fear: III

fear (noun) - an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

“why do victims of sexual assault just not report it right away?” “why do they let it happen to them?” “if it were me, I would have reported it to the police instantly” 

If you have never been sexually assaulted, and still ask these questions, stop. it is so easy to say what you would do in a situation that you’ve never found yourself in. instead of getting combative, I ask for you to please just listen to us. just once.

I wanted my grandfather to stop sexually abusing me. obviously. I cried and begged and clawed at his disgusting hands. leaving ugly scratch marks that would draw blood along his arms. screamed at him. tried to run away from his grasp, anything to put distance between us. but nothing was ever enough to get him to leave me alone.

he threatened me to shut up. a wide array of threats were thrown at me, all of them being equally terrifying to a five year old child. he told me that he would kill my father, and my mother if I told. he told me that he would kill my dogs. 

he told me that he would kill me, and nobody would care if trash like me died.

once, when I had to stay over at their house for a weekend I locked the door to the guest bedroom the first night. I was 6 and this was the only solution I could think of. the next morning he told me that if I ever did that again, he would rape me with a knife. 

I did not know what “rape” meant, he enjoyed informing me.

threats of physical violence weren’t all that were used. he broke me down emotionally too. he told me that nobody would believe me. that my family would disown me. they would be ashamed of me. because I was a whore. a disgrace.

he was the puppeteer and I was the puppet. the strings he pulled had me in a chokehold.

he was in control of everything. my body. my spirit. my mind. all of it. 

nothing belonged to me anymore. I was an object, gross and used and powerless.

“why didn’t you report it straight away?” “he was an old man, surely you knew he couldn’t kill you?”

he was sexually abusing his own granddaughter. hurting me. leaving bruises on my skin in areas where nobody else could see. he was torturing me. he was capable of killing me.

he was a monster. capable of unspeakable evil. and he had me fooled into believing everything he said. 

I was a child. vulnerable and alone. hearing his threats and his taunts about how my life meant nothing were all I had known. he broke me down piece by piece. stealing any kind of fire I might have had in my eyes. he said I didn’t matter - and I eventually believed him. he broke my spirit. 

I hated him. and I hated myself too.

I was trapped in an endless cycle of abuse. and I spent the years of my childhood wishing that I would die, because if I died I wouldn’t have to be violated anymore.

I knew what his hands were capable of, and the pain they could bring. I was terrified of him.

as a child I was quick to discover that the true monsters don’t hide under your bed. instead, they creep under the covers in the dead of night to rip away your innocence piece by piece until the only emotion you know is terror.