HarlemLIVE

It wasn’t a mistake. I am not a mistake. That tragic time in my life I won’t ever forget because I can’t forget. All you learn is how to deal. It happened. It’s in the past. It’s something that seems to have a hold over me. A hold that lets me forget but on my skin it leaves a stain of imperfection. Does that Imperfection describes me? When people say “if you don’t know your past, you won’t know your future,” what does that mean for me? Is it my actions? Is it my resistance? What was done to me? The strength I learned because I lacked it then. As a child I was, I say in my defense. But now I am a teenager. I know the error now that I am older. Why did I not know this in the past? That now I am stronger? Well hooray and three cheers for the one - me! Who ran away but never confronted the enemy. That person is a male. This person the torturer is a he. A male. But not just one, it is two men.

The crime. Heartbreak. Distrust. Unlawful force[KO3] . This is the theme song to the end of a childhood. It is the definition of violation. It was the dictator of my disgust of the opposite sex. It destroys. It creates an unsafe space. It kept me in misery. It’s a picture of stained thighs. Blood .To other little girls this is the time for wishes of death. A Recurring Pain that’s endless until I become lost in the blood. But escaping is not as easy as walking out the front door for a 7 year old. Oh how I wish I had the strength like so many other little girls. But without knowing, my not running away had made me into so many other females in my family. In my mother’s childhood on my island they hushed the little girls’ screams and cries and wiped their tears and kept “the accident” a secret. This crime caused an Infectious hate. This crime was Molestation. Raped by those who said they were family.

Here now are my questions. Why did this thing happen to me? When did I ever show I wanted that? When was I ever asked to give up my body? Why wasn’t I asked? Why? Why me? What does this mean? That I am special? Is it because I was the perfect one, the perfect victim to be doomed? Am I the perfect victim because I kept my mouth shut and head down low?

Now I am at a place where I am a problem that will never be solved. It’s not seen clearly to the naked eye. But the problem is there. It stays in me locked away in what psychologists say is a suppressed memory. This memory is not just a thing of the past. It is a part of me. This problem is I because I will forever be screwed up emotionally. I won’t be able to connect to those who have never experienced the pain to know what I am going through inside. As alone as I am, I won’t let anyone in. I can’t. I am still stuck in that mentality of fear; it consumes my confidence and lowers my self-esteem.

This moment in my childhood is a platter of harsh realities forced down my throat. But I made it. I gulped down my fears and learned to speak up when time calls for it. From this I must move on after 11 years, but even now it impacts me. Though I remember every moment of the treachery done by my stepbrothers, I had to learn to cope. I am more guarded, but this prepares me look at every male and female from different perspectives and not judge them by the obvious.