Was it the first time my virginity was taken by my father? Or was it the last time? Could the day of doom been the moment my mother entered into the pedophile ring and I was left with no one in my corner?
When was the day I could take no more?
I can’t be certain, but I know it happened.
There was a time I committed to survival and nothing else. I had no other alternative. I cast my hope on surviving the attacks. That’s all I had left.
I think of my adolescence. All of the fun times around exploring friendships and make-up just weren’t a big part of my life. I couldn’t breathe anymore. Exploration was something I had to run by my father so that didn’t happen without his watch.
I sometimes go back through my childhood looking for times that I wasn’t dead inside. I can’t find them.
I remember my Susie-Bake Oven. I was so happy I got it. I hide under the pool table in our house, plugged it in and baked candy canes in water. My mom forgot to buy the cake mix that wasn’t included so I compromised. I ended up throwing up all night because something in the cake tins didn’t like the candy cane mixture and it became a toxic mess.
This incident stuck with me. Why was I alone trying to figure out this toy? Where was everybody? Why did I get so sick?
This seems like an isolated incident, but it wasn’t. This was how my entire childhood went.
How did I make it out? How did I survive it?
In the middle of all that darkness, a very still presence was always with me. I knew some day God would lead me out of the darkness.
I am forever free.