“Don’t!” I said as I pushed his hand up and off my upper thigh.
“You don’t mean that,” he said
He was driving me to school and he was trying to feel me up along the way.
He forced his hand up my purple dress again.
“Why can’t you leave me alone?” I begged.
After a few seconds of silence, he asked, “What’s your favorite dessert?”
7th grade me replied, “Chocolate cake.”
“Well imagine a piece of chocolate cake sitting on the counter, but you’re not allowed to touch it, wouldn’t you still want it?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well to me, you’re a piece of chocolate cake,”
When my step dad told me this I felt sick to my stomach, and trapped, like there was no escaping him.
The abuse had been going on for months and it was clear he had no intention of stopping.
I had so many disturbing “chocolate cake” type moments in my childhood and I always thought I just had to deal with them.
That this was just a part of life.
Generational sexual abuse ran in my family and no one ever did anything about it.
The abuse was mental and physical.
He knew how to manipulate a kid because he was in a position of authority.
He’d say things to get into my head in order to justify his actions like, “God made men to be attracted to younger girls. It’s in the Bible. It’s okay.”
I was 12. He was 32.
Which God is okay with a man raping and molesting a 12-year-old child?
He had groomed me from an early age to be loyal to him. So, when the abuse started, I felt like I couldn’t say anything.
He wanted me to keep his secret and so I did, out of loyalty.
If I ever came close to telling he would swoop in and guilt me into “keeping our secret.”
As I reflect on my healing journey, I’ve noticed that most of my anger has been directed toward my mom.
I could never understand why I blamed her the most and wrote about those emotions the most.
I’ve come to realize that my focus and anger was toward her, and not my step dad, because subconsciously, I’ve felt I still need to be loyal to him.
That I have to protect him and not expose him. He instilled this into me as a young child and it feels like it’s still kind of hardwired in me today.
Although consciously I know it’s insane.
I just haven’t seen it until now.
Coupling that with being scared to face the disturbing moments that Brian put me through has forced me to keep a lot buried.
And maybe I’ve been using my mother as a distraction from dealing with the real issue.
The real issue being that Brian raped and molested me.
I’ve done surface-level work around Brian and the shit he put me through, but I feel like it’s time to do the real work.
By real work, I mean allowing myself to feel the pain and hurt that I experienced, not bury it anymore.
Although I’ve been sharing my journey for over four years, it will be hard to process what Brian did and begin to heal that part of my life.
Probably harder than anything I’ve faced up until now.
Talking more about Brian won’t be fun, but I know it needs to be done in order to heal and keep moving forward.
Maybe at the beginning of my journey, I wasn’t ready to take on the Brian stuff.
I’ve worked on the Mom stuff for a while, and in doing so, I feel better prepared and stronger to take on the Brian stuff.
The journey continues.
And yes, after years of writing, I’ve finally named my abuser.
His name is Brian. I can say it and write it and it feels damn good because I don’t have to keep his secret.
I don’t have to be silent.
I don’t have to just deal with it. I’m not scared of him anymore.
The loyalty ends today.
But above all, I’m not a fucking piece of chocolate cake.