Edited 6/22/15
I don't think I can share some details of my experiences yet, or I may never be able to share them. I posted this thinking it could help me heal. Talking about it, writing about it, sharing what was done to me could maybe help remove stigma. Remove my shame. Remove my fear. Make me feel less dirty? I don't know. But it only made me feel scared of judgment and I have felt so anxious about sharing it. I have to remove it. So I don't think I can share these details with other people right now, even if I'm remaining anonymous. So I deleted parts of my story and rephrased things. Sorry, but I'm not sorry for censoring my story.
In my previous post about repetitive thoughts, I mentioned how I feel like a shitty person for being happy when my grandfather died because he had once walked in on us. You may wonder what kind of adult doesn't put a stop to it all? The answer is the fucked up person that was grandpa.
This grandpa I talk about isn't a blood relative, not that that really matters in this regard. He should have said something regardless of blood relation. This grandpa was an adult who witnesses a crime. But he was one fucked up individual, which is most definitely no excuse.
He was a drunk, and a mean one at that. I never really cared for him. When he wasn't at the bar getting pissed or on the sofa sleeping it off, he was yelling at us all, and possibly abusive to my grandma.
I feel like this doesn't excuse my glee at his demise, no matter what harm he had done. Everyone deserves compassion and forgiveness. (Funny I can give compassion and forgiveness to others, or I preach it, but I cannot seem to be compassionate or forgive myself.)
I feel kind of weird sharing a detailed account of my experiences. Although, I think it will be a good thing to share my stories. I think it will be healing for me. I've only shared details of my abuse with a counselor, the police, and my very brave and compassionate best friend who came with me when I reported to the police. I still can't believe my friend could sit there and listen to me describe my abuse to the police. I didn't think I could handle talking about everything, let alone someone else listening to me. But she sat there holding my hands and made me feel so safe and loved. She helped me through a situation that I wasn't sure I could do. I'm so grateful to have this wonderful woman in my life and it gives me so much joy to call her my friend. She gives me the strength and resilience I need to share this story with you all.
Well, here goes this story.
There was this one time that my grandpa caught us. The grandpa was passed out drunk on the couch and my grandma had left for her 2nd shift job. She normally left my abuser in charge at this point until my parents came to pick me and my siblings up. My abuser was a late teenager. He was 15 at the youngest and 17 at the oldest. I don't really remember. I was about 5 or 6 at the time. I think I was in kindergarten or 1st grade. I can only piece together a rough timeline of the abuse because I remember a safe touch program from my 1st grade class and I remember telling myself I was going to tell the teacher, but I was so afraid. I can roughly tell you about the age I was one when I think it all ended. I believe I was maybe 7 or 8, maybe 9, when the abuse stopped. I was 9 or 10 when my grandpa died and I only know this because I recently looked up when he died. So it all started when I was about 5 and ended when I was 7-9 years old. I'd probably say more like 7 since I don't remember going to grandmas much after that age. But I also don't remember a lot, which in still not sure if I should be grateful about or not...
Well, on this day grandma left the abuser in charge as usual. Grandpa came home drunk and passed out on the couch. I was laying on grandma's bed watching Nickelodeon cartoons when the abuser came into the bedroom. He closed the door.
God, I feel so disgusting writing this, and remembering this.
He was definitely enjoying himself like the sick fucking pervert that he is when grandpa opened the door as saw us. The abuser jumped off me and I just sat there in utter fear. What was going to happen?? Was it finally going to stop? Was grandpa going to tell my parents? Was I going to get in trouble?
Grandpa started yelling. "What the fuck are you doing??? You stop that!!!!" He yelled at me. Not him. Me. I was definitely in trouble.
My parents came to pick me up. I was terrified. What are my parents going to say?? What are they going to do to me??? Are they going to love me still?
Grandpa never said anything. Ever. I lived in fear that he'd say something. He knew my dirty little secret. It was agony never knowing if or when he was going to tell my parents. I thought my parents would react the same way. I thought that they'd punish me. I thought they would hate me. Grandpa never said a word. He took my secret to his grave. And I rejoiced.
I shared this story with my previous counselor and he suggested that I probably never said anything to an adult before because I was just that terrified I would get into a lot of trouble because of grandpa's reaction. He reacted so explosively angry toward me that I feared my parents or any other adult would do the same. I guess it makes sense. I still don't feel good about it. My adult brain tells my child self that I was wrong and I should have told someone.
My adult self and child self obviously have some communication issues.
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