Walk With Me, Talk With Me

WARNING: READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED

I have debated back and forth about posting this entry. I fully and wholeheartedly believe this needs to be shared. However, I’ve written, rewritten, trashed, started over, and written again various versions of this, and concluded that there’s really no safe way to say it. Except to just get it out. Honest, true, and without worrying about how others will respond. I hope I do spare some people’s feelings. Also, really don’t want to offend anyone. So please, reader discretion is advised.

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We all doubt ourselves. We all have moments where we are unsure. We all have made mistakes. We’ve all affected someone negatively. We’ve all had someone affect us. There is no way to change our past, but we sure as heck can decide our future. What I’m going to write is not to belittle others pain, trials, experiences, or hardships. This is only the experience and opinions of me, my life, my pain. I’m not here to compare my life to others. I am here to spread awareness and to help others understand me and people like me who may feel the same way.

I know I’ve written before about my wonderful mental health struggles. (Hope you heard the sarcasm in that sentence, ha.) I’ve given many small glimpses to how I feel and how I deal. However, a recent conversation had me feeling as if I wasn’t saying enough. Telling enough. That I’ve been unnecessarily keeping secrets. And ‘nothing good can come from keeping secrets’. So, I’m here to tell it all. One entry at a time.

When I say that, I do not mean going to great lengths and detail through every mistake I’ve ever made, or every horrible thing that’s happened. I mean that as a writer, a religious person, and someone who’s gone through a lot in life, in such a short amount of time, I have a lot to share. A lot of pain, a lot of power, a lot of fear and a whole lot of love. All my life I’ve wanted to make a difference in someone’s life. A difference in the world. I have witnessed and been hit with so much hardship. Something good must come from this. I’m writing to prevent others from falling in the same hole and maybe even help someone else out of one.

There’s A LOT of things in life that people don’t talk about. Maybe it’s too uncomfortable, too awkward. Or maybe it’s due to lack of understanding. The only way to change this is to help people be aware and talk about it.

What’s the first topic and first on the list of things people don’t talk enough about?

Abuse.

Abuse happens.

Whether you talk about it or not, there is 100% chance that someone you know, someone you are close with, is being, will be, or has been abused. It is not my right to talk about other people’s abuse, but I can tell my story. I can tell you how it changed me.

I was abused at the age of 4, by an adult I should’ve been able to trust. I wasn’t badly abused (do not get me wrong ABUSE IS ABUSE) though it was nothing like so many have suffered through. It was so slight that for years I wasn’t even sure it really happened. For years, I thought I dreamed it all. Except I had this knot in the pit of my stomach. When I was older, I gained information that I wasn’t the first this adult had abused. I finally started trying harder to piece together this ‘dream’. Why would I make this up at such a young age, when I didn’t even know what it meant? That’s when I knew, it was real. It happened. And it had been changing me long before I even accepted that it really happened.

For those who may be panicking, I am not going to disclose the details of this abuse. I will not be naming names or anything like that. The law has taken its course and ‘justice’ for lack of a better word, has been served. I want to spare everyone the specifics and details because that’s not what I want to express today. What happened is only part of the story. Why it happened, and what it did to me is what matters. And I hope this doesn’t make anyone feel guilty or angry or hurt. I just want to share my side. Because it’s important.

As a young girl, this horrible thing happened to me. I didn’t know it was horrible. Although I believe deep down I knew it wasn’t okay. More in a, ‘you’re grounded and no TV’ kind of way. No child really understands the magnitude certain situations, at such a young age, can affect their ENTIRE life and the lives of so many others. Sadly, I wasn’t the first victim, as I stated before. Most of the adults in my life were aware of the previous abuse that happened more than 15 years before me. However, because of the way the world was then, no one knew how to respond. It was uncomfortable and embarrassing for everyone. What would people think? The first victim (I’m using this term instead of names, but I hate it) anyways, the first victim didn’t come forward for quite some time. I can just hear the abuser, “You know it was so long ago, we should just move on.” Using time as an excuse. And so ultimately, it was pushed to the back of everyone’s mind. (I’m 100% speculating and being very rude but this is my view from what I saw and what I’ve seen) Even if it wasn’t forgotten, it was NEVER talked about. No one wanted to be the person that made things awkward. No one wanted to call this person out and be accused of causing drama. Some, maybe even most, I believe didn’t understand exactly what happened because specifics were never discussed. It was never laid out for EVERYONE, “This person abused someone and should not be trusted.”

