foundation: I

when I look at pieces of media I’ve noticed a theme of sexual assault victims having the mentality of, “how will I ever be the same/how will I go back to how I was or how I felt before this?” and it really and truly got me thinking about my own experience in terms of applying that mindset - and I realized that I couldn’t.

my (maternal) grandfather started molesting me when I was 5 years old. i didn’t know who I was as a person, what my character, and mentality were at that age - nobody does. children use the tools of love, care, safety, and trust they’re given to build themselves into a person throughout the early and mid development years. 

now, think of children as home builders. they use everything that I listed above (love, care, safety, trust - among other things) as tools to form and shape their foundation of who they are for that home. 

all structures need foundations, and in our earliest years as children we build that.

construction isn’t always smooth over the years, but they have that foundation to go back to if anything goes awry. a sturdy foundation that has been shaped and formed and strengthened. the windows of the house may be shattered, the door might have been caved in, a wall or two may crumble, the roof might get blown away, but the pillars of the foundation always stand.

I didn’t get a chance to build that foundation. when I tried to start around the ages of 3-5, everything crumbled the first time my grandfather molested me. I tried to rebuild what had fallen, but then he molested me again - this time taking away one of my essential tools, trust. I tried to rebuild again with fewer materials, but then he molested me again - taking away another essential tool - safety. 

this continued for 6 consecutive years. repeated molestation. 

over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. 

I cannot tell you how many times, I couldn’t count beyond 20 when I was 5, and eventually I gave up.

that foundation I was trying to build, and then rebuild, being destroyed over and over and over again. tools being taken away from me until I had nothing left. no tools, no structure, no foundation.

no love. no care. no safety. no trust. nothing. 

years of repeated sexual abuse left me empty. I had nothing. I was nothing. I was no longer a child. I was reduced down to being an object. I was not a human, I was not a person, I was merely an object to be used over and over again in order for a monster to achieve some sick form of sexual gratification. that’s all I was. I was disgusting and worthless. 

I was not a child. I was an object. 

there was no foundation for me to fall back to. no “me before the abuse.” there wasn’t anything of me at all. nothing.

every time my grandfather touched me, he stole another piece of myself away that I didn’t even have yet. until nothing remained.