My family chalked it up to me just missing our family that we had just moved away from. They didn’t know that the monster was sexually abusing me. The thought is unthinkable, I was barely more than a baby. The monster had repeatedly told me that I would be in trouble if I told anyone. I was a naughty girl, a slut who wanted it. I stood in the driveway, hot blazing sun burning my skin as I leaned against the garage door. Tears ran down my face as I screamed at my entire family – “please don’t go.” But they did. I watched my entire family drive away, abandoning me to the monster. No one was going to save me. It goes black from there. But a few images remain. I’m now inside the garage crying and in pain. The monster is holding up my pink shorts to straighten them out and redress me like a baby. Again, he told me don’t tell anyone or you’ll be in trouble for being such a naughty girl. I finally did tell my mom. She said nothing. She started crying and brought me to my dad and told me to tell him what I said. Then she left. And it was never mentioned again. That is until I was a teenager full of rage beginning to understand what it all meant and that it was not ok that the monster never went to jail. I learned over years later that there were other family secrets and I better keep my mouth shut. I’ve carried the fear of abandonment, being in trouble and being a naughty girl with me for forty-six years. It permeated a lot of life decisions. Sometimes, this part of my story burned an unconscious fire in me to fly away. There was only me and it was up to me to escape this world. I shoved the memories away because they would not define me and, instead, I will become a woman who has it all. But this part of my story also burned in me deep feelings of inadequacy, self-loathing and not being worthy of love. I became
I’m always surprised when people say they don’t remember early childhood. I do. I remember parts so vividly, but so vividly that I don’t want to and I shove away the vivid memories. But shoving it all away meant shoving myself down the neck of a bottle of wine into addiction. I was maybe four years old. My hair was falling out of loose braids that my hair was too fine to stay in. I was wearing pink adidas shorts with the white stripe down the side and a tank top. It was blazing hot out. My family had just moved. My dad was buying a restaurant in this rural town. He was proud of this amazing accomplishment at 23 years old. He bought a house in such a new development that it did not have lawns. The dirt that was to become the yard had to be dug up and tilled. It was a landscape of at least a foot deep soft dirt that my brother, Timmy, and I played in. If you stepped on it, you sank in, ankle deep. I can still feel how soft it was and cold in comparison to the heat that surrounds central Washington in the summer. I often sat in the cold dirt seeking relief from the monster. It was a soothing cold while he was setting me on fire. My beloved grandparents and my dad’s four sisters came to see the new house and the new restaurant. These were the people that loved me and would protect from the monster, or so I thought. Until they made plans to go to the bar at my dad’s restaurant without kids and the monster was coming over to babysit me and Timmy. I panicked. I screamed and cried. This was unusual for me, I was a good girl - it was my brother who was the disobedient wild child. I begged them not to go.
attention and promiscuous, looking for love and reassurance in dangerous places. I did not forgive the person who did those things and I numbed the negative feelings about myself with the powerful antiseptic of alcohol. seeking That is, until I could look at the story as anyone else with compassion would. And I couldn’t do that until I out down the alcohol for good. Today, I am able to give that girl a warm hug and take her for a walk enjoying the hot sun without shame, knowing she has not abandoned herself and never will again. Love Heidi x
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