This story contains mature or graphic content.
One night about two months after I moved in, it was really cold, and we had no heat in the house at all. It was snowing outside, and everyone was lying in the front of the travel trailer on the couch that made out to a bed to stay warm. I was against the back, then John was in front of me, then Dana (my sister) was between him and my mom. I woke up and it was dark. I felt something weird, but it didn’t hurt. I was curious, and I opened my eyes but it was dark. John was breathing really hard, and his hands were on my private, inside my underclothes. I felt really bad and scared. I shifted myself to get away from that weird feeling and he stopped. I went back to sleep and pretended that it had never happened.
Another couple of weeks passed and I noticed that Mom and John had a lot of friends over. I thought it was great, even though they were drinking. It was all men, I remember that much, and they were acting goofy and having a good time, so I was showing off in my little girl way, trying to make them laugh. I remember that my mother asked me to sit on her lap and I went and snuggled up to her relishing in the fact that my mother was holding me. I saw my step father go to the back of the trailer. By then we were living in a two bedroom trailer house so we had more room. John and Mom had their own room in the back and my sister had the small room. I was sleeping in the living room on the couch so I had to stay up until everyone left so that I could go to sleep. My sister had already been in bed for a couple of hours and I thought I was big getting to stay up with the adults. I remember John coming back into the room from the hallway with a needle in his hands … I had never seen one and wondered what it was.
My mother then asked me to sit in the floor between her feet. She had already let me have a few drinks of her Dr. Pepper, which I know now was spiked with vodka. I was feeling woozy, but good, and thought that I was just tired. I was eight, remember. So anyways, my mom wrapped her legs around my waist, and put her arms around my arms and chest and held me down. I was thinking she was playing and wanting to wrestle so I started pushing against her and laughing. She screamed at me to be still and it scared me a lot … John grabbed one of my legs and sat on the other. He pushed the needle into my leg and shot me up with what was in the needle. I later found out it was heroine. The men were sitting around drunk and laughing, and starting to file out of the house saying they were going home to sleep it off. I remember everything swimming in front of me, swinging, tilting, etc. I remember that Mom layed down in the floor with me and she was telling John, to do me.
Next think I remember I felt a tearing, hot, searing pain down there. He was grunting and moaning, and Mom was laughing telling him to go harder and harder. I think I may have passed out but when I came back to, my Mother had her mouth on me there. I was so embarrassed that I kept my eyes close thinking that they would think I was asleep. I woke up naked on the couch the next morning, and was so ashamed of myself. I kept thinking it was me and my fault for showing off. I rebelled in a kind of way, I started sneaking my Mom and John cigarettes, and within a week was a regular smoker, and they bought me my own cigarettes. I had my ninth birthday, with booze, cigs, and dope. Not to mention they decided to give me another birthday sex lesson. I was burned with cigarettes and cut with broken mirrors on my ninth birthday. They had sick sexual rituals. My mother always participated.
I went through many years of this happening on a daily basis. I remember once that we went to my Aunt and Uncle’s pond to go swimming, and my Mom, John, Dana, and I were all there alone. John took me out on the inter-tube. It was a big pond, and he had his way with me in the water. My sister was watching and my Mom was doing her. My sister was really into it, I remember that, she kept asking Mom to do this and do that, and my Mother was relishing in it. I was ashamed and just looked up at the sky and I dissociated myself. I am sorry for the details; I will just say that things like this went on until I was thirteen.
We went on many trips to Dallas, Pensacola, Atlanta, LA, and other places where we would get cheap hotel rooms, and they would sell me to grown men for drugs, money, and booze. Some were lawyers, doctors, pimps, drug pushers, and yes, even cops in uniforms. I still can not see a cop without panicking.
I was drunk and high all of the time. The school teachers ignored my bruises, burns, sad eyes, and silent pleas … I was eleven years old when I was held down by my mother while my Step-dad performed an at home abortion on me with a battery operated cattle prodder and a big knife. I didn’t fight them. I didn’t feel anything. I was way to high and drunk. I didn’t know what it meant to be pregnant. The only way I know that it was an abortion was from a recent surfaced memory I have had when remembering this certain event. I remember my Mother screaming at my Step-dad to get that baby out of me no matter what the method. That’s putting it a lot cleaner than she said it. I will not quote her word for word. I pray that God will take those words out of my head.
So at eleven, I was pregnant, then I wasn’t pregnant. That is all I know. When I was thirteen and in seventh grade I got into a fight on the school bus. I was so drunk at it was even in the morning. Bad, I know. That was my way of living through it. My Great Uncle was the bus driver. He had been helping me with my school work on the bus after school, his small way of helping me. I was sitting in class when I got called to the office in third period. I was so mad cause my uncle, I thought he had turned me in for the fight. I burst into the principal’s office cursing at the top of my lungs, and my Dad was sitting in the corner of the office. His deep voice said, “Slow down right there young lady!”
Oh my God, thank you, my Daddy was here. I ran over to him, I crumbled onto the floor in front of his feet, and I squeezed his waist as hard as I could and I was screaming at the top of my lungs. It was a scream of hopefulness, anguish, fear, and happiness—I was crying and I couldn’t talk. All I could do was scream and cry … I looked up at my Dad and there were tears streaming down his face. He picked me up like a baby and held me in his arms and rocked me … It seems like only minutes, but it also seems like hours, or even days and weeks we sat there like that with me just screaming. I finally calmed down. The cops were there and I was scared. I was scared of cops because I had so many of them rape me. I didn’t tell them of the sex, and rapes, or any of it only the drugs and alcohol. I didn’t have to say anything to them that I didn’t want to. I was ashamed; I was not going to be labeled. I told no one. They couldn’t make me. What would they do to me that hadn’t already been done?
My dad took me to Oklahoma City Children’s Hospital and they admitted me and sent me to drug rehab. My dad left and never came back. I was alone. A week later I was sober, depressed, and in terrible withdrawal from the heroine, coke, crank, crack, meth, pills, uppers and downers, alcohol, you name it, I was withdrawing from it. I looked up and there was my Papa. He was standing in the door way of my hospital room. I was thinking I was delirious. I was sweating, I was hurting, I was crying, and I couldn’t think straight. My Papa sat beside the bed and started reading the Bible to me. He came every Saturday after that while I layed in bed, he read me the Bible. He prayed for me, he held me like a baby; he went to group therapy, family therapy, and individual therapy with me every Saturday without my Dad or Gramma even knowing. My Papa saved my life. He gave me hope to cling to. He was all I was living for. Him and God. He gave God back to me.
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