Around that time he pulled me into his dark bedroom and whispered that there was something very important he wanted to show me. My mom had just left the room to go downstairs and make dinner for us. Something that most parents are too afraid to show their kids. I learned from my mom that the grown-ups were always smarter than the kids. I know now that the reality is actually often reversed. I was always supposed to listen to the adults and do what I was told. This was the first time that I was told by an adult to keep a secret.
On one side I felt like I was at their level now to be trusted with a secret, on the other hand, keeping the secret would only hurt me. Said very early on that he had chosen me because he thought I was strange for not doing girly things and was concerned. He had a constant obsession with sabotaging every female relationship I was in my best friend, my sister while simultaneously encouraging me to get a boyfriend from a ridiculously young age.
None of it made any sense to me, but he definitely was acting as though he was noble in trying to fix something wrong about me. I knew that the only way to stay safe from him was not to be around him, but about once a week I would be coerced by my mom to apologize for avoiding him, or for ruining the mood by not wanting to watch movies with the family. It worked until he decided to throw away the old computer I used for homework.
From then on I had to use the only computer in the house. The computer in his room. It was on his side of the room and by this time he had lost his job, gotten overweight, and had fallen into a deep depression. On top of this he took pills everyday to force himself to fall asleep.
He was also an alcoholic which my mom hid very well from us because I never once saw a bottle, but somehow I always smelled it in his breath and was brought to believe it was just mouthwash. While I had to do my homework for school, he would be jerking off naked in bed behind me. This went on from when I was 11 to 15 years old. Many nights on his pills he would sleepwalk around the house in a particular pattern.
Next his zombie steps would come up the stairs and walk to the end of the hall. I had a queen size bed so he would jump in and fall asleep there instead of by mom. For years after that I started to stay up all night staring at the ceiling. I would expect him, and he always came. I told my mom many times but she never believed me. She said that he told her that he was just checking on me. And because my emotions were never listened to to the point that I would feel safe enough to tell anyone.
He would also tell me about how horrible of a man my father was. That my dad had an affair and because he cared so little for our family, he decided to get a divorce and go live with the whore. I knew because I was there. My dad never left. He just asked for a divorce. My mom was the one that left, and she took her kids with her far away from home to go live with her new knight in shining armor. And while my stepfather was jerking off to me doing homework, my dad was still spending every penny he had trying to win me back through the courts.
Toward the end he was so afraid of the world that he begged my mom to have me stay home from school so that I could keep him company. That was the longest day of my life. I had built up a lot of resistance of the years so when he said these things, I knew to just let it go and not respond. But the pressure built more and more as the day went on.
At one point I started to glare at him and what I got in return was the look of someone who appeared to be in love with me. In his eyes I saw that I was the only person in the world he looked up to and wanted more than anything to help in any way he could.
That look was so painful for me. How could someone who caused so much pain have that look and honestly think that he never did anything wrong? I took it as a c hallenge to stare him down. He started bargaining and threatening me. You three are all that I have left. If I lose you too, that will be the end of me. I need make sure you know that now so that you can make the right decisions. I started telling my mom everything that would make a difference.
I got up to the second to last bullet point on my list that my sister and I had planned on running away but stopped when we realized there was no where we could go when she broke down and said that we were going to get a hotel. The last thing on the list was sexual abuse. Autopsy revealed an overdose on his prescription drugs paired with excessive alcohol. The combination set off an allergic reaction to the drug that stopped his heart within minutes.
He was dead before he hit the floor. I saw him everywhere. I still heard him coming to my room every night.
And could hardly sleep at all. The first time I began to tell anyone what happened was when I was 17 years old two years after he died. I had my whole superficial speech planned, but something about the energy in the room and the anonymity of being around complete strangers changed the path of my words.
Consciously I was trying to follow the words, but before I knew it the words sexual abuse came out of my mouth.
Then I watched as people all over the room were gasping or sobbing and I was fascinated by the display of emotion. I remember him specifically telling me how wrong it was to be gay and I remember my mom supporting him with bashing any LGBT identifier on TV whenever they got the chance. Since then, telling my story has brought more and more emotional reintegration to my life as time goes on. I need to tell my story and reconnect with myself first. Maybe one day a psychologist or counselor will help, but for right now this is what I need.