The Confession They All Hoped I'd Never Make

No one in my family will be happy with what I am about to write. Those who believe my story and have heard it whispered behind closed doors will wonder why, now, after 30 years I want to put it out there for the world. Others, who already tell their lies and gossip about me will believe this is just another prevarication made up for attention or to personally hurt them. To the former family, if you don't understand why I need to speak up and try and share my story with others, I'm sorry. Its something I need to get out, I need to talk about this as part of my mental health journey. Whispers and secrets make my story incomplete and if I ever want to help others I need to be open about the experiences I have lived. To the latter family members, I have nothing to say, you will continue to warp reality as you see fit, my truths won't slow down your tide of hatred.

For me childhood was a sad and hectic experience, my parents separated and while my father retained custody he was unable to take care of us. For a number of years we moved between staying with an aunt or our grandmother. I can not speak for my sister and brother′s feelings through these years, but for me they were lonely and esteem crushing. I spent my "home" time looking out for my siblings, I was respectively 5 and 6 years older than them and felt it was my job to show them love and affection. I tried to shield them from the harsh reality of living with out parents and feeling like a burden to others. School holidays were a fun time as we would go "out bush" with an aunt, uncle to stay in a gorgeous bush shack with them and their children.

We lived in hand me downs and school ports which were old and ratty. Told more than once how lucky we were that any family member wanted us and how we owed these people for caring for us. I cooked, cleaned and took care of my cousins in an attempt to feel useful and pull my weight. I worried about my siblings, almost obsessed with their well being. At school I was quiet, shy, and when I did open my mouth something weird would no doubt come out. I made very few friends, and was the easy target for name calling and exclusion. By the time I hit prepubescence victim was all but stamped across my forehead.

I may have been timid and scared but I was however, also an absolute master at hiding my feelings, my secret was to eat whenever I felt sad, mad, frightened, nervous. Because of the tendency to eat my feelings I was over weight, which gave another blow to my self esteem. My aunt often went to bingo with our nan or else retired to bed early. I was older than the other children and allowed to stay up later, my uncle worked late and would eat dinner after the other children were in bed. Everything started very innocently, my uncle would ask about my day, school, friends, I eagerly opened up pleased that someone seemed to care. He let me raid the pantry for chips and lollies, it was our secret, my little late night treat.

Eventually he asked about boyfriends, I didn't have any, he told me I was pretty without saying it was a shame about my weight, something no one ever did. The first time I remember feeling uneasy was when I hurt my knee at school. My uncle insisted on rubbing it to make it feel better, his hand massaged my knee for a few seconds before starting to move up my thigh. I muttered that wasn't my knee, my uncle told me the muscles were all connected. He massaged high up on my thigh but convinced me it was no where he shouldn't be touching.

His touch had made me uncomfortable, but like any well groomed, emotionally starved child I didn't want to upset the one person who was nice to me. I wasn't even sure if he had done anything really wrong. This seemed to be the moment everything changed, no not changed, escalated, I don't know if my uncle knew now I would keep quiet and got bolder or if he just couldn't resist the pretty but chubby emotionally wounded girl who was unconfortably wearing her first training bras. 

Suddenly I needed to flash my boobs to get my little late night treat, my uncle would follow me to the bathroom when I needed to go to the toilet, or need to come in and get something while I showered. I even once saw him in the backyard staring up at the window while I showered. Boob flashes turned into boob feels, I didn't even want the treats anymore but I took them and I ate them because what else could I do. If I told anyone would they believe me? It was probably my fault anyway right?

The bathroom door didn't lock, I was so proud when I worked out a way to open the linen cupboard to prevent the bathroom door from being opened. This lasted a couple of weeks till my aunt told me I couldn't keep locking the door that way as I would ruin the cupboard. I began to make sure I showered before he got home from work, and even tried going to bed early. I began to feel a little safer, thinking if I minimised the alone time with him all was good. Then one night I awoke to my uncle standing there watching me sleep in the top bunk, "shh go back to sleep" was all he said.

