this isn’t a post to slam my parents, to tell them they failed when I was younger. this isn’t a post to cry out for help, I never tried to do that and I never will. this isn’t a post to beg for attention, everybody knows I want as little of that as possible. this is simply a post to give a voice to others who feel they don’t have it, or are too afraid to use it. this is a post to to talk about how I don’t remember a lot sometimes, and other times I painfully remember entirely too much. this is a post to talk about how my childhood was taken from me and how I’m constantly live with that.
before I get into everything, I’d like to give a quick disclaimer that I don’t want anybody from my home town to contact me and tell me how sorry they are and all that BULLSHIT, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want anybody from my hometown to go to my mother with these stories; she can read them for herself if she chooses, I don’t want anybody from my hometown to take these stories and spread them around that small little town that runs off of other peoples tragedies, I don’t want to be a part of any of it. However, If you’re from my home town and have been through similar situations, have been through the exact same situation or have been abused by any of the same people who have abused me…Please please please without hesitation reach out to me. I’d love to talk to you.
so here we go, I don’t remember my childhood.
There’s a lot that goes into this, a lot that I have to say, a lot that I don’t want to say but know I need to say it. I don’t know how this post is going to come out. I don’t have a layout or a plan in mind. I might just ramble I don’t know. This is a really hard post to write, but I have to do this.
p.s. I’m shaking as I type
I grew up in a small town in Kansas. I was planted right in the middle of Manhattan and Topeka in tiny town that I felt had nothing to offer. I think I knew from the time I was small that I needed out. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t fit it. I didn’t get along with other kids well. I was extremely smart in school, but I didn’t get along with the others, and I had a hard time feeling like I fit in. Some times I think this is just how I was supposed to be as a child, but then I think about everything that happened and I wonder if I was this way because of all of my tragedy.
I can’t remember my childhood. I remember bits and pieces. Sometimes I remember a lot and it all comes back at once and sometimes I remember nothing. To the point where somebody can be telling me a story about myself and I literally won’t remember that it ever happened when I was at an age that I should have totally remembered. This leads me to the beginning. I don’t know where it started, I don’t know when it started, I don’t know exactly how old I was. I think Kindergarten through first or second grade maybe. I think 1st was the end. Like I said. I really don’t remember the timeline of it all. Hell, I don’t remember the timeline of my life at all. So I was in kindergarten, maybe a bit smaller, and my mom sent Chloe and I to the daycare that was behind the “little park” (If you’re from St.Mary’s you know what the “little park” is) There was a small white house behind that park. It might still be there, I’m unsure, I haven’t been back in multiple years. Anyway, the small white house is where it all began. Mom took chloe and I to a woman’s house while she went to work. She ran a small daycare out of her home. Somebody I really truly believe that my mom trusted and believed in. Somebody she felt safe with chloe and I being around, but she never thought about her husband or her children. Why would she? I mean I can understand thinking about the husband being around us, and looking back I know my mother felt uneasy around that man, so I don’t know why she left us there. There was something wrong with him. He wasn’t right. He wasn’t normal. No….He never abused me. Well not sexually. He was very sadistic. I had a baby bop doll when I was little, ya know, the one from barney? She came with me everywhere, so it goes without saying that she would spend that day with me at that daycare. She was my only comfort. There were a couple times where that man would come after me and steal my baby bop and duct tape her to their living room ceiling fan and he would just sit there and watch me scream for her while he turned the fan on high and let my baby bop go around in circles. She was my only comfort in that house. All I wanted was my baby bop.
He wasn’t there all day. Sometimes he was, but usually he would just come home early from work and torture us with small things while he clearly enjoyed the look of sadness on our faces. Instead of him I had to deal with another horror while I spent my days there. His step-daughters. That’s right. After I got off the bus from school, I would walk into a house where I knew that I would be molested by two of his step-daughters until my mom came to pick me up. I could puke right now typing this. Everything on me and in me feels disgusting. I want to die a lot because of this exact feeling. It’s the worst feeling I’ve ever felt. The woman who watched me had 3 girls from a previous relationship. When I was being watched there I believe the girls were in 3rd (Maybe 4th), 5th (Maybe 6th) , and 8th grade. The two youngest are the ones that abused me.
At the time I was so small. I didn’t know any technicalities of what they were doing. I didn’t realize fully that it shouldn’t be happening even though I had the bad feeling I just thought maybe it was something that happened to everybody. Something that everybody went through. I guess I thought it was normal. I don’t know. I hate myself for not knowing how awful it was at the time. I think that’s what haunts me a lot now. The fact that I was a lot of the time letting them molest me because I knew no different. However there were a lot of times where I fought. I would yell and push and kick but their mother never came just thinking we were young kids wrestling around. They would pin me down on the ground and spit all over me until I did whatever they wanted from me. They would keep me in their room for hours and torture me until my mother showed up. And then I would walk out of the room and stay attached to my mom until she finally stopped talking and we could leave.
