Daddy, why? -Raped, Impregnated and Abused by my Father

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Abused by my Father

“Daddy, don’t touch me there, I’m gonna tell on you one day, I swear…….you’re supposed to be my father…..”

When I first heard that song, it hit home, a load of bricks hit me all at once. I began to question myself: What did I do wrong? Why did this happen to me? Why didn’t he stop?

I closed my eyes and I was brought back to that dark place, that place I had shut away, that place I never spoke about. That place where I locked all memories of my abuse and my abuser.

My cheeks got wet, that salty taste, sniffles and then a smirk. I saw my younger self, sitting in my school uniform in the doctor’s office, confused and timid. I looked around the badly lit office space, medical supplies and fear stained the air. A picture of Christ hangs on the wall, the walls just seem to be getting small and smaller. Here I was, ready to have my father’s fetus removed. That thing he made. How could he do this and say he loves me?

I remembered being given an injection to numb the pain before they began, yet that didn’t stop the tears from flowing, it only made me hate myself more.

The walls are closing in, my heart beat echoed in my ear, how did I end up in this situation? I did everything he asked! Why me?

I’m in my late 20’s and I never really opened up to anyone about my abuse, some knew that I was molested, a few knew by whom and that I got pregnant, but not the full story.

I was 13 when it began, it started after he found out that I had a boyfriend and that I kissed him, but I guess he wanted to show me what it’s like to be with a “man”. At first, he would beat me then he would insert his finger. I remembered vividly I was wearing a green and white dress, the room was dark and his dirt-stained fingers.

That was my punishment whenever I did wrong or got into trouble. I was prevented from seeing my mother. I guess he didn’t want me telling her, plus, my stepmother didn’t care about me, she only inflicted more pain when he wasn’t around.

I feared him and he used that fear to control me and made me do whatever he wanted. I was always told that he loved me and that he was only protecting me from all the bad things that could happen, “this was what fathers do for their little girls” he said.

So I kept quiet.

He manipulated me and blackmailed me. I remembered that at the age of 14, he found out that I was involved with a guy, this was the beginning of the sexual abuse. He threatened to call the police if I didn’t have sex with him. I was so scared and didn’t want that to happen, so I did. It happened over and over and over again. Every Sunday to be exact.

I cried to my stepmother for help without saying why, but she shunned me.

I recall the last time it happened before I found out I was pregnant. My stepmother wasn’t home and he came into my room. I began crying, telling him no, he hit me in the face. I was silenced instantly. I laid there in bed, he removed my shorts and underwear and got on top. At this point I was numb to the pain, I turned my head to the side and I let him have his way. My eyes caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall, it was 10:17 p.m. I looked away as the seconds seemed forever and a minute felt like an hour.

He held my hands above my head and lifted my blouse, I flinched but made no sound. I went to my happy place in my mind, thought of a little red door. Behind that door were my fondest childhood memories, and then he was done.

I got up and went to the bathroom, cleaned myself up and head back to my room before I got there, he stopped me, “I love you” he said

I looked at him, then walked off. Nothing else happened after that, then one evening after I left school he told me to go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. I did as I was asked. He led me to a bathroom near his work place and I took the test. I read the instructions then waited, there it came, slowly but surely, 2 red lines. Pregnant!

I didn’t react to it, I brought it to him then went back to the pharmacist and asked her to explain the test to me, how it worked and what does this mean. I think I was in shock and denial at this point for me not to react, however, listening to the words that came out of her mouth saying “pregnant”, I felt my heart skip a beat, I was instantly sick, my blood ran cold and everything seemed fuzzy. The entire place seemed to be swallowed up by a black hole and I was left in an empty space.

I walked off, I didn’t say a word to her. I went back to him with watery eyes. I didn’t say anything to him either. I sat there and stared into space. I can’t recall going home nor how I got there.

2 days later I was in the doctor’s office, he told me to say that I was raped one evening when I was going home. I couldn’t get a word out, so he finished my sentences. He stayed with me during the test and kept a close eye on me. Thinking back now, he did that not because he cared, but because he was concerned about his reputation, and might have been afraid I would tell.

He never cared about me, if he did, I would never have been in this situation. The date for the appointment came a few days later, he didn’t accompany me. I thought of telling them what really happened, but the fear that I had of his was great, so I didn’t say anything. I held my words and let the tears flow.

That evening, he told me to tell my stepmother what happened, the lie that is. He was in the room, I tried telling her and I couldn’t, so she asked him to leave the room. That was when I told her the truth. I thought that she was going to embrace me and comfort me, I was wrong. Her words to me were “if you were any older, I would just put you out!” Then she walked off.

This cemented it, I was on my own, no one cared about me. The sexual abuse stopped, but then the verbal, physical and mental abuse started. I became the housemaid. I cleaned, washed and most often cooked for everyone. If I did something wrong in the eyes of my stepmother, he would beat me to please her. I was told that I was good for nothing, would turn out to no good, that they didn’t like me and a lot of other things.

At this point, I had no contact with my mom, and now I only saw one way out. Death.

I made up my mind to kill myself. In the first attempt, I swallowed a cocktail of pills and went to sleep, I woke up the next morning. The second time, I went into the kitchen to get the knife, however, someone was there, so I took a scissor and went into the bathroom. I tried cutting my wrist, it didn’t work, the scissor was dull and only bruised me. My final attempt was at his workplace. I got the knife and as I was about the pull it against my wrist, a friend of his walked in. Man! I thought 3rd time was the charm!

I never tried again but I did get the chance to spend a week with my mom that summer. That was my escape. I told her everything, except for the sexual abuse. I never went back and I didn’t mind. For the first few weeks, I had nightmares about him beating me, every night, it was beating after beating. The fear I had for him was so great, I even thought of going back to his home, but my mom stood her ground. I am happy she did. Only the Lord knows what would have happened if I did. Things got better for me as time went by, I was able to open up to a few persons and with their help, I told my mom what happened when I was 18. She didn’t blame me, just hoped I had told her soon.

In 2016, I faced him with 2 other siblings. I took this step after consulting a therapist. I needed closure as I realized that it was affecting my relationships. I had trust issues. If someone said that they loved me, I disbelieved and often did things that caused pain and problems. It was like if I wasn’t feeling pain, the love wasn’t real. It was what my father made me grew accustomed to.

Love is pain, and if I wasn’t feeling pain, it wasn’t love.

I know I am not the first, nor the last person to experience sexual abuse, and all circumstances may differ, but the psychological trauma is comparable. Many may not overcome it, while others like myself have. I want anyone who has been through a similar situation to know that they aren’t alone, and it isn’t right to face it alone. There are others like you and persons who are willing to listen and help.

You are not at fault, you didn’t cause this on yourself, you are a fighter. Do not be afraid to speak up and let’s end this taboo topic. Let us help those who are crying silently.

Let’s help break the silence.

 

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