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wanipala · 5 years ago

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Break the Cycle.

***TRIGGER WARNING: Child Abuse, Sexual Abuse, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety***

At 22, many things have been triggering my PTSD and anxiety. However, Vanessa Guillen’s case has triggered me differently. It urged me to be vocal.

I spoke nothing about this in public, except for in writing one day as an instagram story, but I never went into this much detail.

At 8 years old, I was sexually abused by a man that was my family friend for years. He had two kids - a girl and boy that were younger than me and we would go to each other’s house frequently. It was always a weekly playdate and we were very, VERY close to their family.

Things started to take a turn when my family was house, and the uncle came over to help my mom with something. His wife and two kids went to Sri Lanka for a couple weeks so he started spending more time at our house. My mom, myself and the uncle were at the dining table and the uncle eyed me to look down towards his feet, and his dick was whipped out. I obviously didn’t know what it was so I laughed, but he put his finger on his mouth to hush. Mind you, my mother was there, and didn’t notice what was happening. She went to the kitchen to look after her cooking, and he pulled me towards him, and made me close my eyes and lifted me on his lap…. I quickly jumped and ran away, thinking we were BOTH being playful. Reminder: I am 8 years old.

School was starting and my elementary school was literally a couple yards from my house, but my dad insists on dropping me off via car. My mother works early in the morning, so my dad has the duty of dropping my sisters and I to school. My sisters’ schools are further away, so my dad told me to stay home until he drops them off. It takes about 45 minutes for him to come home.

One day, while my dad was dropping off my sisters, I was watching tv and the doorbell rang. My parents, as usual, told me to never answer the door, but I peeked through the window to see who it was. It was the uncle, so of course, I opened the door. He wasn’t a stranger. He came in asking if my dad or mom was home. I said no. He started to act strange, and even my 8 year old self noticed. He walked upstairs into every room and checked if there was anyone there. He never usually goes upstairs, but I just thought nothing of it and kept watching Spongebob.

He came downstairs and plopped right next to me. He started brushing my hair with his fingers, caressing my back, and not looking at the tv, but just me. It felt awkward, but my eyes were just looking at the tv. He took my hand and placed it on his crotch, and started working my hand against his pants. I, again, thought, it was weird, but eh ya know. Reminder: I am 8 years old.

He got up and said “Okay, I’m leaving. Thaththi (Dad) is coming home, right?” and I just said yes and he left. Dad came home. I said nothing, and off we went to school.

The next day, the same routine of my dad dropping my sisters happened. Uncle came again, and I opened the door. He did his rounds of checking around the house, and again, sat next to me. My outfit today was my favorite! - a short flowy suede skirt that I called my cowgirl skirt, and a light pink shirt. UNCLE BECAME BOLD TODAY. He started caressing my cheek and then, his hand went to my thigh. Slowly, it started going up under my skirt. I knew this wasn’t normal because as he paused and put his finger to his mouth and said, “Shh, don’t tell ammi or thaththi.” That was weird to hear - an uncle telling an 8 YEAR OLD not to say something to their parents? Hm, okay let me just go back to Spongebob. His hand started going up to my underwear, and now began to rub his finger over my underwear, against my vagina. Wtfwtfwtf. He now unbuckled his pants, pulled down the zipper, and pulled out his dick, and he started rubbing it with his other hand. Spongebob really is coming clutch these past two days. All of a sudden he got up, and went to the bathroom. From where I am sitting, I have a view of the bathroom. He goes inside the bathroom, opens the door, and keeps it wide open. He started peeing (I think….bc I never saw anyone pee standing because ya know REMINDER: I am 8 years old). As he was peeing, he never stopped staring at me. I was just thinking how someone was peeing standing as I saw him, but I just went back to watching tv. He finished up, and said he’s going, and left.

I knew it was wrong. Dad came home. I said nothing. I picked up my bookbag and left for the day….

It went on and on for a couple days. Different day, but similar situation.

One specific day, he came and did his searches, sat not next to me, but kneeling down right in front of me. He unbuckled his pants and took his dick out and started kissing me on the lips. He was slipping his tongue between my small lips. My eyes were glued to the tv. He pulled away from his forceful kiss, and made me look at him and put his finger to his mouth and said “sh”. I knew it was wrong now. He took my hand and wrapped it around his dick and put his hand around mine and started stroking it. He kept going and then he stopped, paused, got up, went to the bathroom, and took a bunch of tissues, and came back to me. He started wiping the floor and I looked down and by that time, he already cleaned it up. You can assume what it was.

I knew that day was completely wrong, and I should tell my dad something. How the hell am I going to bring this up? Uncle came and kissed me? No No No, but I didn’t know what to say. Uncle left. Dad came. I told my dad, “Uncle came over. I don’t know why.” That was all I could really say. I couldn’t wrap my 8 year old brain to what I was touching, what he was wiping, or what he was doing. My dad called him and the Uncle picked up and Dad asked if he was at the house. Then, my dad said “oh okay” and said “come whenever” and cut the phone. I asked what the uncle said. He said he had to pick up tools from the shed….