I don’t remember our rides home, I don’t remember what I did when I got home, I don’t remember anything other than being abused. I really don’t… no matter how hard I try I can’t remember any other part of my childhood other than being molested for a year or more. I don’t remember what I used to play with at my house, I don’t remember any special memories that other people have of me. All I remember is how different I became from the other kids. I wasn’t a child anymore. I immediately became an adult and I think even as a kid I knew that. I didn’t want to hang out with the kids in my grade. I wanted to be around my mom and all of her friends because I felt like I fit in better with older people, but even that came at a cost. This isn’t right at all, but as a child being around my mom and her friends all the time I heard a lot of stuff I shouldn’t have. Of course they didn’t think I would understand what they were saying because I was just a child, but I knew what they were talking about. I heard my mom talk about having sex with my dad to her friends, and knew everything she was telling them because I had been molested. I knew what her words meant. I would listen to the couples in the town make disgusting sexual jokes to each other thinking that a little girl like me wouldn’t have a clue what they were saying, but I knew because I had been through it already. I was never a child. I never got that luxury. I went straight into being an adult. I don’t remember and it kills me. The only small parts of my childhood that I remember are so foggy I don’t even know if it’s true or if it’s something I made up to block out the bad.
That’s another thing. My brain has worked so hard to block out some of the bad it keeps overworking and now blocks out the good too. I believe this is part of the reason I have an awful memory. My brain tried so hard to help my heart and my emotions by blocking out the bad stuff that it didn’t stop at that. It kept overworking and now blocks out whatever the fuck it wants to. Caleb has memories of us that I don’t because my brain just keeps blocking it all out. Sometimes I wonder what else happened to me that I don’t remember.
I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know what to say right now. Maybe we should all just take a few seconds to let everything I’ve said above sink in…. I was molested for an extended amount of time by two girls who knew what they were doing and still continued to take advantage of tiny little Paige.
This is going to sound so odd, but for the longest time I didn’t want to blame those girls. While hanging around the adults a couple years after all this had happened I had heard them all talk about how these girls where abused by somebody themselves. I spent years, I still spend days, where I don’t want to blame them. I want to feel sorry for them too because they had their childhood taken as well. It wasn’t just me, but they are the ones who decided to continue that pattern. And yeah, maybe they didn’t know any better, but now-a-days I like to think they did. Go back up to were I introduced these girls…..That’s right. They were grown. They knew what they were doing was wrong and they continued to abuse me, let me cry, torture me, and do the most disgusting sexual things to me. I was ruined by them and I will from this point on blame them for what they did. They don’t deserve to be given a “Get out of jail free” card when they were old enough to know that what happened to them hurt them and doing it to another human was wrong. They molested me and they deserve to be punished for it. I honestly hope their mother is reading this now and is sobbing. I hope she knows that her children ruined me and I hope the thought of that haunts her and them for the rest of their lives.
(I know I probably shouldn’t feel or think those things, but I can’t help it. That’s exactly how I feel, so I’m going to say it.)
You know what… All of this isn’t even the worst part. Nobody found out. Nobody knew. From the time my mother took me out of that daycare until my 8th grade year of school when I was raped I kept it all inside. I didn’t tell a soul. Nobody knew I had spent my days in that daycare being spit on when I wouldn’t agree to being molested and then still being molested. The worst part is that my sister was in that daycare too. I have no clue if they touched Chloe. I have no clue if she spent days being tortured when they were tired of torturing me. I don’t know what happened to her because sometimes I don’t even remember what happened to me. I know there were days when I wasn’t there and chloe was. What if they chose to take her that day because I didn’t come? What if they hurt my little sister when I wasn’t there? I still don’t know the answer to this question….I can’t make myself ask chloe. I’d probably want to kill myself if I ever found out they hurt her too. I wouldn’t even have to kill myself. My heart would probably give out right there. I think a lot of it is that I really don’t want to know even though I know I need to.
So yeah, I was raped in the 8th grade. I don’t want to talk about this a lot. In fact I don’t want to talk about it at all. All I have to say is I was blamed for my rape and treated like a slut by the whole town including my mother. It was all my fault, right? Well clearly I had had enough of feeling and being told that I was in the wrong and I finally blurted it out that my whole childhood I had been molested. And the first thing my mother did was ask if they hurt my sister… I know this is a mothers instinct to automatically worry about the next child, but what the fuck about me??? I was sitting next to her bawling and she just asked about my sister? Can somebody please fucking take two seconds to comfort the child that has spent her childhood being molested and abused and raped and then dealing with it the whole time she is trying to grow up to be normal? The next thing she asked me was “Is this why you don’t let people hug or touch you?” you think she would have put two and two together a lot sooner….I don’t think my mom intended to just brush it off, but in my eyes that’s exactly what happened. My family could probably get a gold medal in sweeping everything under the rug.
That’s essentially where it ends. I told everybody in my family that with or without them I was moving back to South Carolina. I was tired of living in a town that I felt disgusting in. I was tired of living in a town where I knew if I let my secret out everybody would shame me for it. I was tired of living my life walking around the town like that town was a holy and beautiful place. I wanted my truth to be spoken and I wanted to leave and never come back.
If you’re reading this, regardless of where you live, if you know me, or don’t know me or if you know or don’t know anybody else I’ve mentioned in this post; Please share this post. Please push the truth of St.Marys out there. Terrible things happen in that town and if a joke isn’t made out of the situation then you can damn well believe that everybody will just push it under the rug. Well I’m done living that life. This is my truth, this is my terror, this is my past, and I will not hide from it in fear of what everybody in that god forsaken town will think of me. I spent my childhood being molested, I spent the years after that living with the silence of my horror, and then I spent a night being raped and blamed for everything I let out after that. I will no longer live with this. I want everybody to know that there is no safe space. This can happen anywhere to anybody and people need to know about it and spread awareness.
It’s reported that 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys are a victim of child sexual abuse. This is disgusting. Be a voice to those who can’t be. Speak out on these issues. Let your truth be heard. And please share my truth in hopes that it will encourage another to share theirs.