After our father was murdered, we were left with an unfit, sick in the head "mother", who allowed men to molest us. There was no father to save us from this hell.

The method of molestation that happened to me was fingers, fist, and foreign objects, which was usually the neck of a beer bottle. My vaginal area would be in such frequent pain from the period of 5 to 12 years old that I assumed that this pain was normal. I cannot recall a period during that time that my vagina did not hurt.

On the other hand, the men would actually get on top my sister and molest her the “old fashioned” way.  When I use observe her getting molested, it led me to a feeling of fear and confusion. Later, I developed a feeling of being the more lucky one because the things that these men would do to my sister was far worse.

As I got older, I was even more confused as I tried to rationalize and understand why they choose to molest me a certain way and my sister another way. Finally, I arrived at what I assumed that they must have been afraid that I would cry out too loudly because I would cry often. However, my sister was far quieter in that regards than me.

Once my sister began running away from home when she was about 13 years old, they all turned their attention towards me at the age of 10. For about 2 years, I took the blunt of the molestation without a peep. However, when I was about 12 years old, I decided that I had to do something because the method of molestation was moving closer and closer to them molesting me the “old fashioned” way that I saw them do to my sister.

When I was 12 years old, my brother and I were really close even though he would be aggravating at times (basically, being a brother). So, we use to play together often. One night, I had fallen asleep on the top bunk bed near my brother after we had finished joking around. I was awaken because I found James (cousin), who was 24 years old, standing by the top bunk with his hands in my sports bra fondling my breast.  I whispered to him “What are you doing?”. James said nothing. I quickly got out of the bed and ran to my room. Once I made it to my room, I panicked because I couldn’t lock my door due to the fact that the doors during that time used a skeleton key before the house was rebuilt. So, I crawled under the covers and prayed that he wouldn’t come. As soon as that door opened, I felt my heart drop into my stomach. Immediately, I sat up in the bed and asked sternly, “What are you doing?” James murmured, “I can’t come in your room!”

I don’t know what made me run, but I got up and immediately ran out the room, unlocked the house door, and ran out of the house barefoot in my nightgown. All I could do was run and cry. At that moment, I truly understood why my sister started running away and never came back. It is a feeling of taking no more of it. I kept saying that I was never going back to that house, but something in me told me to stop running, so I came to a halt. It was like a spirit or something told me to turn back around and go home, but don’t let him touch you. So, I slowly turned around and walked backed home in tears because I didn’t know how I was going to stop him from touching me. While I was looking down, I saw the cockroaches scattering back into the cracks of the pavement and then noticed a pile of what was either rotted or cut tree branches. I picked up one small branch and said that if he touched me then I would hit him.

As I entered the house, I was shaking so much. Each step that I would take, I would look both ways 2-3 times to see if James was coming. I didn’t feel safe going back to my room because I thought that he would find me to easy again, so I crawled underneath the Victorian styled sofa in the front room and I tucked that stick in-between my legs and went to sleep.

This began a pattern of hiding at night. However, when I was about 16 years old, I convinced Kathy to buy me a very sturdy outdoorsy type of doorknob that required a key.  It allowed me some freedom of sleeping in my bed at times, but I had to stop because I discovered that Jerry (step-dad) had a key, as I would awaken to him standing over me looking at me in my underwear. So, sleeping in my closet, underneath my bed, on the side of my bed consumed my teenage life. During this time period, I ended up developing a sleeping disorder because trying to hide and feel safe at the same time was overwhelming.

Twelve years old was the last time that I was molested by any man, but the molestation attempts never did stop. It just morphed. The louder that I got; these men appeared to grow more afraid to forcibly molest me. So, they would try to convince me to let them molest me. However, Russell (uncle) got very upset that I told Kathy that he was trying to molest me to the point that he got enraged and beat me in the head, which sent me to the hospital. I had to get 9 staples in my head. Russell got arrested, but my mother made sure that I protected him, so he would get released. Once he was released, Kathy allowed him to move back into our home, so I had to be around him and be the "nice" girl for years until I moved out.

