11 years old
11 years old the final year of abuse

When I was 11-12 we had moved to yet another new ‘home’ far from all the other homes we had known, the same home that I accidentally boiled my beloved pet Budgie in a pot of water (R.I.P Kitty) (i’m so sorry).

 Birdy (mum) liked to move. She liked fresh starts. This time though was to try and start fresh because Birdy’s current boyfriend whom we will call ‘Biker’ wanted to get us away from the ‘Villain’ as he had become threatening and violent (no surprises there). I always knew not to get used to ‘home’ though because soon enough home would be somewhere else soon and it was but I liked this ‘home’ because for the time it was my safe haven, I had not been this free since I was a 5 year old girl, nor had a slept a full night through since then, I was a actually a whole new girl.

This home was one free of abuse and I think for the most part I was happy. I enjoyed school (the reading parts especially), learning properly for the first time in years and apart from the kids there it was great. But I just didn’t know how to fit in, I was painfully shy and bullied frequently. One day at lunch time a group of boys threw a whole meat pie with sauce (what a waste, if only i had turned and opened my mouth right?) -at me and it hit me in the back of the head, I had pie and sauce everywhere and I was crying but no one came to help me wash the pie from my hair, they then called me ‘Pie girl’ and they would all laugh. I was bullied by a bunch of girls because even though I was only in year 7, silly me had not started to shave my legs like they had and every day I was laughed at for it. The kids were so cruel, I took it all and didn’t complain because in comparison it was better than what I had already endured.

I have so many memories of this home, of myself, of life then and I think it’s because it was my first home where I was not someone else’s toy against my wishes. Life was no longer clouded by darkness and fear..

Birdy came in the lounge room one day where I sat after school (probably eating my usual after school peanut butter on toast) and told me she had found my diary and she asked me something along the lines of:

“Is what you wrote in your diary about ‘Villain’ true?”

My heart raced, I was scared, I thought I was in trouble and I was not prepared for this now, life was good, let’s not ruin it now mum. Good one, mum.

“No, I was just making up stuff, it’s just stories, normal kid stuff”

I was so mad at myself for not coming clean right then and there especially since I had written it in hopes someone one day might read it and finally someone other than me would know and it would no longer be my burden to carry. I was so worried my Birdy would think I stole her then ex- boyfriend, I was worried I had let her down or that she might think I had done something to warrant such sexual advances. Stupid 12 year old thoughts. Stupid heaps cute little ole me.

I panicked, I was on the spot, why didn’t I tell her the truth, she had finally asked me and I said it wasn’t true. I had let myself down. That was the last and only time anyone had asked me.

After this I knew from that moment I could never say anything else because I had already told birdy that it wasn’t true. I was well and truly into puberty then, I had gotten my first crime scene period at 10 and the boobies followed soon after. I was beginning to feel things in my body,  I knew things other girls my age shouldn’t yet know and I knew then that whatever Villain had been doing to me was something to do with that. I was so confused. So so confused. I felt so so dirty.

It scared me. What did this mean for me? What did this mean I was?

Birdy took my answer and believed me, she didn’t want to push an already secretive 12 year old further away, she had no reason to think I would lie to her, she tells me now that we were close when I was young so why would I lie to her? Birdy’s guilt over this is bigger than any of us will understand, how much pain she must feel for not protecting her only daughter, she had her own demons then, her own drinking and drug problems, her own childhood issues.

But you see, he was clever, pedophiles do anything to hide what they do so well that it can be mistaken for affection, for love, for good parenting but all those sneaky cuddles that other people see as cuddles, as love, know this; they are not always cuddles, they are quick grabs, sneaky rubs, uncomfortable fearful touches that you beg yourself to stop but can’t because you are the child, they are the adult and they know best.  So how could anyone else have had any clue?

I have never forgiven myself since that day, imagine how different things might have been. Might he be in prison now? Might I have been a better equipped adult, would I have gotten counselling at a young age? Might I not have had depression and problems with anxiety or PTSD? I still remember that day she asked me and I should let it go but I am actually still angry at myself for it, but at the same time feel like it’s important. I will forever know the signs, I will forever be untrusting in the best way possible. I will always be so diligent about who my children spend time with, who they cuddle and who wants to cuddle them. I will always be on alert and take every word they say or write seriously and in this day and age what better could I do?

My world has been opened up, it is no longer dark and the more I recover now the more plans for my life I make, I never made plans before because I was merely surviving my days.

