THREAD: I have been fighting in the shadows for over 20 years. No more. I am coming out and sharing my story. I was abused, starting at the age of 13. The sex abuse didn't start then, but the grooming and manipulation started. It started with him taking me for drives, confiding
in me, showering me with praise and telling me how smart and lovely I was. I admit it. I loved the attention. Then, on one of those drives, his hand grabbed mine on the shifter and wouldn't let go. He said he appreciated me, that I was the only one who understood him. I felt so
grown up, so privileged. He let me smoke around him, and seemingly didn't judge me. He would casually brush his hand on my bare thigh while I was driving. I would go silent, not sure what to do, I was driving, after all. And he was an adult. He told me it was better if these
moments stayed private. Because no one would understand, and everyone would be so made at me (at ME, not at him, at ME). I was THIRTEEN. The grooming went on for another two years in a similar manner. He'd come into my room late at night for "chats". He'd rub my back and stomach
To help me get to sleep. It helped. And I was thankful. Looking back, as a 14-15 year old, I realize that his heavy breathing and shifting on the bed wasn't because he was tired. It was because he was turned on and wanted more. Then, right before I was 16, I was asleep on the
couch. I woke up for some reason, disoriented and not sure where I was (I wasn't at home). I realized a hand was on me, on my chest, on my new and still-unfamiliar breasts. I didn't know what to do. He whispered, "shhhh. I've loved you for so long." and kept rubbing. I was so
confused. It felt wrong, but at the same time, it felt good to my immature, pubescent body. It was attention. He made me feel like the rest of my family put me on the back burner, he manipulated me into thinking that he was the only one who saw me as a woman, a person, even.
He told me to stay quiet. That he would love to pay attention to me all the time and that, should I talk, it was his word against mine. "You aren't the perfect child. Who would believe you?" I started acting out. Things progressed. I felt uncomfortable and tried to avoid him
but he would corner me, find any opportunity to push me into the corner and press his groin against me to tell me how much he wanted me. I was committed when I was 17 because I told my parents I wanted to die, but wouldn't tell them why. I cried for weeks. I begged them to stay
behind when they went to family gatherings. I'd feign illness. I was terrified. But still I couldn't confide in them. I refused to tell the psychiatrist, because I knew he would have to report it. The reason I knew that is because I grew up with a violent alcoholic father who
would use a belt on us when we vexed him. I accidentally let that slip to a school guidance counselor when they were trying to figure out why my grades were slipping and I was skipping school. DFS was called & my family was embarrassed and I heard "we don't air our dirty laundry"
and so my silence continued. This man hounded me and hounded me. My parents didn't ask WHY I didn't want to go to family gatherings. They chalked it up to me being a rebellious teen. He wouldn't leave me along. He corner me and kiss me hard and shove his hand into my groin
and hound me to fuck him. When i said it would be wrong, he said it wouldn't be wrong because it'd feel so right and he knew I'd like it, too. He had done everything to me BUT force me to take his dick. He wouldn't stop. Finally, I gave in. I made the choice to "let" him fuck me.