So, if you were able to read the passage (click here) about my rape that happened on March 8, 2015, it should make more sense to you why I hid under a coffee table. This made me feel safe. Even if it seemed ridiculous to others, I still felt safe. After George (Main Main) found and raped me, I no longer believed hiding in that manner would protect me anymore. A new feeling morphed from the rape of feeling dead inside. I was alive, but that rape killed me. You don't want to know feeling of being alive, but feeling dead. The closest thing that I can mention is the movie, "What's Love Got to Do With It?". When Ike walked into that room and raped Tina, she died, but her body was alive. So, when she tried to kill herself afterwards, she was just trying to match her body with how her soul felt: dead.

Main Main killed me that night. Body alive; soul dead.

For those people who are not psychologist, therapist, trauma specialist, or abuse victims themselves, you may still be confused and ask simple, but rather ignorant questions:

1. Why not scream when any of these men touched you? We were trained to be more than just quiet.  We were trained to protect them.
2. Why not tell someone? We did at times, but it ended up with all these grownups calling all of the little girls liars: the women and molesting men. So, we learned that it was pointless to keep saying anything. For your sanity, you be quiet. To not breakup the family, you be quiet. To cope with this abuse, you be quiet. To not be the “problem” child, you be quiet. In the morning, you were to act as though nothing happened even at times smiling and hugging these replusive, disgusting child molestors that just molested you last night.

When my sister, Moneca, was 13 years old at the time, she cried to Kathy and confessed that Jerry was molesting her. Kathy said “I don’t believe you!” Then, Moneca said that she wanted die, so Kathy went into the back room. When Kathy returned, she poured some pills into Moneca’s hand and told her to kill herself. I saw my sister’s head tilt back and consume an entire handful of pills. Minutes ticked by, but it seemed like hours. Then, Kathy said “Girl, you didn’t take those pills.” Moneca replied, “Yes, I did.” At that moment, Moneca began fading in and out of consciousness. Kathy dragged her to the kitchen and started pouring lard down her throat. An adult neighbor witnessed all of this, but didn’t say anything. The only thing that neighbor did was eventually call the ambulance after Kathy instructed her to do so. The fire department got to the house and placed an oblong white piece of material underneath my sister’s nose and she woke up. As I looked at my sister, I was crying loudly. Through my thick tears, I asked Kathy “Why did you give my sister those pills?” Kathy grabbed my skin and pinched it. Then, whispered to me to “Never say that again!” This happened when I was 10 years old and I never mentioned it again until I was in my twenties. The only 2 lessons that I learned from ever speaking up: if you say something, you are the one that gets punished; and if you want to kill yourself, take pills.

  3. Why not tell other adults? This was a desire of mine as I became older, but Kathy would get my sister (the few times she was around) to beg and cry to me to be quiet. Kathy would say that I would be the cause of breaking up the family. So, I remained quiet.

  4. Well those things happened when you was a child. So, why not stand up against George (Main Main) since you were an adult? You are supposed to teach children what are unacceptable behaviors. If not, it can skew a child's perception. As the child becomes an adult, this skewed perception persist. The first time that George abused me, at the age of 17, he apologized repeatedly, which really made me believe that he was sorry, as no man prior to him had ever apologized for violating me. When the abuse increased, I had just graduated high school and was already living with him. By the time that I escaped his house and moved into my apartment in 2007, I was already brainwashed to trust him. In the following year, I ended up feeling very sorry for him because he had spun into a more uncontrollable rage and began drinking alcohol when he discovered that he got infected with gential herpes (HSV II) in March of 2008. He placed the world on my shoulder to help him control his outbreaks and take care of his affairs all while he was beating me. I was not in a relationship with him (matter of fact, I was dating someone else), but his control never stopped. Oddly, the Cordova woman that infected him got away scot free. His disease should have been his problem not mine.

Everyone has their own perfect storm to being brainwashed. Be careful, you may already be in one. - Unbreakable