Now I wasn't even safe when I went to bed, in a room with his own children or my siblings in it. I would wake up many nights with him standing over me, sometimes just watching, sometimes he would run his fingers over my pubic mound, mostly over my panties, but sometimes inside. I was up late one night playing computer games, my aunt was home but I didn't realise she had gone to bed. My uncle came into the lounge room and approached the chair I was sitting in from behind. I knew from my peripheral vision something wasn't right but I was too scared to actually turn and look.

When he was standing beside me he told me to turn my head and look, I did as I was told and saw his erect penis, he wanted me to touch it, he forced my hand onto it then asked if I would put it in my mouth, I said no and got teary. I'm not sure what broke the spell for him, my tears or the fear of being caught but he quickly put his penis away apologising and begging me not to tell his wife. I was so scared I promised not to tell. This is the worst of what happened to me, I learnt to look out for myself. Sleep light, the sooner I woke up the sooner he would stop touching me and go back to his room at night time. Never putting my hand up for a room with no one else sleeping in even though I was the oldest. I even encouraged my youngest cousin to share a bed with me feeling safer when someone else was there with me.

Once while family was visiting I gathered up enough courage to tell a cousin a little older than me what was happening. We at the stereo, choosing music I think, we were alone in the room and I took the chance to open up. I'm not sure if I thought she would be able to help, but I didn't want to be alone in knowing this secret anymore. "XXXX shows me his penis, he asked me to put it in my mouth." Her response was to laugh and tell me it was no big deal. I felt betrayed, and this was when I realised I really was all alone in my nightmare.

In time Dad got himself together and we went back to live with him and his new girlfriend not long after I started high school. I was relieved to be living somewhere else, no longer needing to be vigilant when I went to the toilet or sleep under sheets even when it was too hot to be covered. I still didn't tell anyone what had happened to me, instead I started finding ways to skip family events and embraced being the weird fat girl with low self esteem, you know the one no one wanted to kiss.

I was unable to avoid a cousins birthday party, it was one of my uncle's daughters, in silent protest I turned up late, very late. My uncle dragged me out onto the front stairs and admonished me for having no family spirit. I stood there in fear stuttering answers as he told me how selfish and rotten I was, as soon as possible I ran away to wish my cousin a happy birthday. After that I attended family events, staying as physically far away from my uncle as I could.

I was nineteen and living out of home before I told another person, this time I told my mother, in a drunken midnight on new years eve phone call. I don't remember how the subject came up, but I do remember her asking if anyone had ever touched me inappropriately, so I told her. She told my father and a few days later (even though they had been divorced for years) the three of us sat down and talked about it. My father was furious and close to violence, I however did not want to upset my grandmother, so we decided to keep it quiet.

While the sexual abuse I suffered is not as bad as it could have been, it has still left behind a highly damaged person. It took years for me to view sex as something attached to love and affection. It took me years to learn I could say no to men. It took me years to trust being alone with a man. There were men who I thought were friends who took the first opportunity to get me in bed, proving once again that men were not to be trusted. I was hyper vigilant around those of the opposite sex, I still am, I don't feel safe around men I don't know and I am often uncomfortable around those I do.

I am scared to sleep at night, tossing and turning, waking at every noise, I suffer night terrors, severe anxiety and major depression along with emotional dysregulation, the first few symptoms are a culmination of a tough childhood and hectic life. The last one appears in those of us who have not been shown emotional security and healthy ways to express ourselves as children. My uncle isn't the only hardship my childhood or early adult life saw, but he is one of the big ticket items. What he did is unacceptable, abhorrent and wrong. He has left me with scars on my soul which I may never be able to completely heal. 

My grandmother can no longer comprehend the world around her so I know my childhood confession can not upset her. My father has passed but I am sure he would stand behind me as I finally feel brave enough to tell my story. I don't know if anyone took the time when I was growing up to find out why I acted out, I don't know if other adults in my family knew what was happening (though I truly hope not), and I really don't know how he lives with himself. Did he ever see me as a person, a child? Did he care about the damage he was causing? Will everyone run to his (unnamed) aide? (I expect they will).

Those are all good questions right? I deserve the answers right? You know which question I really want answered though, the one that keeps me awake at night? Well its pretty simple. What exactly made me less worthy of a happy and safe childhood in his eyes?