Just to try and get some peace and have him leave me alone. Little did I know, it'd be worse after that, and apparently he thought since he got me to lay there once, he could do it again and again. I'll admit, a part of me liked the attention. But so much of me knew it was wrong
The sexual abuse went on for almost 9 years. Finally, I had a long period where I was away from him. And I met the man who would be my husband. And the first date my husband and I had, I was so unsure, so scared. But B.J. proved to me what a real man was. He was gentle, patient
He never pushed me. I told him my darkest secret shortly after we started dating. I didn't go into detail, but told him enough. My husband from that moment, didn't care for the man who abused me and didn't want anything to do with him. However, at my insistence, I asked him to
join me in my silence. Because it was family. And it would rip everyone apart. And, of course, people wouldn't believe me. One day, my abuser, my husband and I were in the same room. That bastard had the balls to try and kiss me full on the lips in front of my boyfriend. I shoved
him away and said "NO. You don't get to do that. And B.J. knows EVERYTHING about us. He's not your biggest fan." After that, he never bothered me again. Little did I know, he moved on to other people. I had no idea. I thought it was just ME. So, I stayed silent. Until he went
after my son. That sent me over the edge. My son told his babysitter that my abuser had rubbed his penis. She called the cops. I'm a nurse, a parent, and a mandatory reported. I'm ashamed to admit that my motivation to report was not just motivated by protecting my son, but to
protect my own hide, because if it came to light that I didn't report after finding out, I could lose my license. I shook the whole time I spoke to the officer who came to our house at 10:30 at night IN A RAIN STORM to talk to this devastated mommy and daddy. My silence caused
this. My silence hurt my precious baby boy. I never thought he'd go after him. I thought it was just me. I thought it was because the idea of virgin pussy turned him on. I had no idea that it was children that turned him on in general. I hated him in that moment. I wanted to kill
him. I wanted to take all my guilt out on him because I was consumed by it. As the investigation went on, my abuse along with the abuse of other minors came to light. The man is a monster. And the other people didn't come forward until they realized this man would go after three
-year-old children. The man was charged with three felony counts. The statute of limitations had run out for me. But not for my son and not for one of the other victims of abuse. It went to trial. My son's trial was first. The detective and ADA were confident. The ADA said she
wouldn't press charges if she didn't think we would win. I couldn't be in the court room to watch my sweet boy testify about what that man did to him. But the detective and ADA said it was compelling testimony. They and the court advocate were confident. The jury came back.
"Not guilty." My heart sunk. One of the jurors reached out to me. They didn't want to let him go. But they felt there was "reasonable doubt." The fact that he wasn't convicted made the other victim back off and say that the trial is something that couldn't be withstood -
it would break this person if he got off and he had to go through all that trauma again for nothing. I was shattered. The man was free. BUT - his life is ruined. His charges will never be off CCAP. He was fired from his job. Everyone in his neighborhood and church knows.
So, even if justice wasn't served in the courts, karma served it just as well. We were in therapy for over two years, my son who wasn't a victim included. We lost family (not everyone, but some) because of this, because "we don't air our laundry for others to see." My parents
are dead and gone, and never found out about all this, but as their child, I can't tell you for sure if they would have believed me. And that breaks my heart to type out. I've never said that before. My son's therapist is confident that he'll be okay. Meanwhile, I'm over here
terrified that this will turn a switch in my son's brain, and he will be come a pedophile, too. My kids are my world. I vowed that I would parent in a different way my parents did. And the same thing happened. After years of therapy, I can finally say, with some confidence, that
none of this is my fault. But when I watch shit like what happened yesterday in that damn hearing, the doubt creeps in. The PTSD and flashbacks start. So, if you read this whole thread, and still come away wondering why people don't come forward to report sexual assualt and abuse
Then you are beyond help; and you won't understand until it happens to you or someone you love desperately. Until you have the choice to have sex ripped away from you, to have your psyche completely shattered and you become mollified by such a demonic display of carnality
then I and no ones else can make you understand. But if you can put yourself into MY shoes, just for a moment and see things how I explain them in this thread, maybe you can understand why it's so awful to come forward. I remember every single detail of his abuse. But yeah, I can
not remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday. It depends on the emotions tied to an event. If you can remember joy and wonder and awe and the exact details of the Christmas you got that bike, or what you were doing when Kennedy was shot or during 9/11, you'll remember the
way you felt and what happened when you were hurt and abused and manipulated. It is a significant moment in any woman's life, and not one we can forget. Even if we try. /end
Feel free to retweet. I'm standing tall and going I'm not going to shy away from this. Fuck every person who thinks this type of behavior is okay and "no big deal." I will not rest until you no longer have influence.
Correction - the sexual abuse went on for 6 years - the emotional and mental abuse and abuse in general was for 9 years.
I've received a couple of DM's asking to retweet the start of this thread. Absolutely, please do. I'm not going to be silent anymore. And I welcome the opportunity to open minds and, to quote U2 "fuck up the mainstream."
To clarify, I don't blame my parents. I don't. Never have, never will. I wish they had been more receptive to us when we did want to talk to them, but in the end, it was me who didn't come forward. I could have been braver. My parents were wonderful, honestly. My dad got sober
and my mom was an incredible woman, truly the most amazing woman I ever knew. They would never have thought this man was capable of what he did. I can't say if my parents would have believed me, but if they had, they would have fought tooth and nail for me. I can guarantee that.
