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Sometimes, life isn't always what it seems. I know most people are aware of that. Do you believe that "everything happens for a reason"? I do—oddly enough, despite all the bad things that happened to me when I was a child... Yes, even the bad things. I know it is what made me who I am. I realize that I have issues. I know sometimes I get upset over the small things, I cry when I get too angry, I lose hours of sleep because of my insomnia or whatever. But these are all things that make us human. Want to know something about me? Good or bad? We will start with bad. Hope that is okay...
I was molested by three different men from the ages 5-11. Of course around that age, I knew no better. I just knew I was hurt. I used to have a "wetting the bed" problem, mostly because I was afraid to get up to use the bathroom because then he would know I was awake and would look for any excuse to come to my room.. Not that it stopped him from doing it anyways. And yes, my mom took me multiple times to a hospital to see if anything was wrong with me, but nothing was actually ever wrong. Truth is, I don't feel like I had a father at that point. He was mean and abusive, not just to me, but my mom. But she never knew... Even when she made me promise that if anybody ever touched me, I would tell her. That was the first promise I ever broke...
I remembered playing with my cousins in good olé' Toledo, Ohio. I am pretty sure we were living with my grandparents (on his side of the family). Wasn't sure why really, but maybe it was financial issues... Anyways, he would pull me away from playing with my cousins, all the way down to the basement, just to "play with me" in an abnormal way a father should play with his daughter. I remember that day most vividly, simply because I was having fun and he took that fun away from me just to hurt me.
After years of living between Ohio and Indiana, we moved to Oklahoma. How? Well, see, my aunt (at the time) became a truck driver, traveled around the country, and she fell in love with the great plains of the big OK. She asked us to move down there so that is exactly what we did. We moved down there, in a crappy, basically one bedroom house. Come to think of it, it was a good thing, I thought. There wasn't much room for privacy which meant he couldn't touch me.. At least I had hoped... But instead, he took me to the woods on bike rides, and touched me anyways. I was sad because my brothers always wanted to come and he never let them, and deep down I knew why. I felt disgusted... At 11-years-old, I felt disgusted.
But soon, some changes had been made, something happened about a computer they sent in to get fixed, and child pornography was found.. So maybe you can guess what happened from there?
Yes, a few cops cars showed up at our crappy house. We watched as they pulled my mom and "him" into a cop car, arrested of course. Me and my brothers just cried. Seeing my mom get arrested was and still is one of the most painful things to see. So carrying on, they handed us each a typical, black garbage bag to grab a few select things to take with us. We were sent to a shelter for three long weeks. The shelter was okay, the food was good, people seemed nice.
Soon foster care followed. They split us up, two in one home, two in another. And it was insanely and emotionally hard. It hurt my heart more than anything, I felt like I was being torn away from them. I love my brothers more than anything in the world (I hope they still know that). I only got to see two of them for months at a time. I actually begged my foster mom to take them in, and eventually she did when she had the room. It wasn't an easy process, but it was worth it. I know she loved us all and wanted what was best for us. We were there for just about four years. Of course we wanted to go back to our mom at some point and finally after all the visits, all the tears and goodbyes, we went home.
I might get into the better things another time. There were obviously bad things between all the worst things, or vice versa, whichever makes more sense to you. But that is a taste of my life, just a teeny tiny drop. I hope that other men and women come out to tell their story(s). It's helpful to speak out. There is no need to be ashamed. After all, you couldn't control what happened to you. I know it seems embarrassing, and it some ways it most definitely is, but you're a victim... I am a victim. So let's talk. We can share stories. Good ones and the bad ones...