I picked up my stuff and went to school.

The next day, he rang the bell. I jumped up, took the phone and ran upstairs and stopped halfway and looked back to make sure it was him. I could see him from the small window on top of the door. He saw me. I ran. I didn’t do this because I was scared of what he will do to me today. I ran because I was scared he was going to yell at me for telling my dad he came over. I was so scared. I just called my mom. She said hello and I said “hello, what are you doing?” She said “nothing, why?” I said “No nothing, just bored. Okay byeeeee”. I was just trying to get my head to stop thinking about the uncle. He eventually left.

The day after that he came and my ass, of course, opened the door. In my head, I was like, okay let me just take the yelling. He didn’t yell. He had other priorities. He sat next to me and did more things I can’t wrap my head around writing right now. I will never know when I will utter the words to the rest, because it is too traumatic and graphic.

One situation left me wanting to get out. I wanted to leave the house, so I didn’t have to see him. I decided to break the cycle slightly. My dad was going to drop my sisters, and I asked one of them if I could come to drop them because I didn’t want to be home. From then on, I began going on rides to drop them off.

What sucked is I have to be around during family functions and parties. He always tried to do things to me during a party where I was supposed to have fun with all the kids in the attic, but I was instead, in a bathroom alone with him.

I wanted to get out of this type of lifestyle so badly. I just didn’t know how.

The last day he tried to continue mentally abuse my 8 year old self was when he came over to eat lunch. He was seated at the dining room table. My sister and I were on the couch across from him. I was pretending to read a book, and I looked up and he was staring at me. He put his finger against his lips and pointed upstairs to the bathroom. He was trying to tell me to go to the bathroom, so he can come. I covered my face with the book and I was nervously smiling. My sister asked “Did he do something to you?” I just hesitated and nodded yes. She got up screaming for my mom and dad and threw her book and went past him, to the kitchen. I just heard screaming from my sister and my dad ran out of the kitchen and stared at him, eyes wide, to the uncle. I knew this was the end.

That night I had to explain details to my mom while laying in bed. I didn’t know how to say things. Some things that I said, got her upset and she had to walk away. I stopped myself from saying details because her reaction was more and more upsetting. I just told her as much as I thought I should tell and stopped.

The unfortunate part is I had to repeat this story to the police, multiple times, with different individuals. They had to re-enact the story in front of me each time. They kneeled down and said “Okay, he was like this and then what?” It was so weird for me to explain. Then, I had to be in a room with two men and they questioned me. That was the last part that I remember.

I had to be put in therapy along with my sisters. I didn’t speak much, but eventually therapy ended. It didn’t help. My family stopped attending parties, hosting parties, family functions or attending any group settings. We went from the family who was extremely social to the family who was the most isolated.

I had walked in rooms where the adults and my parents were explaining everything that happened. I got upset each time. They would stop the conversation and tell me to go play with the kids. One day, I rummaged through my parents room and found a glimpse of our story in the newspaper. I walked in on my mom calling the uncle’s wife to tell her what happened while she was in Sri Lanka.

That’s the last I heard. I don’t know what happened to him. I know the wife moved to a different state with her kids. To this day, I frequently look her up to check where she lives. I still try to contact her, but to no avail. It is some of the responses I have to my anxiety. I try to search his name up and absolutely nothing comes up. I want to meet him, just to talk. Again, it’s another response to my anxiety.

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The repercussions were unsettling for me. I went from being the ‘chatterbox’ of the family to the silent one in public settings. I was scared to be around too many men. I had fears of walking alone and being alone in public. I was scared of relationships or bonds that could be ruined.

Also, when this became public in the Sri Lankan community on the island, a lot of aunties and uncles didn’t believe us. They believed we were just trying to get him deported. They were not shy in voicing their opinions. It was strange to think a child would lie about all this. Weird ass flex for these aunties and uncles.

But, life goes on. Trauma does fuck me up, but I live with it and go about my day. But it is NOT okay. The amount of people who I know who had some sort of sexual assault, is insane. We are living in a culture where you keep this shit hush hush for reputation, but FUCK THAT. Sons have to be taught what is not okay, and how they should treat females. Females do not have to dress or act a certain way, so your son isn’t tempted. How was I supposed to act when I was eight? Teach your son how to act. Teach your daughters to speak up. Open the space to allow your daughters and sons to have open conversations with you. If you notice that your son is acting inappropriately, call him out. If not, YOU are the problem.

It’s unfortunate that Vanessa had to go to such an extent of having a nationwide outcry, for officials to do something. Even then, they did the bare minimum. I am not allowing us to do the bare minimum for people we know. To my strong ass females, you will NOT be silenced. To the men, your poor judgements and character will not be HUSHED.

Be more vocal against your friends, uncles and aunties who are sexually harassing, assaulting, abusing and speaking against any females.

Break that cycle.

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