Loss of innocence
We had to write an anonymous writing in English about a time we lost our innocence and the whole class would read it. Writing this Having everyone read it was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I thought I'd share it anyway:
It was just this summer when I lost my innocence, or rather had it taken from me. Stolen, swiped, robbed.
Sometimes I wonder how I would have lost it if this didn't happen. Maybe I could've given it to a sports captain, or drunkenly to an old friend, or to my first love. Rather I got to lose it in the silence of the night, when the day was asleep and motionless, and so was I.
At that point I was nothing to him. A pile of flesh. A pile of flesh with a heart beating and lungs breathing, but a pile of flesh nonetheless. He could do with what he wanted with me, he could poke and prod, and play with me like I was his own personal toy. He could touch and feel and invade all he wanted. The body's landlord was asleep and he could run around as freely as he did.
He was unfazed. He was unfazed when I woke up, still in the position he wanted me: shocked, sore, afraid. He was unfazed when he violated a girl he didn't know, ruining her body for her. He was unfazed when the doctors had to re-poke and re-prod that same girl the next day to prevent her from STDs or having to carry his godforsaken baby. He was unfazed when the cop re-invaded her with questions and invalidated the act by asking what she was wearing or if she was drinking. He was unfazed when she had to call home and tell her dad that his little girl had been trespassed on and having to hear him cry for the first time in 5 years. He was unfazed.
I think about that night everyday, or at least the parts I haven't completely repressed. Yet I've heard a rumor that every 7 years, the cells in your body will be destroyed and replaced with new ones. So what a beautiful day that will be when I have a body he will have never touched. I already started the countdown.
6 years, 10 months, and 1 day.
@Enoble17 What powerful, sad, painful and yet kind of inspiring writing you have done. Inspiring in the sense that no matter how bad you have been made to feel, no matter what someone has done to you, that you are doing your utmost to reclaim your body as yours, reclaiming you. I am sorry you had to experience this and no one should ever have to feel as you have done. But you can take back the power and control for you. You can be strong from this, you already are to have shared what you have. Your are a true survivor. I thank you for sharing your writing. please reach out for support if you need this :)
My Story: I was given up for adoption somewhere around 3 yrs old. I was the 4th of 5 children and because my youngest brother J and I were closest in age we were given up together to the B's. The older children went to live with extended birth family members.(my two older sisters to grandma A and my oldest brother B to aunt D and uncle E). I remember feeling not worthy when I found this out at 17 yrs old. I met my birth mother K when I was 18 yrs old along with my aunt D and uncle D. She at first told my youngest brother and I that she didn't have a choice, she was forced to give her children up by her husband, my birth father P. She was packing her house the day J and I went to visit her. She was moving from Fl to Ohio with her boyfriend. She said, 'we can write letters and keep in touch'. I told her I didn't want a pen-pal, I wanted a mother. I didn't talk to her again till I was 23 yrs old. I have gotten several different stories about how and why I was given up for adoption. At this point, I don't think she knows the truth anymore. I was not told by my adoptive parents that I was adopted. I found out when I was 13 yrs old because my brother J found paperwork in their closet that had our birth names on them and our birth-parents names. My adoptive parents had two boys of their own. I grew up as the oldest child and only girl so I was a tomboy climbing trees and as a teen into my early 30s working on cars with my brothers. I didn't tell people about the abuse at home. My earliest memory of abuse is around 7yrs old my adoptive father sitting on the side of my cot and touching me under the covers. Then around 8 yrs old he made me touch him and have oral sex with him. I got sick. This continued until I was 12 yrs old then he started having sexual intercourse with me. At times my adoptive mother was in the room when he was touching me and making me touch him. Sometimes she would send me to their room quoting the bible verse Ephesians 6:1 "children obey your parents". She was a Sunday School teacher at church, A GA leader and in the choir. She quoted scripture a lot to me growing up. It has distorted my view of God to say the least. I went into foster care at 14 yrs old because a lady at church thought something was happening at my home and she reported it to the police. I stayed there until I aged out at 18 yrs old. I started drugs, and drinking and cutting at 15 yrs old. I became a bully to hide the pain in my life and to survive. I didn't realize until I was 30 yrs old I could say no to sex, so I had a lot of sexual partners thru the years. I stayed with my boyfriend a few months after I turned 18 then we got in an argument and he hit me and I walked away. I lived on the streets for almost two years and a lady from a church took me in to stay with she and her husband. The change was too drastic she got me enrolled in college and bought me a lot of dresses and clothes. It was too much to go from sleeping on cardboard boxes in the woods and park benches to a million dollar home in a gated community. She took me to church and expected me to quit drugs and drinking immediately. Life was too hard to just change so much so fast, less than two yrs later she said she couldn't help me anymore and kicked me out. I moved around a lot over the next few yrs. At 22 yrs old I met my older birth siblings. Life was suppose to change, to be great now but it wasn't. They grew up in abusive homes with our birth family. I got involved in a local church and tried to just stay busy to get through life. I moved from Fl to SC in 1995 thinking a big change would help but it hasn't. A few good things have happened, I did finish an Associates degree at a technical college, so I have a decent job. I got my own place at 40 yrs old for the first time in my life. But all these years and the abuse still effects my life. I don't have one close friend, I am not close to my family birth, nor adoptive. I haven't kept a relationship a full year since I was a teen. I feel alone, used, dirty, worthless, like a nobody. I wonder if life will ever be good?
