How I Was Abused
This is a little about what shaped me as a person. Sometimes as a kid/teenager I would pick on boys. It didn’t mean I liked them or disliked them most of the time. I think I did it because I was almost always treated badly by my father and I wanted to hurt him, but I couldn’t. He would always overpower me. So I picked on his younger gender because I could safely hurt them and not get hurt back. I realize this made me a bully to some people and I’m sorry about that.
My dad was my bully at home. He mostly stuck to emotional abuse and would rarely switch to physical. I think it started when I was starting to develop sexually. (That or I was too young to remember if he abused me or not.) My dad was/is weird. He groped my boobs once and made a habit of slapping my ass. He’s done more inappropriate things in this category, but I don’t think he molested me. He touched me in places that I didn’t like. It didn’t feel sexual, but it was uncomfortable. I told him I didn’t like it and asked him to stop.
He didn’t take it seriously. I think he thought it was normal to do, that it was an appropriate way of showing affection. My mom was there when it was happening, so I didn’t think she was going to get him to stop. I was really upset about it. At the time I felt violated, and my wishes were not being taken into consideration. I thought it would keep happening and maybe escalate. I was scared. I broke down at school crying and my friend asked what was wrong. I told her that my dad grabbed my butt.
I feel like I lied a little, but at the same time I don’t think I lied on purpose. I was eleven or twelve, I didn’t fully understand the world yet. I explained it in the way I knew how and embellished because I didn’t think people would take what was happening at its face value seriously. Back then I wasn’t completely sure what molestation was, I had a friend who was molested, (her family member went to jail for it) and I was drawing emotional parallels to how she explained it. She didn’t explain it like an adult would. She didn’t tell me the gritty details and it was vague.
She was my only resource on what molestation was and my understanding wasn’t complete. I understood the basic feelings that go along with getting molested, but I didn’t understand what molestation really was. I wondered, are these warning signs that I’m gonna get molested by my dad? I didn’t want that to happen obviously.
When I told my friend that my dad grabbed my butt (not the friend who was molested by the way); she was momentarily occupied because I was crying really loudly and other girls in the locker room were wondering what was going on. She told them what I said.
I wasn’t mad about that, I wasn’t in the head-space to care that my peers knew about it. I didn’t think there would be consequences to them knowing that, but that’s a story for another day. There weren’t immediate consequences for it, in fact there wouldn’t be any for several years.
Those consequences are briefly mentioned here.
When she was done fending off the other girls, she suggested I talk to the school guidance counselor. I was hesitant at first. I didn’t want to be alone with an adult I didn’t know especially if it was a man. She offered to come with me. She fielded the questions from the gym teacher and got us a permission slip to see a counselor. I didn’t want to say what happened more than necessary. I really appreciated her intervention.
Thankfully the counselor was a woman. If it was a man, I don’t know what I would have done. She wanted to know why we were there. I didn’t want to speak. I think my friend said that my dad touched my ass. The counselor asked how he did it. I didn’t understand the question. I thought the only reasons someone would do that were nefarious. She asked me to demonstrate how it happened. She asked me to do it to my friend. I was very uncomfortable. I didn’t want to do it. My friend thought it was weird too, but she said it was okay.
I didn’t know what to do. I thought if I did it exactly the way he did it, she would dismiss me. So I did something different. I awkwardly cupped her butt for maybe a second and let go. I don’t know what the counselor thought of that. I’m sure she asked me a lot of questions and I don’t remember all of them. I remember being asked if there was somewhere else I could stay. I told her about my grandparents house and qualified that I didn’t want to stay there because it was boring. I was hoping that she could somehow make my dad leave my house, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t think it would be fair for me to get punished for his actions.
I wasn’t the type to volunteer information. I was probably cagey. If she wanted to know something from me she had to ask about it. I don’t think I trusted her. At some point she decided to send me back to class because she needed to make an appointment with a social worker. I don’t remember how much time passed, it might have been the same day. The social worker evaluated me and decided that I was blowing things out of proportion because I had a fear of intimacy. I was angry. They didn’t take me seriously, it was exactly as I feared. I didn’t say anything to them. I kept these feelings inside because it was my habit. I realize now it might have been a learned behavior because if I acted emotionless I got less abuse.
They sent me home or back to class I don’t remember. I came home at the usual time and I was bombarded by my parents with accusations. Someone at the school told them what I had been telling the counselor and the social worker…
Why? Why would they do that? I can’t even begin to comprehend. Are there any other social workers out there that can justify this? Even as a kid I knew what the school did was wrong.
I felt betrayed. It could have been worse than it was. I expected my dad to hurt me… but he didn’t. He decided to treat me like I didn’t exist for a while. He ignored me while simultaneously, making snide comments. I don’t remember exactly what those comments were, but he was basically communicating that he didn’t think he did anything wrong, but he’ll stop so I won’t tell on him again.
I think it was supposed to be punishment like the absence of his attention was a bad thing, but I was relieved. Him ignoring me was way better than what was happening before. Over time, I began to grow complacent and didn’t expect him to hurt me again.
He did. There were so many times as a child that he hurt me. I don’t remember what he did all the time, but I remember being a sucker as a kid. He would do something bad. He would apologize. I would forgive him. At some point he stopped apologizing and I stopped forgiving. I don’t think even if he did apologize that I would forgive him at this point.
I think I loved him as a kid. I had to. I don’t think I would have forgiven him so many times if I didn’t. Now, I don’t know if I do. I don’t care to see him or talk to him. I’m not sure I’d care if he died. I might even be happy to hear it.
