This one is more difficult, in imagine. I was not a little girl. I was not an innocent naïve little girl with no care in the world. I have a body that I hate, that attracts attention that freezes when I need to fight. I can understand that little 5 year old girl, afraid of the world. Not having an understanding of what was happening to her. Knowing that her body hurt that men could take what ever they want and leave you to clean up. Those were the things of my life. As a child there was nothing that I could have done to stop him from doing all of those awful terrible things. From strattling my neck and making me hold his necklace as he raped my little body. The kissing, the touching the rude comments . The leaving the bedroom door open like I was supposed to watch and learn, this is what a woman's body is good for. A body that wasn't made for those things. Oh those thoughts in my head that it was ok, he just thinks I am my mom. The thoughts its ok he will be done soon. The thoughts when my body was in so much pain it literally felt like my guts were going to fall out. The thoughts that went to my stuffed animals, its ok we will be fine, he is almost done. During that time, I was just a little girl with such a little understanding of what was being done, the words sex wasn't really in my vocabulary. I knew terrible things were happening and somewhere in my mind it was just something that I was meant for just something that happened.
Later as you grow up and there is a sense of what sex is and all those years of things being done to your little body, the things that murder your soul and make you believe that you were meant for this. That is when that intense hate for being a girl for having parts that make you desirable to men. To have a chest as a young girl that never goes without notice, those are the things of nightmares. Those are the things that take away the girl and she gets replaced, and learns the way that a mans body works. There is a problem when its a good night because your father can't get an erection. For once you feel a sense of relief that makes you chuckle because you may not totally understand but you know that for this night the stabbing incessant pain is something that just won't happen. These are the sentences that no daughter should have to know or ever write. I never wanted to know how my fathers body works. I don't want there to be relief in knowing that as he struggles, there is a sense of peace for me. No daggers tonight, nothing to clean up I can sleep. This is the deep dark that a little girl should never understand. This is the gross and disgusting of a little girl wise beyond her years made to do things of adult women. This is the life lived when your father is a monster. There is this intense hate of your own body and how others use it, such pain and they still force themselves. Cries are not heard, your too small body doesn't mater, and they will get what they want regardless.
As I sit and write these things I get so angry,so frustrated that I bite my lip until it bleeds, and the tears stream down my face. These things should never have to be written. A child, an adult woman should never have to understand this . What I can say is that men have been attracted to me my entire life. I watched Patch Adams and as they sit on the porch and she says to him, "Men have been attracted me my whole life, as she tries to help him understand her heart. I felt that with my whole being. That little one so innocent doesn't know what's happening to her. There comes a day, a time when she does know and she can never ever get that innocence back. She knows the proper names and comes to understand that sex is the act and it kills a part of you that you can never get back. As you get older and understand more you are not a child anymore.
For me somehow that innocence was lost between 10 and 13. My father was terrified I'd get pregnant, so the rapes became fewer but the oral sex was a constant. To me that was always the worst. , so personal and degrading. When your only 13, your father is on his back in your bed and you climb on your Very own bed knowing exactly what he wants that, that is the unimaginable, because I should not have known that was expected. I , me that 13 climbed on her own bed; I am not sure I can ever forgive myself for that. A piece of me died, a piece of my life, the sad little girl climed right up like she knew what she was doing, doing her womanly job to make him happy.
So seeing that 13 year old as a child, is such a struggle. That magic of being a child or the wishing was long gone. So you add to that, that I wanted attention, that I flirted and danced with don, that is not a child. That I kissed him, that my stomach had butterflies, that I for once felt special.......those feelings are not of a child. The first time he came to the door I realized so quickly he was not the same person. There was a look in his eyes I knew all to well. I knew his intentions and I faught, I faught with everything that I had, but it wasn't enough. This isn't what I wanted, This wasn't what I asked for but I sure accepted that attention a few weeks before. I begged,pleaded nothing worked. A child doesn't beg for it to stop. My cries were unheard, my flailing wasn't at all a deterrent. He came for sex and didn't leave until he had taken all that wasn't his.
Then again with friends, he returns. 5 of them, I was nothing not even human. I was warm and had parts. There are pieces of me that will forever remain damaged because of this day. Hour after hour turn after turn, getting lost in the blades of the fan, thinking surely this is hell. Surely this isn't the thought of a child? Do children even have a picture of hell. Child thoughts are of laughing , friends and all things innocent living in a world where you are invincible and can do anything. That??What is that I don't know, I imagine it would be amazing, freeing and life changing right?!! There will forever be parts of this day that remain black, devoid of anything because its just too much. I was defeated in so many ways I was treated like something with no name. At the end of the day, I wished they would have finished me off. My thoughts went to you have a gun, Why not use it to end my life instead of just inflicting more pain.
So finally, his last occurrence. All that was to be taken was. I was barely breathing trying to make my way. You come again, WHY ? You knocked on the door, like was I supposed to invite you in for tea??? There was no spirit no fight. That was not a little girl who opened the door, She was used goods. She knew to well what was coming, she had given up and she unbuttoned her pants and laid down. He came looking for a fight, she was in survival mode. She knew what was going to be taken, still bruises of black from the time before, her body still recovering. I made the choice to undo my pants and lay down. I knowingly made that decision, and I hate myself for it. I remember the look on his face. He did it, but there was no participant, just a body on the floor. He got what he came for, kicking me and using the restroom on me on his way out. That was not a child. A child doesn't make those kinds of choices. That was something other than , truly gross and disgusting but surely not a child.
So many things I place on my own shoulders, my , responses, responsibilities. Things that children, little girls don't know I knew them. I knew them and acted on them. I fear that my grip on my part, is a death grip, if I don't hold on as if my life depends on it; I fear the breaking, the falling apart at the seems because maybe just maybe I was a child. Maybe just maybe I was a little girl that deserved everything, safe and kind. Maybe just maybe that little girl was worth so much more than she was given in this world
I heart your heart.
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