Now with that view point in place, I want to stress that this is NO ONES fault but the abuser’s. It is not my parents fault, not the previous victims fault, and it’s NOT my fault. We ALL could’ve done something, said something that could’ve changed things. I have struggled with that guilt for so long. But I know now that nothing I did or DIDN’T do in that moment gives me any blame to what happened. It was the abusers fault. 100%. Sadly, I wasn’t the last victim. By the time, I had worked through everything and pieced together my memories, it was too late. However, I still spoke up. I gave my statements and told the authorities what happened. I hope I made a difference and helped in our fight for justice. But let’s break this down a bit. I was 4 when it happened. So how old was I when I finally said something?....

I was 17. It took me THIRTEEN years to say anything. With there being another victim after me, it’s hard to know that I maybe could’ve prevented it. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t I say anything, even when I wasn’t 100% sure it really happened? I could’ve still said something. How would my life be now if I had? Would I have gotten help sooner? Would I have not made so many mistakes? Would I love myself more? See, the reason it is so important to TALK about these things is not to only prevent future vicitims, but to make it easier for current or past victims to come forward. To get help. To understand the significance of what happened and how it has affected their life more than they may realize. It’s important to talk about it because abuse isn’t always like it’s described in health class or depicted in movies.

Abuse doesn’t always hurt. It’s often small and subtle. It may grow fast and get worse, but it doesn’t start that way.

It’s not always this horrible painful abuse that leaves visible scars. In fact, one of the reasons many victims don’t come forward is because it felt good. They think that because their body reacted a certain way, it’s somehow their fault. Or like me, somehow, I knew, even at such a young age that what was happening was wrong. But it tickled. It felt good. It makes me sick to my stomach to write that, but that’s what abusers do. They use our body against us. At 4 years old, because I let it happen, I felt like if I told, I would be the one to get in trouble. Parents always talk to their kids about not letting someone touch their private parts. They forget to stress that this is not because THEY would get in trouble. Like I stated before, I thought it might be bad like I would be grounded. Not the adult. Because to kids, adults don’t get in trouble usually. They are the ones telling us what to do, and we get in trouble if we don’t listen.

My mother swears she asked me when I was little if anyone had hurt me. Or touched me inappropriately. She has always had a keen sense when something wasn’t right. But even if she did ask (I don’t recall this particular conversation) I wasn’t going to say anything that I thought would get me in trouble. I wouldn’t have said anything because I didn’t want it to stop. Because I didn’t understand what was happening. All I knew is that it made my body feel good. If I knew just how screwed up my life would become, all starting with that one moment, I would’ve screamed. But I didn’t. And so this is it.

Forwarding, when I was about 5 or 6, I was diagnosed with ADHD. This wasn’t due to the abuse. Just another hardship I was given. I think that everything was blamed on my ADHD. All the normal signs and effects of someone who has been abused was drowned in the sea of ADHD symptoms. My family struggled daily with knowing how to deal with me. I was crazy and out of control. They love me, I’m sure. But I didn’t always feel it, and I’m unaware exactly how hard it was for them. My childhood was hard for me too. I didn’t understand why things were so much harder for me. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so…. broken. My life became one bad choice after another til I found myself 17 and pregnant and FINALLY coming forward to my family about my abuse. I remember when we talked to the family about everything that was going on. The victim after me was discovered, which set into motion a roller-coaster that none of us were prepared for. I had come forward also, finally realizing staying silent wasn’t helping anyone, especially myself. My brother, Austin, who I’m closest in age to, said something I’ve never forgotten. In the light of all my recent bad choices, one of which resulted in pregnancy, he was having a challenging time loving me, I could tell. But when all this was discussed, he asked, with tears in his eyes, “So, is this why Kaylee is the way she is?” and my mom responded, “I think so.” He then stood up, embraced me and for the first time in years I felt like I was going to be okay. I had never ever thought that one moment 13 years before could’ve really had that much effect on where my life was, at that point. But it did.

I have memories of being 6-7 years old, yes SEVEN YEARS OLD, a freaking seven year old thinking about sex. How did I even know about sex? Who taught me this? There is no denying my abuse sexualized my mind and body and created a child who was very much aware of things a child shouldn’t be aware of. Not that young, not like that. I take responsibility for my actions after I reached the age of accountability, when regardless of my abuse, I knew better. However, I also know that the effects of abuse are very real. Very powerful, overwhelming and dark. Many counselling sessions and many years later, I am still not fully past everything. But I know I will only continue to be stronger.

Did this make you feel uncomfortable? Did you stop reading or feel awkward reading such personal things? Well don’t. That’s what abusers want. They want it to be this uncomfortable and embarrassing thing to talk about. They use that as a tool to keep us silent, and too keep others from listening. Well I’m not afraid. I’m not ashamed. I’m not going to be silent.

I was abused, and I’m going to talk about it.  

Child Abuse Awareness