As hard as being an abused woman is most days, I am more powerful, more inspired, more in love with life as i have ever been.

Thanks, Villain. You great big dick face.

19 thoughts

  1. “I should let it go but I am actually still angry at myself for it” I know this feeling well. I told and nothing was done and stood there in the driveway of our house, at the age of 8 and thought “who else can I tell” but then I was raped and I didn’t tell anyone. The anger and guilt are still there but not as intense as they once were.

    I don’t believe letting go is possible. It’s not like there is some sign post on this journey that says “ok now time to let go of this…” and you do and keep walking never to look back. To me it’s like a maze and you never know when you will come across that feeling, memory or trigger again but each time you do it gets a little easier. You learn a little more. You get a little stronger. Until one day you realize you are not in the maze anymore.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. The rape was punishment for exposing their secret – my dad and a neighbor were molesting children in the neighbors trailer across the street from our house. I found out when the neighbor tried to take me into a bedroom in his trailer. I told my dad and that’s when I realized he was involved, that he already knew because they were a team.

    Before I had a chance to tell anyone else, although my mom suspected and didn’t do a bloody thing, my dad raped me and that was it I buried it for 30 years.

    I found out recently that 2 children in our neighborhood were in that trailer and the guilt for not telling someone else, especially when I found the courage at 8 to tell one time, was awful. I don’t know if I will ever be able to face those 2 people. I know they don’t blame me but I can’t help but think I could have stopped it and I didn’t.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh. I remember reading about that 😦
      That is awful. These abusers just have no idea the wrecking ball that comes through and effects so many after they have had their way. They have no souls, no respect for life. I am so sorry 😦 is this why you have been struggling?
      I’ll get back to your message soon.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. I’ve been struggling with my sense of belonging in the family that was left behind after my dad committed suicide. I wrote about it today and that helped. I’ll have the story up on my blog this weekend. It sucks when your family is distant, angry and in denial. I’ve believed for a few years now that I could fix our relationships but have come to the realization that I can’t. I need to walk away for my own sanity. That’s the hard part.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. That’s an unfair burden to put on the little girl that is you. Nothing you did or didn’t do could really change the evil you suffered at his hands. I hope you can let ‘her’/you…off the hook.
    I know all too well about taking responsibility for what happened. But I’m all grown up now and forget just how young I was. I look at a child or girl my age at the time and can easily see how innocent she is and how young. Too young to be capable of what I expected myself my to do because I’m looking back with adult eyes.
    For so long I beat myself up with why? Why didn’t I smash him on the head with a lamp, etc… It took a long time to understand just how young I was and how alone.
    I know you love your Mom. But if she read that in your diary, I suspect she knew it was true. This is not on you in any way but the vicious pig who did it and others that knew or suspected and did nothing. It’s hard and scary to give up the idea that you had any say, or power, or control in what happened or after..

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I hear everything you said sister. Similarly I wonder if I’d be different today if I had talked openly and reported it at the time. But we will never know. I tried to report my case but it didn’t meet the threshold. How silly of me not to keep the same knickers for two decades. My case is now being reviewed. So I have to relive it through my legal firm. It’s taken its toll on everything. All I can do is be vigilant with my own children. More so than any ‘normal’ parent. So much taken away.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. good day to you Antanika. I am writing you, as I am thankful for discovering your website. Many things bother me regarding this abuse issue.

    the mother thing for example: how could a mother not know, especially when it happened for a long time?

    I regret very much that I know about an abuse issue in my husband’s family – his father abused his sister from the ale of 11 till he died (she was then 18). her mother knew, she knew and she did not do anything! I can’t meet that woman. I can’t have another child with my husband – we have two boys – because I don’t want to have a daughter – my man admires his father and resents his mother and his sister and refuses the fact that his father could have done that. I don’t trust anyone around the kids, I better do everything myself. I am so exhausted, so depressed.

    In my childhood, unfortunately, I went through soft “abuse” – I remember uninvited, unwanted touches (my bottom, my lap too) from my father, my mother and my music teacher – I told them and they laughed me out!!! “look at her, she so sensitive” they said ironically. I still don’t like to be touched, don’ t like kisses. What is the hardest, the memories arouse some sexual feelings which I hate. Do you know, that I cry? how should I have protected my boundaries? why it bothers me when nothing really happened, why do I still feel those touches? why?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Anna, I would never down play abuse. Abuse is abuse no matter how hard nor soft. That is why these touches stay with you, because abuse is abuse. Are you seeing a counsellor?

      Like

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