I have spoken previously of missing memories coming back. It’s taken me a while to even begin to want to put those memories down on paper. Here is my first entry.
When I was five years old, I started school in the first grade. I was so excited for the first day of school. I was eager to learn. Eager to grow. I think most children are at that age. It’s a new stage in life that signifies you have become the ‘big kid’ that your parents always tell you about. The night before the first day of school, I was having trouble sleeping. I had gotten up to get a few toys and was playing quietly on my bed. Waiting for the next day to start.
Jack A. came into the room. I immediately shoved the toys under my pillows and told him that I was sorry for playing and that I thought that I was being quiet. He shook his head and told me that I knew I was doing something bad and shouldn’t be up playing. I said I was sorry again. He came and sat on the edge of my bed. He told me that I would have to be punished for doing something bad. I remember my eyes welling up with tears and the stinging that generally comes with the first tears that fall. I said I was sorry and that I wouldn’t do it again.
Well, you need to lay down and get some sleep. You have school tomorrow.
I laid down and closed my eyes, expecting him to leave my room. I felt the bed shift and his hand started caressing my hair. All of a sudden, things felt very wrong and I remember the fear. I can remember the fear like it was yesterday. For the next eleven years, fear became a companion. I was always afraid. It never mattered how numb I got from the things he did to me.
He molested me for the first time that night. When he was through with me, he told me that if I told my mom, he would hurt her the way that he hurt me. I waited until I heard him close the door and walk down the hall to crawl out of bed. I had my clothes laying on my little nightstand and decided to get dressed. I crawled into my closet after closing the door behind me.
I had this little white and grey radio that was my prized possession. It was waterproof. It was made by Walkman. I grabbed my radio from it’s place on my closet shelf and buried myself under my stuffed animals. I turned it on as quietly as possible to where I could still hear it. I sat there until it was time for school and my mother found me in the closet. She didn’t bother asking what I was doing awake already. She didn’t recognize that I was acting differently. If she did, she certainly never said anything.
I recognize now that something died inside of me that night. I lost a piece of who I was.
As always and with much respect,