- Men's Health & Wellness
Some things are hard to get over
As a child, I was given up by my parent's at 2-years-old. The family that I lived with was beyond dysfunctional. The abuses were many, but one particular incident has haunted me all my life. It has caused me immeasurable pain and often haunts my dreams and stalls my success. The fact is, that I have never really described what happened to anyone even though it replays itself in HD in my minds-eye.
I was 10-years-old when my older 'cousin' started to groom me to be molested. It started when I would spend the night at his home. His mother was 350lbs and did not have the energy to keep up with a teen and pre-teen. The abuse began with touching and wrestling. It eventually grew into him holding me down over a table and pressing himself against me. The episodes always ended with some treat and a threat to keep quiet.
Each time he went further and further. Then, one day, my guardian said she needed to go shopping 30 miles away from our small East Texas town. I remember very little about the details of that day. I cannot remember if it was cold. We were playing football, but I cannot remember with whom. I do remember him asking if I wanted to put on my Dallas Cowboys football uniform. The trailer that we lived in was eerily quiet and I should have realized that I was in trouble the moment we entered my room.
He waited until I had taken off everything except my underwear. Again my memory fails as to how I ended up on the bed on my face with my briefs around my ankles. I do remember the tearing pain of him penetrating me and my screams of "No!" and "Take it out!" I do remember the smell of his armpits. I also remember feeling like a dirty rag when he was finished. The incident did not last long but I was a different child.
I told my guardian the next day and she told me to stop lying. I told my friends in the presence of my cousin and he slapped me so hard it left a handprint on my face. I didn't say anything else about it for 12 years. That is the day I told my biological mother because I wanted to understand why I was the only one of my siblings to be given up.
She told me it was because she didn't want me to be like my brothers and sisters and she did not have the money to BUY me back. In hindsight, all of my biological brothers and sisters are responsible where as most of my adopted brothers and my sister are either dead or dealing with serious addictions.
There is no moral to this story. There is just the lingering of my cousins smell in my mind and the feeling of isolation in my heart. Neither have gone away completely.