Strength to Overcome

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Between the ages of six to thirteen years old, I was sexually abused by a man who called himself my uncle. He was of no blood relation, but I was forced to call him my uncle regardless. It started out small, but turned into a terrifying act to deal with as a child. Eventually, the visits my grandmother would pay him and his wife were not enough and he began to meet me at my bus stop after school everyday and force me to get into his car.
I never told my grandmother about what was going on. There were several reasons behind this. First of all, I was afraid that I would get in trouble. I knew that what Charlie was doing was not normal. I knew something was wrong with it. This made me feel like I was doing something wrong. I was ashamed and wondered what she would think of me if she knew that I allowed him to do such things to me. The second reason was because I was afraid of him. I was under strict instructions not to tell my grandmother. He told me that if I did tell her that we would both go to jail. He used fear as a tactic to keep me from blabbing.
I remember my heart pounding as my bus approached the grocery store that was my bus stop. I remember the fear of seeing his car in the parking lot. One day, I saw him there and refused to get in the car with him. I ignored him and started to run. He got in his car and slowly followed me, screaming at me to get in the car. I ran into the local hardware store to get away from him, hoping that he would not follow me inside. When he did follow me inside, I tried to get away by sneaking out the doors. He saw me and started yelling my name. Some staff at the hardware store stopped me and asked me what was wrong. I finally got brave and for the first time in years I opened my mouth asking for help. I told them that he wanted me to get in the car with him. I told them that he was following me. I told them that he wanted to touch me where he wasn't supposed to. They looked at Charlie, then looked back at me. I thought they were going to help me, but instead they burst into laughter and made fun of me for accusing a sweet old man of such terrible acts. I ran home crying, Charlie tailing behind me in his car the whole way.
It took a few years before I was finally able to speak up. I didn't speak up until Charlie had finally given up on meeting me at the bus stop, realizing that I would not get into the car with him. For months, he followed me home, screaming at me out of his car window to get in the car. I had nightmares and became withdrawn. My grades slipped in school and I began to adopt a certain paranoia towards men. I would hug onto my grandmother's arm when we were out shopping and a man looked at me. I couldn't be around any of my uncles (although they would never have done anything so cruel and sickening) for fear of it happening around them.
Even after finally telling my grandmother and being carefully secluded from Charlie from then on, there was still a stain left on my memories. I couldn't let go of the fear and the shame that had built up over the years. I held a deep anger and resentment for Charlie, holding him accountable for the anxious and cautious life I led after it had all ended. I wanted him to die so I could spit on his grave and dance on it. I was bitter.
He caused several mental problems to follow. I had trouble keeping a boyfriend. Anytime they got too close, I shut down and wouldn't have anything to do with them anymore. I refused to be alone with any older male; even those I worked with. I became constantly paranoid that I was being followed home in my car or that I was being followed around every time I left the house. It was a tiring cycle.
Today, I am thirty one years old. I have finally moved on and am now able to speak about the events that happened with no shame. Charlie died a few years ago from a brain tumor. I did not go spit on his grave nor did I smile when I found out he was dead. Instead, I prayed for his soul and prayed for God to help me to forgive him so that I may be able to move ahead in my life. It took a long time to forgive him, but I finally did.
Had it not been for the grace of God, I would have never been able to move forward. Today, although I am no longer angry or resentful, I do have it drilled into my children's heads about how important it is to tell me if someone messes with them in the wrong way. I have explained to them that it would not be their fault and that they should feel no shame in telling me if it did happen. I am careful about the people that my children are left in care of when I am not around. But it didn't happen to just me as a child and there are still children going through it today. If you suspect anyone going through such a problem, please contact your local authorities. Please don't let them live a childhood of fear and shame because they are afraid to tell anyone about what is going on. Reach out and help someone who may be dealing with the same issues. Peace. :)