Recovery and Research brings Renewed Life

My story..where I am now in life after 7 years of therapy..rerouting all of my cognitive behavior and learning how to think and feel and to actually allow myself to have normal body feelings, which I never had, right now I am having a rough time dealing with my loss of my loving animal, who was there through all of the recovery process of being raped as a child. She was my comfort and unconditional love for myself and a little girl inside and we left it all—the abuse that continued for years as I was known as a problem within the family.  From not getting help as a child when I did ask for help and was made to feel the blame. I was little girl 7 and half, second grade—what I know now I didn’t know through all those years, something happened where I was able to piece together everything—the rape was buried.  The man that raped me was a husband of my cousin.

I'm learning not to hate because of what it does to me inside, but when it comes to protecting myself as a adult and this child inside which I believe has emerged, still delicate—the areas that have been dealt with (still dealing with) was a child, sexually assaulted, raped, demoralized.  I can't even write it all in detail for fear of being triggered off , and I asked for help from my older sibling and was told  not to tell my mother because I would ruin  her wedding.  I was in fear of her and loved her at the same time through threats and made to believe I was sick and a problem and I eventually believed this myself.  That’s called betrayal blame.  My mother took care of a sick child and didn’t know why, asked me too if anyone did anything to me while we were at the doctors.  I said nothing. (I remembered everything ) Crying down the street,  I knew this wasn’t right.  Within 2 weeks later gender crisis kicked in, and I was acting out and damaged

When I was young, my grandmother told me stories of the Boogeyman. He would come out at night and punish naughty children. She said he lived in our attic. She was wrong. He lived in the bedroom next to me. The first time happened when I was seven and he was thirteen. My brother came into my bedroom and sexually abused me. No matter how much I fought him, he was stronger. No matter how much I said no, he wouldn't stop. It wasn't until I threatened to tell on him that he stopped. It kept him at bay, but not for long.

I thought by covering myself up as much as possible, I was less likely to 'provoke' him again to touch me. I would dress in layers, even in thirty degree weather. The adults would always ask why and I would always lie. "I'm cold," I would say. I was scared to tell anyone. What if they didn't believe me? What if then it angered my brother and made him do even worse things as punishment? I hoped keeping my mouth shut would show him I was willing to be silent forever and keep this as just an 'incident' and he would stop in return. But he didn't.

When I was eleven I remember seeing these Kids Helpline commercials. There was one part of the commercial that really stood out to me. There was a bedroom where the girl in one of the posters was talking. She explained that the child ran away because they couldn't stand being sexually abused anymore. I hated what he was doing to me. I would always wait for the commercial to come on and check if my sexual abuse was something I should tell somebody. That there was a chance it could be fixed. When I was certain, I swore that I would tell someone the next time it happened. I was terrified of him. But with the newfound hope I had, I regained some courage. This time I was going to really fight him if I had to.