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My Story - Denise

Home Sweet Home

We lived in a small house that my mom and father bought a couple of years after I was born.  I liked that house, I had lots of toys and books and was allowed to play outside and roam the neighborhood freely.  I had a friend that lived next door and we were inseparable.  I was happy.  I liked playing with Holly Hobby dolls and my mom had gotten me a Holly Hobby comforter for my bed and  I had my own big bed and felt that I was a big girl.  I thought the world of my father, as most 5-year-old girls do.  Anytime I thought someone was treating me unjustly, I would quickly say; “I’m gonna tell my daddy.”

The Molestation Began

Most nights my father wasn’t home when I went to bed at night. Each night I would have dinner with my mom, get my bath, play, watch TV, and read a story (I had lots of books).  Then I would say my prayers and go to bed.  This was my nightly routine and I never had any trouble falling asleep because I was very active and would wear myself out daily.  One night I was sleeping in my bed and I opened my eyes to someone standing over me.  I wasn’t scared, though because it was my father, so I think I must have said “Hi”, or something.  I can’t remember what he said, but he pulled my covers down and got in my bed on his knees over me.  My heart started pounding and I was scared, I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew something was very very wrong with this.  I kept looking at my father’s face and it started to look like someone or something else, like a monster.  He said, “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you”.  He pulled up my nightgown and pulled down my panties.  Then I felt something rubbing against me and in my mind, I wanted to scream, but I froze.  I just looked up at the window that was over my bed and thought why is he doing this, what’s he doing.  I kept thinking I want my mom.  Why isn’t she coming in here?  Please wake up.  I looked at his face again and it was contorted and he was making hissing sounds and one of his hands was moving really fast and I felt wet and sticky.  My heart was racing and fear had a hold of me so much that I just lay there as stiff as a board wishing that I could get up and run or yell or tell him to get off me or anything to make him stop.  Then he stopped and got up.  He pulled up my panties and pulled my nightgown down.  And I think he said, “See, you’re okay, I didn’t hurt you” and he smiled at me and left my room.  I rolled over on my side and just lay there and I felt scared and alone and lost.  I didn’t know what he had done, but I knew I didn’t like it and that there had to be something bad about it because he was quiet and he came to my room without my mom.

I don’t remember if he was home when I got up the next morning and I don’t remember how I went about cleaning myself up that morning.  But I got out of that bed as a different little girl.  I got out of that bed with hatred running through my veins. I hated my father, I didn’t really know what that meant, but when I saw him I wished that he wasn’t my daddy.  I daydreamed about him not being my daddy.  I don’t think I ever told him that I loved him again after that.  I changed, but the worst part is, no one paid attention to the change in me.

He Never Stopped Touching Me

The creeping into my room at night happened several other times.  Shortly after he crept into my room that first night, my mom was going to work.  Most of the time my mom would take me to my grandma’s or my aunt’s when she went to work, but this time; she was leaving me home with my father.  Something came over me, and I threw an outright fit.  I just knew I had to do anything I could not to be left home with him.  I cried, screamed, and begged my mom to take me with her.  You would think that because this was totally out of character for me that she would have gotten suspicious that something was wrong.  Yet, she was shocked and asked me what was wrong with me and why I was acting like that and commented that she couldn’t believe that I was acting like that; but she wasn’t paying close enough attention to see that I was going through something serious.  So I sat on the floor and cried – defeated, not having the words to tell her what was happening to me.  She told me she had to go to work and she’d be back and I’d be fine; then she left.  I felt so alone and defeated. I thought nobody’s gonna help me.  My father molested me that day and that was the first time he did it during the day.  I never felt safe in that house again.  I didn’t sleep at night as long as he lived there, even on the nights that he didn’t bother me.  I used to fall asleep and wake up with these invisible things holding me down and I would try to open my mouth to scream for my mom and nothing would come out.  I was wide awake and I could feel something holding me down, but I couldn’t see anyone.  I hated living in that house; it was a horrible place for me.

My father got more risky with his molestation of me.  Once, he was taking me to my grandmothers to stay for a few days.  She lived out in a rural area and I loved going to her house.  My aunts, uncles, and cousins were there and my grandma and granddad loved me.  I would go to their house and play all day and pick plums from the trees and blackberries from the bushes; I loved being out there with them.  My grandma and granddad thought I was special (at least that’s how they made me feel).  My granddad called me “the boss”.  I used to wish I could stay there all the time.  My mom would let me stay out there for most of the summer while she went to school and work.  She would come out there every weekend and hang out with me.  Anyway, on the way to my grandmother’s my father pulled off into a field and told me to get in the backseat.  I knew what was about to happen as soon as he pulled off that road, and if I had known how to curse back then, I would have probably done so then.  I climbed in the back seat and laid down on my back and let him do what I had begun to expect of him.  I looked out the window like I always did and lay stiff as a board and wished that it was over and that I was at my grandmas where he never did this to me.

No One Noticed The Change in Me

I became a violent child after being molested.  Anybody that did me wrong in the slightest way was in for a fight, no matter how big they were.  I took that anger out on everybody.  I was holding in this horrible secret and I was mad because no one could hear what I was screaming on the inside.  None of my family members seemed to notice that I went from this mild-mannered kid who often got bullied to a little terror who would take on anybody.  I still wanted to tell someone and every time I thought I was ready, I just didn’t know what to say.  I tried telling my best friend once.  But what could another little girl say? So I never tried again.  I used to wish that she was my sister.  But I would fight her sometimes and then I would feel bad because I didn’t know why I had beaten her up because she was my friend.  I was so confused and I was alone.  No one could help me.

By the time I was 8 years old, my father moved out.  My mom and I stayed in that house until she remarried.  I was happy that my father was gone, but I felt guilty because my mom was sad.  One night my uncle’s girlfriend stayed at our house for the weekend and she slept in my room with me.  She played games with me and we talked.  She asked me how I felt about my daddy leaving and I was almost ready to tell her what he had done to me, but I just didn’t know what to say; so I started to cry and she thought I was crying because I was sad that he left.  She told my mom and my mom talked to me about him leaving and that it wasn’t my fault.  I didn’t care about anything she was saying because I just wanted her to know what he had done, but I just didn’t know how to tell her.

I Finally Told When I was 40 Years Old

I was 40 years old before I told my story in ReClaim and got my healing.  I learned how to talk myself innocent and that I had nothing to be ashamed of.  ReClaim rescued the little girl in me that had wanted help for so many years.  ReClaim saved me from the damage that being molested had done to me.

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