The Molested Will Always Live in Fear

Today I sit here writing as a grown woman and a mother of three beautiful daughters. I pretend to live a perfect life and a perfect family. There are days that I fall back into what I know, which is denial of anything wrong that could be happening. Some say that I am a positive thinker and have the right attitude, but sometimes I don't want to pretend. I remember how deceptive man can be by what I was shown by my own male figure since I was born. It has haunted me and clouded my judgements that I am still not sure if I would be able to recover from the molestation I received from my biological father. The scars run deep and are unforgettable.

As long as I could remember, my father had snuck into my room at night while I slept and would kiss me and touch my private parts. For years I would have never been able to utter those words. I would be given gifts in trade for my silence. My father would tell my mother things that would forced her to be mad at me. As a young girl, I thought I couldn't tell my mother anything because she hated me. It was pure deception and as I grew older I realized how manipulated I was. It was always a negotiation with my dad. I kept his secret all the way until I was 15 years old. He would always accuse other people of trying to molest me, but I couldn't help to think why he would do that when it was him who was doing it all along. I remember when he would force me to sing a song that quoted "I love you no matter what you do" which I believe was the lyrics to a Care Bear song, over and over that I thought for sure that my dad is crazy. At age seven I would fantasize of moving out and leaving this place forever. When commercials would come on about child molestations, I would sing and dance in front of it as if I was doing my job to keep the secret better. Then as I got older, my mother finally purchased a lock for my room. She thought she was protecting me because deep down she had known what was happening. The locked never worked because no matter...my father found a way. I was like a drug to him and there was no stopping him. I am sure my mother knew because after he would be done touching me...they would have an incredible romantic night with each other. It made me sick to my stomach because my father and mother did not think that I was aware. Denial was bliss to them. The more they were in denial, the happier the family unit was. So it was my job to keep it a secret so the family could be happy. Oh how I was wrong. I knew deep down that after he got his kicks with me he would take it with him to finish the job with his wife.

It got worse over the years when I finally grew in breasts and pubic hair was apparent. I was becoming a woman and my father became even more possessive of me. I was not allowed to even speak to a male, even if it was about homework. It was torture because the never ending excuses was running thin. A boy would call my house and ask for me. If my father answered he would tell them I was not there and to never call again. I would have to explain to my male friends that my father was just so protective and not to mind him. I had to grow thick skin and not be embarrassed by it. If my mother answered a male phone call, she would hand me the phone and let me speak. Then my father would tell my mother that he suspects I was doing something bad with him, then I would get lectured and punished for what I could have done with that boy. I learned real fast that I should keep all male communication to a minimum and, yet again, another secret. I was never allowed to spend the night at my friends house because my father feared of me getting raped by my friends father. It was so hypocritical and I grew angry and tired to his craziness/sickness. One day, I had a crush on a boy at school. I wanted to spend time with that boy. My father came looking for me as if I had ran away or done something horrible. I was sitting at a park, after school, just having a simple conversation with this boy. My father screeched down the park and pulled me by the hair and threw me into the car. I kept asking him as to what is wrong. "Why are you doing this?" I screamed. He could never tell me, but he was enraged. It was like as if he just caught his wife cheating on him. I never spoke to that boy again and was embarrassed out of my mind. I didn't know how to explain that one. I knew, however, that it had to stop when I turned 15. His "secret" and jealousy became so out of control that I finally came out and told my mother. Straight up and blatantly in her face. She cried and sent me to her brother where I was treated like a servant for their house. She did not care about my school and unenrolled me. Soon after, I found out I was being sent to another country and there was nothing I could do about it because I was a minor. I got on that plane thinking "how am I going to live in another country, I was born in California?"

I found comfort, though, that I was finally free from my father and his extreme abuse, but I couldn't help but wonder if it was all my fault. I was treated as if I did something wrong. I felt as though I had been deported to another country like a criminal, but I was the victim. At that moment, I chose to live my life to the fullest. I cherish my body like it was a temple of good and accepted knowledge as a gift. I learned to speak the other country's language and learned to drive on my own. I was completely alone with an allowance of $400 a month sent to me by my mother. It was tough, but I found solace in working out at an Americanized gym in an international hotel and met good people along the way. I tutored English for extra money and lived in Southeast Asia for over a year at age 15 and returned at 16 1/2 years of age. I lived sparingly and cherished each day. I was learning how to be free and independent at the same time...being so young still.

I had came to realize that not every man was a liar and an uncontrollable abusive jerk, but I was always suspicious. I made many new friends, most of them men. I returned to America and could not believe that I found my mother and father living life as if nothing ever happened. Out of guilt, I gave them that gift to live their lives out as if nothing happened. I promise to myself I would not allow this to happen to my children. I continue to pretend and did nothing, said nothing. Years past and I married. I gave birth to three daughters. I was always so scared of my children being near my father, but no one knew of this secret. How could I prevent my daughters of getting abused without exposing the fact that it happened to me? Denial got the best of me and before I was able to prevent it, my father had abused my youngest daughter when she was an infant.

I felt as though my entire world came tumbling down and my anger grew immense. I reported to the police and told them about my sister as well. I was determined to put my father in jail. His abuse spread to everything I love. My middle and youngest daughter was touched. My oldest denies that anything happen to her. My sister was touched and my cousins were too. "If I had only stopped it when I returned to America." I would think to myself. When I told the officials, my father fled to the other country. Til this day, he is not caught, but the FBI and Local officials are awaiting for his return. My emotions just burst in uncontrollable waves of suspicious, doubt, guilt, pain, low self esteem, depression. You could pretty much name it all. "How could I have allowed this to happen?" I ask myself over and over.

My logic and love for my children forced me to pick up my two feet and move forward. Move forward for them. Protect them...my children. I tell myself to not be like my mother and do all that I could do.

Today, my children are safe from my father. As the years past, I grow suspicion of my own husband. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night checking on him and my daughters. I have this strange intuition (or scars) of believing that my husband in touching my girls. My husband tells me it is from the abuse of my father (as the symptoms are there). I have continued to torture myself by being over protective and not sleeping at night. I never allow my husband any alone time with my daughters and during angry moments I have accused him of doing heinous things. My youngest daughter demonstrates mood swings and bladder infections on a regular basis. I instantly draw conclusions of sexual abuse, but neglect to focus on the fact that she doesn't drink enough water. I am not sure if I would ever heal. It has been an ongoing struggle to retrain my brain. I don't know if I would ever be free of the ongoing suspicion, even though I love my husband very much. I almost tried to end our marriage in fear that I am doing what my mother had done to me. I could never afford professional help so I find self help books and articles. I still wonder if it has helped, yet.

I write this to expose the scars of abuse, no matter how small. I see it in my own children. Even though their occurences was not often - I see how it has affected them permanently. I punish myself for not doing a better job and for being in denial when I should have faced reality. Doing the best that I can to protect my children - I ended up passing on my own scars and bad denial behaviors that I learned as a child. Sexual abusers, no matter how skilled, are unstoppable no matter what they say or pretend to do. They are good at what they do and have been practicing their craft. It is up to us to to put a stop to these kind of abuses by not placing these actions into denial or down playing it. I know I may live in regret, but I could only pray that my grandchildren will be protected and my children will learn to forgive me for not doing something about it sooner and pick up their feet to live a trusting, positive life. I pray for all victims and wait till the day my father will actually be locked up - as he still runs free today.