What Happened::Sou,28
I am a survivor of Sibling Sexual Abuse. Somedays I feel like a victim but most days I know I am a survivor. I was born in the beautiful island of St.Lucia in the Caribbean. I come from a family of 5 with my abuser being the 6th. He is my older half brother. I suffered quite a bit at his hands and have been slowly putting the pieces back together. Some days are harder than other but I know that through it all I am stronger and wiser and while he has stolen much from me; there is hope for me to be whole again. My abuse does’t define me; it is something that he did to me; it is not who I am.
I am the second child of my mother but 1st for my father. I came along and maybe stole some of his thunder. So from the age of about 4 my sexual abuse started and later included physical and psychological. My memories of what exactly were done to me when I was young have been carefully tucked away for so long that trying to get to them has been hard. I couldn’t tell you how it started but I remember the progressions. My earliest memory of something being wrong was about 4; we were playing on a bed under the sheets. I can’t tell you what exactly happened but I have the memory of someone asking what was going on and saying this would be discussed when my mom got home. I can’t tell you if the discussion ever took place I don’t remember but if it did it never stopped him if anything it made him go further. That I believe was the beginning. He would offer to read to me at nights and wait until I fell asleep to get under the covers behind me. Then he would push it between my legs from behind. I would squeeze my legs together to push it out but that never stopped him; in fact it caused him to push harder. I learned to stop and just let it happen. Once he was done he would get up and leave. I tried to fight falling asleep but he would wait until Id fallen asleep to come back. I would say I didn’t want him to read to me but then the questions would come as to why I didn’t want him reading. He was always so eager to read my parents thought it was good for us both. There is one memory that has stuck with me no matter what I do. He has me kneeling on the floor and he’s behind me- the next thing I know I have sperm running down my legs, my mom has just pulled into the drive way and he says go clean up. He walks out like nothing has happened and my mom never suspects a thing.
The threats of being hated by my parents if I told were a constant. They will be angry at you he would say; they will never do me anything. And years after I sit and think he was right all along. They never did him anything he was never punished, never reprimanded. Im not sure what I expected but I didn’t expect him to get away with it. I confront him every chance I get; because for the most part I believe I am not believed. He used to deny it but not he just says and so what. His stories as to what happened and how many times it happened and why it happened vary constantly. Then i sit and reflect on what he’s done to me, what he’s said to me and how that has made me feel and can’t find it in me to ever forgive him. I can’t see how anyone else can forgive him. He lives at home with my parents now; and once again it feels like I am the one who has done something wrong. My aunt has told me to stop trying to ruin his life; that I should remain silent. My cousin has said that he didn’t know what he was doing. He is 9 years older than me. That would have made him 13 when he started abusing me. And if he didn’t know then then how does he explain the next 7 years of abuse? And if he didn’t know what he was doing was wrong then why threaten me?
For a long time I have hated me. Never really felt that I fit in anywhere or that I belonged. Never thought that I was worthy of love. Never liked what I saw in the mirror when I saw anything at all. I have made my body my canvas and sought to surround myself with images of strength and beauty. I think that all of us who are survivors of sexual assault deal with these issues. We lose who we are through the abuse and have a hard time trying to find a way back. But there is always a path that leads to happiness and fulfillment. Its not always an easy road but we are survivors. We are not alone in our pursuit of happiness there are other walking beside us, ahead of us and behind us. Don’t give up or in. Our voices will lead us to freedom. We speak out to help ourselves and those around us. This is a battle for many.
I fight for women of the Caribbean who are afraid to speak out.
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