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Jako,
1995.Jako
August 22, 1995
I guess this is about HIV, not abuse but I talk about the abuse because when I started being sexually active I didn't think about respecting my body enough to make sure that my partner didn't have any kind of disease in his body.
I'll back track a little bit. I tried hard to get my father reported to the police. I told on him about five times and each time I reported him either my mother discredited me or I was in a rural area where not much happened. They reported it to the CSD and if I didn't have any bruises nothing happened to my father. One time I reported my father after he was threatening to kill me with a pair of scissors. I was in the corner of the room and he was kicking me repeatedly into that corner. I bled a little bit out of my vagina and I had bruises all in here underneath. It wasn't sexual abuse it's just that's where he ended up kicking me. When you are trying to fend something off and your legs are curled up like this, it is a pretty probable spot to get kicked.
They only put a restraining order on him, so he couldn't come back to the house that night. In the middle of the night, my mother let him back in. It blows me away that she was so dominated by him that even her sense of what was right for her children was compromised. She stayed with a man who threatened to kill her and her children constantly. She's still with him and my little sister still lives with them too. He's mellowed out a lot over the years, although, just a year ago he hit my little sister again. He hasn't done that for a while so I don't know. There is still occasional emotional abuse; he'll call them a name or something like that. Maybe it's just because he is not as strong as he use to be, I don't know.
Because none of the reports I made came to anything, by the time I was 13 I tried to commit suicide. It's a good thing I didn't know any good ways because I lay in bed screaming inside my head over and over again that I didn't want to die. And I didn't; I just wanted it to stop. But nobody was going to make that happen and I was trapped. I was living in the Rocky Mountains in a ski resort area, even if I ran away, where would I go? That night I started swallowing Advil, two at time, laying there, crying, screaming inside my head. I swallowed two Advil, four, six, eight, ten, twelve. I swallowed 48 Advil by the time I fell asleep. In the morning I woke up and I was just groggy. I remember being really surprised and happy that I was alive. Maybe I knew, in a way, that I wasn't killing myself. I hope that I wasn't trying to be successful. I didn't do it for attention; I did it because I wanted to get away from the hurt and pain that was daily. I couldn't tolerate it any more.
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