CHAPTER TWO

The first recollection that I have of any sexual abuse was
when I was nine years old, but prior to that I have no real
memories of any other events, so for my own piece of mind...
nine was when it started.
At first I guess it was innocent enough, after all as a child
you tend to look at your "Daddy" as some sort of hero. So an
extra hug, that extra kiss on the mouth, any extra attention
doesn't send any bells or whistles going off. You just think to
yourself how special you are that Daddy spends so much
attention on you. What a lucky little girl you must be. An extra
special dress, an extra special Barbie doll, and extra special
hugs and kisses. I especially thought that I was getting all of
this wonderful attention to having to be in and out of Doctors
office and hospitals so much, and I guess the other family
members must have thought the same as well.
My Mother had just become ill during the start of this period
in my life. She was a wonderfully sweet woman, and appeared
so beautiful to me with her auburn hair and bright green eyes,
so full of love and laughter, who while at work one afternoon
fell from a chair that broke beneath her, crashing her down on
the concrete floor. She destroyed several discs in her back, and
would have to under go several back surgeries and spinal
fusion's to repair the damage and ease the pain throughout the
next few years. She was put on a lot of medications to help her
deal with her pain. There were many times I had to see my
Mother lying in the bed with her legs being held up by a
contraption, so that she could not roll over. She would just have
to lay on her back, and only get up long enough to go to the
bathroom.
Unfortunately, she was never the same after all that she had
been through, and had permanent back stiffness and pain and
was finally disabled from work .
It was also during these times while Mom was in the hospital,
there was extra chores put upon me. My brother and sister were
a little young yet to handle a lot of the responsibilities : there
was dinner to cook so that Dad could come home, eat, and go
to visit Mom in the hospital. There was laundry to wash so that
we had clean clothes for school, and dishes and vacuuming to
do, none of which I minded doing as it made me feel like such
a "big" girl.. A young "mommy", that years later I would realized
maybe I was a "young mommy" in too many ways.
I can not honestly tell you when the innocent feelings went
away and the scared and confused feelings started setting in,
but somewhere in my tenth year, I knew something was not
right. Dad was becoming too nice, there where too many touches
that didn't feel like nice touches. Too many times having him
touch me in places that my mom had told me that no one was
to touch unless you're washing yourself. I had one too many
bouts with fevers where he had to check my temperature under
my blouse...
It was during this time that I was a becoming a portly little
thing, and food was becoming a dear friend of mine. I loved to
eat...though more times than not I am sure it wasn't out of
hunger. I look back at it all now and I have come to realize that
I ate to become heavy, and even in my young mind I wanted to
look bad - that if I looked bad, perhaps my Father would leave
me alone. Deep down even as young as I was, I knew what was
happening in my life did not feel right by any respect.
I started writing poetry, it helped to jot down on paper the
feelings I had. The poetry was dark and foreboding…but it was
my only outlet.
I started clinging to my Mother more and more, and going
to my Grandma's house as often as she and my Papa would let
me, every weekend and every summer, if I could. It was also
the time that I found my first "best" friend, Kelly Jenkins.
Kelly lived down the street from me and though she was
two years younger, was probably a lot more mature than I was.
If I wasn't begging to go to Grandma and Papa's house, then I
was begging to go to Kelly's till my Mom would give in and let
me go.
It was at Grandma's that I could just be a little girl. I
could play with my dolls, sing songs with my Grandma, eat
fresh Peaches with my Papa, play with my cousins, and have
no fear of anyone or anything hurting me. My Papa would
protect me and make me feel secure. I could get a hug from
him, and didn't have to be afraid of what he might do… Kelly's
house would offer me happiness and laughter with someone
around my age, we could play dress up, play our records, talk
about boys and laugh.
By escaping to someone else's house I could forget what
was happening at home. I was becoming too much of an adult
in my own home. I could just be me and enjoy being a kid
when I was outside of it...and being away from home meant
being away from the unpleasant things that were my daily life.
No one knew the deep and dirty secrets that lay inside of my
house, so when I was outside of its four walls... I could pretend
like they didn't exist, and that the things happening to me didn't
really happen.