A Nightmare Continued...

It repeats itself in my mind each night.  My crying in agony.  Their masked faces.  The flashes of a camera.  The weight of their bodies on mine.  I force myself to stay awake each night until I'm so exhausted I fall asleep.  It's a habit I'm unable to break.  So far.  It's been so long since I've written this out.  I'm nauseous even thinking about writing this.  And I'm angry.  Not just mad.  But angry.  The kind of anger that fills me with absolute rage. 

I was a little girl. 

A child. 

Just 7-years-old. 

But I cannot ignore this any longer.  I need to speak up about it.  Even though I'm terrified at the thought of writing this.  Even though my entire body is trembling. 

I was raped.  Not by one man. 

I was raped by four men.  It was the summer of 1978.  I didn't know what it was called back then.  I don't recall if I even knew the word 'rape'.  All I did know was that I woke up in the middle of a medical procedure I was forced into. 

He was on top of me. 

He was pushing inside of me. 

When he finished, another took his place.  They each took turns. 

I remember laughing.  I remember hearing weird noises.  I remember the flash of a camera. 

I don't know how long they used me. 

Eventually, they stopped. 

On the way home, I didn't dare say a word. 
I just listened.
And stared straight ahead into traffic.
He said I was a good girl.
He told me it was a secret.
Only between us.
Nobody else was to know.
If I told anyone, they wouldn't believe me. 

So I kept quiet.

When we finally got back to his parent's house, I ran to the kitchen and hugged his mother as tight as I could, never wanting to let go.
Eventually I had to let go though.
She was cooking dinner.
I don't know if she knew I was upset...by that age I had already learned not to cry.
Crying just made everything worse.
So I kept quiet.

And started to eat.

When my parents dropped me off at my relative's house that summer, I was a really slender kid.
So slender that my brother and I resembled twins even though I'm nearly two years older.
Sometime after the operation, he took me to the lake.  Hart Lake. 

Alone. 

He rented a rowboat.  He took us to a secluded area.  I don't recall anyone else around.  But this time I had a protector.  My beloved stuffed purple-and-white bunny.  I took her everywhere with me.  The water was still and dark.  He told me to come closer to him.  I said no.  He insisted.  Again, I said no.  He said if I didn't sit beside him he would make water come into the boat.  I didn't believe him.  The boat began to rock.  I got scared.  I quietly got up and moved closer to him. 
  He took my hand and told me to touch him.  I said no.  He told me if I didn't touch him and let him touch me he would rock the boat.  I said no.  He rocked the boat.  Hard.  Water seeped in.  I started crying.  I didn't want to die.  I was just learning to swim at camp.  My bunny nearly fell into the lake.  I nearly fell into the lake.  So I said ok.  I didn't have a choice.  I'm still sick to my stomach knowing I agreed.  He put my hand on him.  He told me to keep touching him.  I didn't want to.  I didn't want him to touch me.  He wouldn't stop.  He said I made him feel good and wanted to make me feel good too. 

He told me I could never tell anyone what we did or I'd get in trouble. 

So I kept quiet.  And I kept eating. 

When my parents picked my brother and I up later that summer, they were met by a very chubby, sullen, withdrawn girl who was very happy to see them.
But the light and laughter was gone from my eyes and from my spirit.
I knew the truth but I couldn't say a word.

All I would tell my mother is that he tried to drown me in the lake.  She yelled at him to never scare me like that again.  I didn't tell her about the other stuff we did.  I was too scared.  I was told my parents wouldn't want me or love me anymore if I told.  So I kept quiet.

And kept that little broken girl hidden from the world.
Terrified that something far worse would happen.
I kept my eyes open as long as I could before falling asleep.
I surrounded myself with as many of my stuffed animals as I could, praying each night they would keep me safe.
As the days passed into weeks and then months and finally years, the events of that summer stayed in the back of my mind. No matter how hard I tried to push those memories away, they stayed. Always reminding me of what a horrible person I was.