Untypically Jia

It was supposed to be to protect me.
That’s what they said.

Taken from my home by my own extended family.
They said it wasn’t safe there anymore.
They didn’t know how safe it really was compared to where they took me.
They said I would be moving to California with my aunt in two months.

It would take two months for her to come and get me.

Two months was too long.

I’d known him all my life. He was practically an uncle.

His home was where we lived those two long months.

A transitional home before I’d move to the west coast.
Half of the time I was picked up from school by my aunt, and the other half by him.
It only took two weeks before he trapped me in the car.
Child proof locks.”Poor girl,” He said.
“Dead mother, absent father.
Growing up being raised by working aunts, and an ill Grandmother.
Certainly she knows nothing about the ways of the world.”I needed to be taught. Who else would teach me?

Those were the lies he told himself–and me.

“If I don’t show you, you could end up getting hurt.”

I wasn’t stupid.

But I was too scared to move.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

I had been taught very young that women in our family had been attacked, raped, molested and beaten before.

It was why you never got into a stranger’s car.
It was why you never let yourself be alone with a boy.
It was why you were supposed to run.But this wasn’t a stranger.
But this wasn’t a boy.
And there was no where to run.He never touched me again after that day. Once was enough.
One sip of liquor to keep the raging alcoholic at bay.
And he knew I wouldn’t tell.
Why would I? I had to live there for another month and a half. If I said anything, it might happen again.
He said I’d be safe if I didn’t talk.

His son said the same thing later that night.

I silently cried myself to sleep.
So when I woke later that night, my eyes were swollen and puffy. It took me a minute before I could focus.
He was only two years older than me.
But the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.He made no excuses. Not like his father had.
Knife to my throat.One day changed everything.
In the morning, I was a ten year old girl. Pure.
In the afternoon, I was slowly dying inside. Molested.
In the night, I was dead. Defiled. Empty. Raped.

I kept my secret for years. Long after I had left.
Threats to my family were made when it was clear my own safety was no longer my greatest care.
My silence did nothing to keep them safe.
It only took three years before the father killed my aunt.
“Car accident,” they said. She had died on impact. He “miraculously” survived.
A year later he was arrested.
Someone else was stronger than me. Louder than me.
His son soon followed.

“Died in jail,” I was told when I was fifteen.

“Molested a bunch of little girls. Can you believe it?”

Yes.

“He finally got caught. Had a heart attack before his trial.”

“Good,” I said, silently thanking God. “I hope he suffered.”

But death didn’t matter. I was still alive.

The damage was done.

I was still empty.
So why bother caring?Used and abused.

Lies of “I love you” passed the lips of uncaring boyfriends.
Cheaters.
Liars.
Beaters.

I thank God every day for the two good ones that saved my life.
One best friend–his forgiveness knew no bounds.
One future husband–his love brought me back to life.

They saw that I wasn’t empty.

There was still strength inside. Beauty. Love. Hope. A spark.

Somewhere, hidden.I am strong now.
I am loved now.
I am no longer silent.
I am no longer empty.
I was never worthless to begin with.
I am still afraid.
I am still pissed off.But I am a survivor.

I had so much taken away.
But they can never take away that.

I survived.

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Jia writes at www.UntypicallyJia.com, and tweets as @UntypicallyJia.

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28 Comments | September 20, 2011 | Filed Under domestic violence, sexual abuse, survivor story