LOCKED IN A CLOSET

I have a fear of small spaces and being closed into any space without a knowing that I can easily escape. When I was a very small girl, maybe eight or so I would be locked in closets by an uncle. I remember how dark it was and how scared I was. He lived with my grandmother, so this happened every time I went to visit with her. I hated it so much but at that age I had no voice, and I didn’t dare ever say a word to my mother about anything.

He always tried to make it seem like we were playing a game; maybe to get me to go along with it, I don’t know. It was not a game though and it would take me many years to realize how wrong the things he was doing were and also to find the courage to speak up. I hated being locked in there, in the dark, not knowing when he would let me out. It was frightening to have no control as a small child. Being locked in the closet was just the beginning of what would become several years of sexual abuse.

He started with making me look at and then touch him and then moved onto touching me. I knew in my insides that none of it felt right but I was very young and being raised by a physically abusive single mother. I remember one night he must have been babysitting me at my house because I remember being in my bed when he came in. I can picture everything perfectly. I can see my purple walls, and which wall my grey wood grained bed was on. I can see the stickers that I had stuck all over my headboard. I see the posters I have on my walls.

He enters my room and I feel scared, sick, so uncomfortable. He climbs into my bed. I can still see him doing it with no clothes and thinking “NO!” He molests me but thank God doesn’t rape me. I remember thinking, “where is my mom?” “Someone please make this stop!” No one ever came to my rescue, that night or any other. By the time I was 14-15 and already wanting to die because of the physical abuse at home, I now also wanted to die because of the sexual abuse. I didn’t know how to make any of it stop so the solution for me was to kill myself.

I did make a fairly serious attempt my freshman year of high school which bought me some time in the hospital. I felt so safe there away from all the abuse and honestly didn’t care if I went home. One thing I was encouraged to do was tell my mother about what my uncle was doing to me. I thought it was a bad idea because she was an angry violent person, but I was strongly encouraged to do it. So I did. Her exact response to me was, “YOU FUCKING LIAR, NO HE DID NOT!” “YOU ARE JUST SAYING THAT BECAUSE YOU ARE LOOKING FOR ATTENTION.” I was absolutely devastated that my own mother; the woman who was supposed to protect me, did not believe me. I was so angry at my therapist at the time for making me do it and even more angry at myself for listening. I felt horrible and started to think that it was all my fault and that I must have done something to deserve it.

I sat with the self-blame for quite a while. My mom honestly had me believing that I was bad, and it was my fault. When she kept calling me a liar, but I knew for sure it had all happened, then I had to believe it was all my fault and not his. Then one day I got up the courage to tell my grandmother in a letter. A week or so later she called me crying to say that she knew it was true and she was so sorry. Though I appreciated her believing me, that’s where it stopped. Nothing changed and my mother never acknowledged it let alone apologized to me.

These early traumas shaped me and have contributed to the challenges I face daily. I live in a space where loud noises terrify me, where I can’t be in a small space. I live in the space where I jump constantly from fear, where I can not have my back to a door or window. I have arrived in a space where I trust no one because everyone has always hurt me and no one has protected me. It makes day to day living so difficult when you don’t feel like you can trust anyone!