My Telling: Andrea
I was a 5yr old little girl. I made mud pies outside with my friends, had tea parties, played in the park, and rode my bike. I was an innocent little girl who didn’t have a care in the world, until the night my mom bought a stranger into our home. This stranger ate dinner with us, laughed and talked, and told me how pretty I was. I can’t tell you his name, and I don’t remember what he looked like, but what I can tell you is that he touched me.
My mom must have really enjoyed this man’s company, because she allowed him to sleep in our home with me and my 8yr old brother. I remember going to bed in my favorite pink night gown with ruffles. It was really dark in my room, but there was just enough light from the moon and the outside lights for me to see him walk in my room completely naked. As he came down the hallway, I could hear the sound of his ankle bones cracking. After entering my room, I saw him bump his knee on the dresser drawer that was slightly ajar. He pushed the clothes that were hanging out back into the drawer and quietly closed it. He then walked over to my bed, pulled up my night gown, pulled down my panties and then laid his big, nasty body on top of me. He began to take his erect penis and rubbed it all over my body. When he put his penis on my buttocks and started to hump on me, I started to cry because he was hurting me and he stopped. He never said a word to me. He didn’t even tell me not to tell anybody he just got off me and went back into the living room. (Now, I feel rejected. I thought you liked me Mr. Stranger, I thought you said I was pretty) As Mr. Stranger was doing these things to me, I didn’t know what to do. I laid there frozen. I couldn’t go back to sleep so I got up, went into my mother’s room and got in bed with my mom.
The next morning I told my mom everything that had happened. Mr. Stranger was actually still there in the living room. My mom gave him a piece of her mind, kicked him out and I never saw him again. My mom never said anything to me about what happened. She never comforted me, she didn’t explain what happened, or that I did nothing wrong and that it wasn’t my fault. Nothing else was ever mentioned about this incident, not to me or anyone in my family. I remember my mom being so angry with Mr. Stranger, I cried. Inside I remember wondering if she was mad at me too. That’s the day my entire life changed. I felt like my mom did not love me anymore.
The dysfunction I saw as a child
My mother was a promiscuous woman. I am the second eldest of four other siblings and we each have different fathers. On multiple occasions, I witnessed my mother bringing men into our home, even after the molestation. One night she brought someone home and I happened to be sleeping on the living room sofa. She woke me up and sent me to my room. What she didn’t know is that I did not go to bed right away. I peeped around the corner to see her and this man touching and feeling on each other, bumping and grinding on the sofa. I remember my mom used to party frequently. She was always leaving us with different babysitters. She did not spend any quality time with us.
My abuse affected me in ways I could never imagine.
As early as age 12, I remember trying to earn my mother’s love again. I remember I used to cook dinner for the entire family. I cleaned the house from top to bottom, and washed our clothes. Every day when my mom came home from work she had a clean house and hot food waiting on her. I wanted to make her so proud. It seems like I spent a lifetime seeking my mother’s love and affection. It was such a lonely feeling; I isolated myself by staying in my room. I was constanly depressed as a teenager. This left me feeling rejected and abandoned, and that no one loved me. I was constantly seeking attention from anyone who would give it to me. After high school, I became permiscuious. I was self medicating myself by sleeping around, giving up my precious body for free. I would sleep with men just for the attention, whether they were married or not. Sometimes it was like a game to me, I slept with men just for the fun of it. When I finally wanted to get serious about someone, every time a relationship ended, I questioned what “I” did wrong, and what was wrong with “me”. I constantly asked myself “why doesn’t anyone love me?”. I was imitating what I saw as a child, I was mimicking my mother. It wasn’t until reclaim that I was able to make this connection.