My lack of faith in people developed at the impressionable age of four and continued well into my young adulthood. Not because of any act from a stranger but straight from the one who by societies standards is supposed to protect; that person was my father. 

 

Like leavening to bread so was the sin that grew in my father. Love diminished while his rage took the place of reasoning. By pushing back the correction and guidance from that small sweet voice of reasoning, bestowed on all of us as Gods children; my father left himself susceptible to grand illusions. His heart  filled with his  own will as he roamed like a beast ready to devour.

I found a refuge of goodness and strength in Gods love letter to all of us and only the pure word of God was able to do so much for my soul. I whole heartily believe that the bible is meant to keep the mind, heart, and soul grounded with goodness and justice in a world that grows in lawlessness. Yahweh’s  holy spirit gently works through molding and transforming our sinful nature into a spirit that is  in harmony with him. Rather than indulging in self he creates a new character in us that is better serving to others; this kind of power can keep the mind level through the fiery trials that behold every person living on this earth.

 

There are many of us that will proudly keep our heads up and say we are true survivors. Future generations that will have to carry the shame of what happened to them will wrestle with a crime that doesn’t make sense; grow in a world that is forever looked upon as unsafe.  As for me I try to hide the images of a decade of horrorific acts of  beatings, sexual violations, intense fear, and endless humiliation.  

The sounds of his fists to my ears, face, and head would be deafening as I cried. All I could do at that point in order to survive the assault was to ball up and absorb the blows. My inner spirit would cry out to God, and I would say …”Oh GOd”! when is he going to stop! The bolt of adrenaline rushing to my head…like lava blowing from the top of a volcano finally put an end to all of my senses and it was than I would wait on death. It was than I became immune by numbing out the events and surviving.

 His whole face and body is dark. But I think that he sensed the fear in me. As if it took him over the top past anything good. Afraid to speak,afraid to cry, for maybe I didn’t get to the remote fast enough. Or maybe he caught a glimpse of my hate towards him. Either way his assaults were always inevitable. I would never know what would trigger him. What I knew for sure is what he was capable of and what he was capable of was ruthless.


Some rest under a code of silence. Not ever wanting to talk about it. Not ever wanting to gain back the power that was cruelly taken from them by the very hands of those we wanted to trust. The harder I strive to forget , the quicker the waves of despair would darken my progress to go for the prize of feeling whole again. 

If what I went through, with all the lingering affects of my childhood trauma;stays locked within my heart, than what I went through would be out of vain. The Giant would have succeeded in robbing my voice. He would succeed in trapping me in time.

YouTube =http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtNYA4pAGjI&feature=related]

I have a memory as a little girl; this memory defined what it felt like to know what humililation meant. I was forced to go to school in fourth grade wearing a clothe diaper over my pants because I came home with a C on my report card.


He told me that if I took it off “my ass would be his”, and I believed every word. So as I slowly with head hung down I  made my way  to school and into my classroom.  I cried the loudest most painful cry of help that echoed through the halls of my school.For eight hours the teacher conducted class as if I was not there, I did not stop crying as loud and as powerful as my little heart could belt out. My peers looked down  at me as if I was an alien or a monster not of this world, heckling and pointing with their fingers they only added insult to injury. Children can be so cruel. Their laughs echoed in my heart and something in me on that day was lost forever. On that day I  “diaper lady” became the name given to me  by some who were void of understanding and ignorant to what it meant to experience abuse.I learned right than that I was not valuable. That I was not worthy of help or love and that I deserved to be humiliated that day in front of all my peers.  An educational building filled with many adults chose to turn a blind eye to my desperate cries for help.

As I left the school with my diaper still attached to my body I looked intently into every adults eyes that I could. Searching for a hint of compassion, pleading for someone to rescue me and needing someone to acknowledge me. What i saw was a veil of denial so thick a whole school of adults were under its spell.

Survival is defined as endurance, to continue, and durability. So yes I will proudly wear that S across my heart and I will wear that title proudly. To have walked into my shoes and to have experienced the degree of hate, humiliation, fear, and loss of hope for anything good to come in my life is a place I never want to visit again.

As a child I survived a domestic terrorism that would leave many lost and broken until the day they die. I  stayed awake many nights with my senses on high alert, preparing myself should my father come in and force his desires on my innocent body. He gave no mercy. He held no compassion as he jolted me from a deep sleep to satisfy “his” needs; by the cruelest and vilest of acts no child should have to experience ever. My innocence murdered and to never be felt again.

With the same aggression and hate he would use to beat me he would force me to do sexual acts that hurt and scarred and robbed me of self-respect. The details are horrific, the forced acts are traumatic, and the scars are with me for a lifetime.

Many night I would force back my tears.  I held back the screams within my little body that wanted out. If I cried or screamed he would beat me. With every disgusting movement of his organ penetrating deeper and deeper into my little fame I would faint from the pain. I bled and hurt for days not even being able to comfortably go to the bathroom for the stinging pain would remind me of the night before. Only prolonging the shame.

 

My little developing mind had no chance in preventing this profound emotional scarring that would carry with me for the rest of my life. I have accepted the fact that my mind was conditioned through fear,agony, and utter humiliation. I don’t like feeling so desolate inside that I use the rest of my life by existing and not living. If I choose to hide in the safety of my room and  refuse to let the light shine on my struggles, weaknesses, and hardships due to my childhood abuse than I might as well stop eating and wait to die.

 

“Defeat may serve as well as victory To shake the soul and let the glory out.
When the great oak is straining in the wind,
The boughs drink in new beauty, and the trunk
Sends down a deeper root on the windward side.
Only the soul that knows the mighty grief
Can know the mighty rapture. Sorrows come
To stretch out spaces in the heart for joy.”
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