An Open Letter to You, My Abuser

Eighteen years ago, at the tender age of thirteen, the short life I had lived was forever changed — by you. Sometimes I find myself thinking… Did he know the impact his actions would have on the rest of my life? Do I even fully understand the impact his actions have had on my life?

Whether or not I have experienced all the repercussions of your actions, I know I have never been the same.

Sexual grooming of a child is life-altering. You were able to enter my life, gain my trust, and make me feel like those who loved me were really not supporting me. You made me feel like my parents did not care about me and that you were the only one who “really” understood me.

I was young and vulnerable and you took advantage of that. You made me keep secrets, such as the letters you made me write you and the phone calls you would have your niece initiate. You would visit me when you knew my parents were not home. You would find ways to be alone with me in a room. You told me when I was eighteen, you would marry me. You told me you loved me and made me tell you that I loved you.

As the summer progressed, the grooming turned into sexual abuse. You would kiss me. Sometimes when I think about the fact that your abuse was my first kiss, I feel physically ill. When I was younger, my friends would talk about their first kiss and how great it was. I had to lie and make up a story — because of you. When my son is old enough to become curious about relationships and asks me about my first kiss, I will lie to him until he is old enough to know the truth. Eventually, the kissing became more until you were touching my still developing breast. On a day that I am still unable to forget, you tried touching me under my shirt.

I panicked.

Just a few days later, my father discovered the abuse because one of the phone calls between you and your niece went wrong. Or, in all honesty, it went right — as my father overheard the conversation and you apologizing for touching me under my shirt.

Before I knew it, I was at the police station and meeting with two detectives. I told them everything you had done to me over the course of the summer. And then I went home.

Sexual abuse of a child is a crime. This I know for a fact. Over the past few years, especially since I became a mother, I wanted to know what happened to my case. I had done some basic research online and found nothing. So the other day I gathered my strength and called the records department at the police station. I learned that there was no police report. So I was transferred to the State’s Attorney office. She did some digging around and told me the same thing the police department did — there was no police report.

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. (Or stabbed me in the back.) My first thought was… Does this mean I didn’t matter? Did anyone believe me? As the day went on, there was a moment when I even questioned myself… Did this really even happen to me?

The answer is yes. Yes, this did happen to me. You happened to me. For the past eighteen years I have struggled with depression, anxiety, and nightmares. For years after the abuse, when I smelled the same cologne you wore, I was instantly nauseated. The first time a boy tried to make out with me, I became violently ill. I still have difficulty with intimacy and honesty; I’m not always able to communicate how I am feeling or what my sexual desires are. I don’t know how. You took that from me.

But you gave me something as well. You gave me strength I didn’t know I had — strength to be a better person, strength to make my marriage work, strength to become a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and counsel individuals, mostly women, who were abused like you abused me. I am not a victim. I am a survivor — not because of you, but because of me.