This year was productive in therapy. I can breathe after 51 years. Yes, I can finally breathe now with no fear of a meltdown, flashbacks or sudden tears as I know for certain that the man who abused me when I was six was a bad man. I can watch Dr. Phil when he has a guest who was sexually abused, not have nightmares, and therapy has helped me recognize that it wasn’t my fault.
The numerous articles i’ve written about my abuse on this blog, described how my next door neighbor gratified his needs, yet sent me onto a hellish future. He deceived me, pretended to like me and tricked me into thinking I was ‘special’, yet planning and taking advantage of every chance he could get to abuse me.
His huge hand that covered my mouth to muffle my screams was uncaring to him, he got what he desired and that was all that he wanted. It didn’t matter about me, even though I was sobbing and begging for him to stop. It just didn’t matter, he said I was his “special girl”, he was my “Uncle Fred”, and I was supposed to do that and it was “our secret”.
But one day I told my parents, I just couldn’t keep it inside, but they wouldn’t believe me. “Why would your Uncle Fred do such a thing?”, they asked. “You are lying, why are you lying?”
I wasn’t lying, I spoke the truth, I sought comfort. I was required to apologize.
I apologized to Uncle Fred which he accepted. The abuse ended and I’ve despised my parents ever since.
Written by: Deb