When I finally told my rapist’s wife what he did to me, my mom started texting from her work. She works “under the table” for sitting with elderly people. It is under the table because she doesn’t pay taxes. She doesn’t pay taxes because if she made money, Dad would lose his Medicaid.
She kept trying to call me, but I didn’t answer. She texted me that she was hiding in a corner at work because she didn’t want her employer to know. She would die of embarrassment if they knew what was going on.
“If I had known that you were hurting, I would have done something about it.” This was one of the text messages I got from her. I texted back, “How could I not be hurt by this?” That was when it all went downhill.
She claimed I went behind her back and wanted to start problems. To which I replied, “She deserves to know her husband is sleeping around with underage girls.”
What mother wouldn’t know that when her daughter was forced to have sex against her will that it hurt? I would have thought it was common sense. If she honestly was dumb enough to think that I didn’t have any emotions, then I feel sorry for her.
A lot of my friends who knew my when all of this was taking place have commented that I hid it well. I don’t know why, but I am sure if they had a mom like mine, they would self-preserve if they could. I call my hiding my emotions self-preservation.
I just locked my emotions so deep inside me that I could function. I advise against this, because one day when they come out, it is overwhelming. Only one person in the whole world knew what was happening to me outside of my molester and rapist. He was my best friend.
With him I was able to talk about how I wanted it to stop. When he moved, I wrote in my journal. I have an entry about how much I wanted him to stop and how disgusting I thought he was.
Another reason I hid it so well was because he made me feel like it was my fault. I thought that if I told people would hate me. I though I would be an even bigger outcast.
It wasn’t that I didn’t feel angry, sad, upset, betrayed and all other emotions then. I did, I felt everything to my core. I was just in a situation where I could count down until the day I could get out and never look back. Then when I got out, nothing could keep my treasure chest of emotions locked.
I know that if I had loving parents that would have let me talk about what happened to me rather than the ones I had that denied it, I would be OK. I know that God is there, but how many more have to be hurt before He steps in? When I ask myself that, I always come up with God is waiting for you. What if God is waiting for me to take a stand against them? What if I can stop this? I can’t allow myself to be an accomplice in their twisted game of denial. It happened and he will be punished.