It was either 3rd or 4th grade, I can't remember which. There was a book competition; who could read the most books over summer vacation. I was so excited. Being a fast reader, I knew I could win (or at least come in Top 10). That summer, R.L. Stine and I became one. I loved his books. I loved the cliffhangers at the end of every chapter. Reading 2-3 of his books in one day was too easy. Back then, no book reading at the dinner table. My mom, was lenient of that rule, because she knew how competitive I was (and still am). We had to log every book read, what time we started and when we'd finished. By the end of the summer, I'd read 56 books (most of which, were RL Stine's).
The first day of school, in my new class, my teacher got straight to listing each students book count. She choose to have us reveal (as she wrote each one on the marker board) from youngest to eldest...I was last. The first person on the board was a girl called Eva, "I read 18 books, this summer." She was so proud of herself. As we went down the line, each student revealed their number: "10." "16." "9." "21." I began to get nervous, the highest number, so far, was 23. As we came closer to my reveal, I panicked. "No one is going to believe I read 56 books! They'll think I'm a liar." I was embarrassed. I didn't want to be known as the liar, on the first day of school. I decided, it was safer, seeing that I was last, to come in one under, of the highest count. When my teacher got to me, I proudly stated, "I read 22 books, this summer." My teacher looked at me, confused. I had forgotten she already knew how many books I'd read, because we had to turn in our book count log, just as class began. She didn't say anything, as not to shame me, I suppose. The irony? I was a liar.
After lunch, when we got back to class, there was a note on my desk: "Please come see me, when silent reading begins." My heart sank. The one thing I always avoided, in school, was getting in trouble. I kept to myself and never spoke, unless I was spoken to. Being an introvert, I preferred it that way; never wanted to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Yet, here I was, about to be in the biggest trouble. When I approached my teacher's desk, she asked me why I didn't tell the class how many books I actually read. "I didn't think anyone would believe me." Her concerned response, "Why would you think we wouldn't believe you?"
There.
Right. There.
Your childhood, the things that happen during your childhood, mold you. Your childhood stays with you, long after you believe that chapter to be over. It lingers. It shows up in and out of your life, when you least expect it. Causing you to respond to situations and people, with muscle memory. It's instinctive. To this day, I still feel, in many situations of my life, when expressed, I am not believed.
When a grown man, tells 6 yr old: "...no one will believe you." All of that to keep her from exposing the sexual abuse she was enduring, from said grown man. I believed him. I'm only now discovering where my fear of not being believed comes from. That has changed. Fear or not, I'm using my voice, my life depends on it.
This year, I move forward, by letting go of it all. I will no longer carry or protect any man who has ever sexually abused or harassed me. Beginning with my Uncle Fredrick:
This man has sexually harassed me, EVERY time I've seen him, since I was 18 years old. In 2013, I found my 33 year old-self, hiding in a bathroom, as to not be seen or approached by him. I was ashamed and disgusted with myself that I was unable to function. I understand now, that my fear, shame and guilt, all stem from being a victim of sexual abuse. Today, I release this part of my life.
My first encounter with this man, was at my parents house, in early 2000. He was visiting with his wife and children. I recognized his form, as soon as he looked at me. Immediately, I felt the urge to leave. They were staying over, and he and his wife were going to sleep in my bed, for the night. I prepared my room for them and packed an overnight bag, for myself. There was no way I was staying in that house, feeling the way I felt.
"You're not sleeping here tonight?"
"No."
"That's too bad. Well, thank you for letting us stay in your room."
"You're welcome."
"What side of the bed do you sleep on? I want to make sure I sleep on your pillow."
Shortly after, I was ready to leave, and had to say goodbye. Everyone was in the backyard, so my plan was to just shout goodbye, from inside, through the screen door.
"Nice to see you all. I'm leaving. Bye." (Everyone says goodbye and carries on with whatever they were doing. Fredrick approaches the screen door.) "I don't get a hug goodbye?" (opens the screen door, and grazes my hand) "Oh, yea." (awkwardly hugs him, he whispers) "You smell nice."
I felt dirty.
I felt ashamed.
I was scared.
I'm breaking the fucking cycle. This shit ends today. To any family, reading this...if you are planning on reaching out, think about who you should be surprised and shocked by, before you speak to me. 'Disown' has been in my vocabulary, since last year, and no one is above it. You will never see me again - if you dare.
Anyway, thanks in advance...for believing me. Upward and onward.
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