#MeToo

I am inspired to share my story. I have written this a million times, in my head only. The #timesup campaign has spurred me to share. The silence broken by Hilary Clinton. The silence broken by Alissa Millano, Reese Witherspoon, and many other powerful, independent women. I have a voice that is unique and may also be powerful. We ALL have a truth, secrets in our hearts and minds.

My story begins at the age of 5. You can read 'MyStory' for yourself, but I failed to include aspects that feed my truth. I had PTSD at a young age that was not addressed, treated, or even acknowledged. Studies have proven that trauma effects the development of children's brains and hormones. I was the first girl in my school in 3rd grade that developed boobs. I was 8 years old. Normal girls had sleep overs then, friends and were talking about barbies, dolls, toys. I was invited to my first sleepover with the popular girls in school. There was about 20 from what I could remember looking back. It was probably more like 5/10, but it felt like the whole school. The sleep over went as planned, until I woke up Sunday morning and was getting dressed and packing up. I was the only girl to put on a bra and when I put it on, it was wet. Like a cold gross wet. I commented and the whole room of girls erupted in laughter. This group of girls then began to explain to me that after I fell asleep they went into my bag, got my bra soaking and put it in the freezer. They then slipped it into my bag in the chaos of clean up and waited for me to respond. I was MORTIFIED. I was only invited to the party to be the joke, the laugh, the main event to find out what it was like to wear a bra. I didn't talk or want to go to school after that and got 'sick' for two/three weeks with every sort of illness my 8 year old brain could come up with.

Luckily my parents moved me and took me out of that school, where I was placed to a public school for 5th and 6th grade. I had learned though that my sexuality was on display. I couldn't deny it, as my boobs could not be hidden. My figure could not be not seen. There wasn't a sweatshirt made anywhere that could cover up that I was a woman. The summer after 5th grade, I went to camp for the first time and I started my period during that week. I was 9 years old. I cried most of the time at camp convinced I was going to get pregnant. The girls in my cabin tried to reassure me, my camp counselor, the nurse on staff, my mom, but I was a full fledged woman and I couldn't go back to being a little girl.

I was 9 years old walking down the street to the local AMPM to get candy when I got my first cat call from a group of passing boys 3times my age. I learned I could get the attention of boys by just being me, silent, young, and ignorant. The cat calls continued from the streets to the school yard. By the age of 13 I had my first boyfriend. He didn't love me cause I had a brain. He had a bet with his friends that I would make out with him. He would get a badge of honor by getting me to show him my lady parts. I loved the attention from him, since my parents were fighting and my narcissistic father didn't show me the love I so desperately wanted. I thought that if I looked at the playboys my dad had in his room and learned what I was supposed to do that people would love me.

At the age of 14 I was date raped by a boy who was two grades above me. Two weeks later, I had to be out of school cause I had an ovarian cyst that was wrapped around my fallopian tubes and uterus. I also had my appendix out at the same time. I had to tell my dad that I had sex, and he cried. He saw me as someone different from that point on and the next summer my mom left my dad after a number of other things that happened during that time that you can read about in my story. Shortly after, I met my first boyfriend. A man who showed me he loved me not just for my sexuality but for my mind too. We are still friends to this day, but it was/is amazing. Then he left, and felt he needed to call me from Florida to tell me he got a girl pregnant. The long distance relationship I thought was going on was just in my head. He eventually moved back, but from that moment he called I released myself to many boys who wanted to have sex with me. I had them lined up on a schedule. at the age of 16 I was very busy finding our what boys liked most. Searching for meaningful love that I could never get, so I settled for physical love. The only thing I craved from them was after when they touted their love for me, hugged me, and made me feel like the only person in the universe.

When my first boyfriend came back, and we hooked up again, I thought we would be together forever till he sat me down outside the apartment on the stairs and told me he was also sleeping with my best friend. He then proceeded to take me inside where he made out in front of me with her. I lost my mind that day. I was inconsolable. One of my girlfriends rescued me from that scene that day and let me stay over with her. But, I was broken. I learned that I could one thing for a lot of people, but never all things for one person ever again. Life went on. No one interested in my story and if they were, they were strangers interested in what my story taught them about their own life, not in helping me. I was 18 working full time, finishing high school and college at the same time. Applying for colleges.

There were a few boyfriends who came and went, but my walls were up and I went to MSU to get away from everything. I found there that I was the same person regardless of where I went. Broken, sexual, walled, hurting woman unclear of my own power. Desperate to be loved by anyone, cause no one showed me how to love myself. That is when my dad and step mom came into my life determined to put me back together. I told them over and over it was too late for me. The damage was already done. By 21 I was back to sleeping around with anyone who showed me interest in my body only. I attempted to find a new script for myself. That is when I met my husband. I was primed and ready for something different and he fed that script perfectly. The problem was that he was a sexual predator. His whole life had been a lesson in providing the perfect script to a woman who would innocently believe it. I married it.

He rapped me more than I can count. I had two kids with the man. The amount of mind games is staggering. He convinced me I like it ruff. It was a slow process, of him asking me to tell him 'no, don't', to then him doing what he wanted anyway. He got off on the fact that I resisted, put up a fight. Conditioned me to put up a fight, and it messed me up more than I understand. I can't even talk about it as I am sitting here shaking over typing this out knowing I am going to release this to the world for others to read. This marriage lasted 13 years. A week before he left, he brutally raped me, and in the morning I thought for sure he was going to kill me if my children were not sleeping upstairs. I got help from my counselor to get out. I knew I was blowing up my world. The scariest part of all this was that I knew I was writing a script  ensuring that I would be alone for the rest of my life.

I read story after story of abused woman getting out. The future of these women were dire. Most end up doing drugs, becoming alcoholics, or dead at the abusers hand. It usually takes 2 years for women to escape an abuser. I had watched my mom escape, and my dad stocked us for years afterward. I was/am putting my children at risk. What motivated me was the reports I got from school. My son's teacher was noticing that my son, a kindergartner, was kissing girls on the playground, and boys at nap time. He was being inappropriate at school physically. And since my ex had abused children in his youth I was scared he had started abusing my children. My children who didn't have a choice who their dad was. My children who were showing signs of being sexualized.

The way my case has gone, I lost the ability to protect my children and had to give my ex visitation. This is common for abusers. I was told by a police officer I told my story to, that they would have counseled me to stay in the marriage longer to get more proof to prosecute him with no reasonable doubt. In my panic and shame, I had not gotten enough evidence of abuse to prosecute my ex. It was a he said, she said story. I had no one to collaborate my truth. I had no evidence he had sexualized my babies.

My truth is that even writing this puts me at risk for ruining my case. My truth is that bad people will still get away doing bad things and I am not sure I can ever release this story to the world. This will stay saved till I know for sure my kids are safe, that I am safe. Time is up on my silence.