking around the sides of the window seemingly pretty late still, i could hear my older step brother breathing quietly in his sleep in the fold out bed that was near mine. My hand which was foolishly and carelessly hanging over the edge of the bed. The Villain had come in and had put something in it. It was a finger. I thought it was a finger, a finger? Why had he put his finger in my hand, this confused me but i didn’t dare move it for the fear of him knowing i was awake made me feel like i was the worst child ever, what kind of child does this to their mother?
I know now. That was probably actually his heaps gross-old-man penis. Oh yuck. Old.Man.Penis…
For the longest time i just thought this happened to almost everyone (and these days it seemingly does). One day when i was about 13-14, i was home from school and watching Oprah be all the goods and she was doing a story on childhood sexual abuse. It was then that i knew, this did not happen to everyone. I was so ashamed. I felt so sad watching these grown women and men cry in front of Oprah. They discussed how their friends and loved ones were affected, and mostly it wasn’t in a good way. I think that may be when i decided what had happened wasn’t that bad but it wasn’t ok and that it was probably good for so many people that i never told.
This house, carpeted with very dark blue carpet that my Birdy absolutely hated because it showed up all the dirt and hairs, and never looked clean. This house, i got my very “first murder in my pants” AKA as my period. This house i kicked a drum symbol and split my toenail off the skin. This house, I dreamt that we were going to move into it and we did because i knew where things were when we moved there, like it was meant to be. This house, the house that my ‘Chops’ left us to live with the Villain once he and Birdy finally broke up.
This path had already been chosen for me. My soul chose this body, to learn a lesson, to grow and be. It’s up to me now if i make it or not. Make it or break it. Sausages or Chicken patties? Orange juice or chocolate milk?
It did not choose this path to cause damage or hurt me, but to open itself to something it has never experienced before and like this path was their final choice in 1000 other already completed paths and had no option to at the end of its journey but to choose it.
I have learnt so many things already in the short time i’ve been on this healing journey, so i can only imagine what my soul is taking from it all; Taking in the nutrients it needs, the pain, the sadness, the story of hurt but the story of happiness, love and a story of strength and truth, then to one day feel free again.