When I was very young, my paternal grandfather sexually abused me. When it began, I was too young to know what sex was or that his actions were inappropriate. By the time that I had learned what sex was and what was and was not appropriate behavior, I had become used to the abuse and didn’t view it as out of the ordinary. I remember the abuse becoming less and less frequent as I went into adolescence, around the same time that my paternal grandparents began openly fighting with my parents. It was then that I learned of the horridly rude behavior he and his wife exhibited toward my mother; they called her a w***e and verbally slandered her in front of my sisters and me. After they crashed my sister’s birthday two years in a row, my parents, my sisters, and I stopped contacting them. In retaliation, they sent back everything we had ever given them since my parents’ engagement. Most of these items were broken in some way. I had to help my parents unpack the dozens of boxes so that my sisters wouldn’t have to see this heartbreaking display of their hatred. I was upset and angry; I threw out everything they had given to me to help me deal with this utter betrayal. What I didn’t do was cry.
Then, they began to stalk my sisters and me. After I saw them at my sisters’ dance performance, I emotionally tortured myself by going through every memory I had of them. It was then that I finally recognized the sexual abuse. That night, the tears finally came. I was terrified at this realization. I would cry myself to sleep, and then wake up crying from the unstoppable nightmares. I decided to not tell my parents; they had enough to worry about with trying to keep my sisters in the dark about my grandparents’ true colors. This realization also triggered me to distance myself from all males. I began to show more and more hatred toward my own father. I remember one distinctly emotional display because that was the day that I finally broke down and told my parents. It was also the day before my confirmation, a very important religious right of passage. During that ceremony, my paternal grandparents showed up. When they came up to me, I refused to talk to them. When they came up to my parents, I saw fire in my father’s eyes. They left. I haven’t heard from them since and I prefer it that way.
Until I began writing this paper, I had only told four people about my abuse. Why? The same reason that everyone has their secrets. I feared a sense of disconnection from others, the loss of acceptance from my peers, and being shunned or treated differently after people found out. Mostly, I feared that no one would understand why this has had such a lasting impact on me. I feared that no one would be able to relate to me and my feelings. I am now able to converse more easily with males and my trust issues have lessened, but to this day there are only four males that I completely trust.
I believe that I need to caution others to be more open about emotional things. I believe that we don’t tell because no one else tells, but everyone has something to tell. Even if you don’t want anyone to know, you need to express your emotions, whether through art, writing, or through expressing another passion. I believe that if you don’t express your emotions in some way, they can literally destroy you from the inside. I believe that my past has caused me to lock my heart away. I believe that my heart deserves another chance. I believe that everyone’s heart deserves a chance. I believe that after that chance, everyone’s heart deserves another, then another, then another, and then another. I believe that everyone’s heart deserves infinite chances. I believe that every heart deserves to speak, to love, and to grow.
This I believe.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing