by Dori Wheeler, Guest Contributor
I grew up in a violent atmosphere. Abuse of all kinds, physical, verbal, emotional, and as I got a little older, I was molested at school. I started to drink at the tender age of 11 to kill the pain. A few short years later, I was an alcoholic. A real party girl.
Since my dad was a police officer for New York State, I had to "prove" myself, party hardier and hang out with the older kids to gain their trust. In the mean time, I had destroyed the trust at home. I remember coming home at sunup when I was 15 and my dad calling me a "drunken slut." To this day those words still burn.
When I was out one night, drinking with an acquaintance, he started to manhandle me—groping and pawing. I tried to fend him off, but he was much stronger. I screamed, "NO! Please, no!" But it didn't faze him. I was raped.
I was devastated. I didn't know what to do. So I got myself cleaned up the best I could and snuck back into the house. I didn't dare tell a soul. If this got back to my father, I knew he'd blame me because I was drinking. So it was my "dirty little secret" for many years.
As with many people who grow up in violence, I sought out violent men. When I was 29 I got sober. I still didn't say a word. Finally, I couldn't bear the pain of the secret—feeling filthy, disgusting, and ashamed. I was 35 and pregnant with my last child when I finally told my husband. That was the beginning of the healing. Up to that point, I had been a victim. From that day forward, I was a survivor!
But because of the abuse I endured throughout the years, I am 100% disabled. I
have severe depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I also have four herniated disks from being beaten. Please don't let this happen to you! No child, man, or woman should ever have to endure abuse of any kind—especially sexual. No matter what you think might happen, tell someone! It's a terrible crime! You didn't do anything to ask for it. It is not your fault! For your own sanity, you MUST tell someone you feel you can trust. Please don't live the shame, the hell, and the guilt that I lived!
As with many people who grow up in violence, I sought out violent men. When I was 29 I got sober. I still didn't say a word. Finally, I couldn't bear the pain of the secret—feeling filthy, disgusting, and ashamed. I was 35 and pregnant with my last child when I finally told my husband. That was the beginning of the healing. Up to that point, I had been a victim. From that day forward, I was a survivor!
But because of the abuse I endured throughout the years, I am 100% disabled. I
have severe depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I also have four herniated disks from being beaten. Please don't let this happen to you! No child, man, or woman should ever have to endure abuse of any kind—especially sexual. No matter what you think might happen, tell someone! It's a terrible crime! You didn't do anything to ask for it. It is not your fault! For your own sanity, you MUST tell someone you feel you can trust. Please don't live the shame, the hell, and the guilt that I lived! I wrote this poem of my experience in hopes that it might help at least one person. If I can help one person, my pain wasn't all in vain. . . . This is my story:
The Tear
Face hidden in shame.
A lonely tear drips off her nose.
For who else can she blame?
Dignity gone with her torn clothes.
Society tells us how to look, how to dress.
No matter how beautiful they say she is
From inside her mind, she's a huge mess.
She hears, Don't do this, Don't do that.
Get good grades, read your books.
She fears the wrath if she tells.
So damned alone, nowhere to turn.
What to do, what to say?
Nobody will believe her anyway!
Innocence taken in the name of love
Innocence taken in the name of love
Even though she's black and blue
She looks to the sky, to Heaven above.
Abandoned she feels
No one has a clue.
He didn't listen as she screamed, "NO!"
Battered, bruised, innocence gone.
What can she do, where does she go?
It's all your fault, surely they'll say,
You've been asking for it anyway.
She carries this alone and close to her heart
Never saying a word to anyone.
Time goes on, years they fly,
Then one day she just falls apart.
Lonely tears roll down her chin.
He cares enough to ask her, "Why?"
Can she trust him with what lies within?
Years of guilt, years of shame,
No matter how she dressed or what she wore
She carried all the blame
Just so Daddy would not call her Whore!
In that moment, day and time
She decided she must tell.
She stopped right there, stopped on a dime
To let go the years of her living Hell.
He wiped the tears from her chin
He felt her pain, ever so sad.
He said, "Now your life can really begin."
The shame she carried, thinking she was bad,
She could finally let go and let him in!
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