Silent Screams

….Thisis something that I have to get off my chest, but it is so incredibly hard that it takes a long time to think about and think things through….I’ll try my best to fully express everything because…to be quite frank…I need it.  I need just tell my story.

When I was four years old I was raped.  I was raped by my babysitters.  This was two years after my step grandfather was discovered to have molested my older cousins.  I’ll talk about that in a bit.

My mom said that I had been acting out and acting differently and noticed that I had swollen areas as well as some other things and took me to the doctor.  He confirmed what she feared, but by that time the people who did this to me ran back to their own country.  Over in Europe I believe is what my mom said.

Anyway I repressed the memories.  I believe I did this in order to survive.  About twenty years later I was talking with one of my friends, my sister, and out of the blue I just started screaming.  I was reliving what had happened to me.  Screaming and crying and being raped all over again in my head.  I slept with my mom that night.  She curled herself around me and held me against her and eventually I slept.

From 24 to about 28 I have been slowly remembering things that happened.  First it was just a table and seeing white blinds.  Other memories came back gradually.  Until one day I remember exactly what happened. 

The man, brown hair, I don’t remember much else, took me into a room.  He wanted me to touch him.  I didn’t want to.  I told him I didn’t want to.  I said I didn’t feel good and I wanted my mom.  He became very angry and grabbed me harshly.  I cried out.  He put his hand over my mouth and lifted my dress up.  I loved to wear dresses.  He said this is what happens when I get mad.  He raped me.  I was crying.  I know it hurt.  I was struggling and he said something like good girls don’t tell.  I don’t remember much after the fact, but I remember just shutting down.

From a very early age I knew what a child molester was.  Every time I went over to my grandmother’s house I had to stay with her.  I slept in her bed with her.  I never was alone with my step grandfather.  I thought it was fun when I was younger, now I know why it had to be that way.  He molested my older cousins.  One is bipolar and has a lot of issues now.  The other two committed suicide.  I know that he tried to molest my mom when she was younger as well, but I don’t know if he did.

Growing up I was very withdrawn.  I didn’t have a lot of friends, still don’t.  I try my best to please others because I fear that they will either reject me or will become angry with me.  I know what anger does.  I can’t help but link it back to what happened.

I have never really had a boyfriend.  I consider myself ugly.  I consider myself someone incapable of love.  I am trying to move past that and trying to get myself to take risks with that, but it is extremely hard.  Some people have said that I have an anger problem.  That I’m mean and I can be harsh.

I suppose if it is true that it’s a defense.  I know a lot of the times I’m fearful.  If I let someone in then they will be able to destroy me from the inside out.  This has already happened with some people.  I close myself off again. 

Sometimes I think about death.  Sometimes I want to die.  I don’t do anything and I doubt I ever would, but the thoughts are there.  I am also a self mutilator.  I scratch at myself whenever I am afraid or feel like I’ve done something wrong.  I have scars on my arms as well as my breasts.  I try to control it, but sometimes it doesn’t work.

I do not believe that I am a good person.  Some things that I’ve found that people have said about me confirm this fear.  They believe that I am malicious and hateful.  I cried a lot after finding those things.

If I feel like I’ve done something wrong, intentional or not I beat myself.  I pound against my chest with my fist or I’ve slapped my face and neck and left marks.  It’s done in the middle of an anxiety attack where I can’t control my actions.  I think I do this because I deserve to be hurt.  I believe that those things that are said about me are true and I find very little good in myself. 

I suppose that’s why I try to work so hard in my jobs.  Maybe I can become good, because I am obviously not.  I was bad because I wanted my mom so I was punished.  I guess I punish myself after that time when I was so young because I deserve it.

There’s more, but I think that’s enough for now.  Maybe this will help some people, maybe they can relate or I don’t know.  Maybe?