“I don’t want no sissy for a son switching and twitching around here.”
Imagine walking around in a fog for pretty much all of your childhood. Well, that’s what it was like for me, a hazzy fog.
There is so much about my life that I don’t remember. I am missing total periods of time. Those memories are so traumatic that my therapist said it’s my way of protecting myself by blocking things out. I told the therapist that when the images became bad I would just bang my head up against the wall until everything went black. She wrote down on her notepad and gave me a very concerned look.
I didn’t know what to think. Who I liked or could trust. I still didn’t know why my Mom had disappeared one day and never returned. Daddy only told me that she was gone and I needed a new mother.
In comes stepmother Agnes.
And then came her brother Todd.
Uncle Todd continued to fool with me every chance he got. He always told me if I ever told on him, my Daddy would go to jail because he would surely kill him. Then he explained that I would be put into foster care with folks that I didn’t know and who would subject me to greater horrors than him tugging on my thing. And for a long while, I didn’t say a word.
Todd started becoming more aggressive with me and he was talking crazy saying that I should be grateful that he loved me so much. He always wanted me to watch these movies with him where men were tugging and pulling on each other. He said the movies would show me that it was all in fun. I never watched. I would shut my eyes tight, and only opened them when Uncle Todd caught me. He tried to introduce a new game and I wasn’t having that. I managed to talk him out of it that time. I decided, I was going to tell my Dad everything. If Todd ended up dead, at least his sick games, as he called them, would stop.
My Dad was a straight up madman when he found out what Uncle Todd had been doing to me. He beat Agnes to a pulp for bringing her brother into our lives. He went everywhere looking for Todd; his job, the gym, his friends houses and he soon found out that Todd was on the run. I don’t know what happened, but I never saw him again.
Daddy was angrier than ever and he was always blowing off his on the road trucking jobs and this wasn’t good because that job was our bread and butter. He didn’t trust Agnes anymore. He was afraid that if he left for an extended amount of time, that Todd would come back. I heard him whispering to Agnes, “I don’t want no sissy for a son, switching and twitching around here.” He said he noticed that I had a switch in my walk now, and I was a little bit too soft for his standards. He blamed Agnes for it all. Daddy never blamed me, but he never was able to look me in my eyes quite the same again. When he did, tears would well up in his. He spent all his time jumping down Agnes’ throat. She told him she would work with me and fix what her pediphile brother had done. She promised to make it right. Daddy agreed, but he had no idea that her “fixing me” meant that she would soon take over where Todd left off.
This is a continuation of my short story, You Don’t Know My Shame (I walk alone.) I posted part one last week. You can read it by clicking here https://deejourneyofafabmom.wordpress.com/2015/02/05/you-dont-know-my-shame-i-walk-alone/ I will post the conclusion to this story one day this week.
As I said in my earlier post, this story is a work of fiction. I was reminded by someone that boys are abused, molested, and victimized by women and men also. The characters came alive in my head, and I believe these stories haven’t been told enough. It is not to sensationalize the abuse, but to raise awareness. it is also my hope to help someone. We are often faced with individuals who truly crazy, and out of their minds, and I believe some people are just that way. But, sometimes I think to myself, how did they get that way. It’s almost always some underlying childhood abuse, trauma, or rage that took place. When we read headlines where people have done senseless acts, we don’t think often of how the person got that way. I’m not vindicating anyone. I’m simply here for the children. The voiceless ones. The hurt ones. The lost ones. As a victim of childhood abuse myself, I feel it my duty to bring awareness, and create a dialog that will prayerfully evoke some sort of change. As uncomfortable as it is to read, its that much harder for me to write. But… these kids need us. They need us to advocate, to speak up and tell their stories. This…. is my contribution.
Each one, teach one.
Peace and love,