I want/need to tell my story to you. Please, all I ask is that you listen, I know that this will be long, but I have never done something like this before. Please.
I'm from Lima, Peru, a small country in South America. Writing in English has always been very difficult for me so I apologize now if I don't express myself correctly.
In my country, my family and I were very poor, more so than the majority of the people there. My mom, brother and my two sisters, we all lived in a small room, about 7 by 10 feet. I'm the youngest and when I think about my mom, all I remember is how much I loved and hated her. My mom was a terrible alcoholic who slept around with various men. Because she was so out of control, leaving for days sometimes, all of us became victims to some sort of abuse.
I still remember when I was about four, my oldest brother tried to commit suicide by slashing both his wrists several times. I remember my mother screaming, the neighbors running all crazy, and all the blood all over the floor. Why did he do it? I don't know? We NEVER talk about it, but he has the scars.
When I was about five, my oldest sister who was 12 at the time became pregnant from her abuser. She had the baby and I still remember how much I adored him as a child, he was like a little brother to me. My sister ran away a year later and it was twenty years before she ever saw her son again. Makes me very sad. I know a lot already probably doesn't make sense, but it's too much to explain.
When my oldest sister left, that's when my world really started to crumble. You see, she use take care of me, I was her baby brother and I adored her. (now I'm crying) She use to change me, clean me, feed me. She did all the cleaning, cooking in the house. She was like a mother to me and I adored her. My mom never appreciated her, and use to beat her real bad, that's why I hated her so much. How could she have been so cruel ?
When my sister left that's when my sexual abuse began. I was a little over five, an easy victim. I was left alone all the time, my mom couldn't take me along with my other sister cause I was too mischievous, I couldn't sit still and be quiet.
I don't remember his name or his face, but he lived near us. My mom knew him. Behind our home, there was a small shack to store things, the size of a large closet. It was right next to where our neighbors kept their chickens. Nobody hardly ever went there. That"s where the abuse took place and this is what I remember.
I remember his hand on my mouth. I remember being forced to stand on some sort of stool. And I remember him behind me, raping me anally. I couldn't see his face because it was too dark. I couldn't scream. I remember the small light that came through the crack of the door. And I remember seeing the roaches crawling on the wall. I never got a chance to scream. How many times I don't remember but it was more than once, because he did it to me in the daylight too. I can still remember him inside of me, and God how I hate my body. I still feel so unclean.
The first time it happened I remember crying uncontrollably, with nobody to turn to. I crawled underneath the bed and I remember my mother trying to get me out when she came home.
I didn't know it at the time but I developed an intense anxiety disorder, what they call OCD. I was constantly afraid of the dark. I use to check everything like 20 times. I use to wash my hands so many times I use to make myself bleed. I felt like I was going crazy and through all this the sexual abuse still continued. My mother never notice or cared, how could she? She was always drunk.
When I was seven my father who had moved to the United States wanted us to go and live with him. He didn't want me and my sister (his two kids with my mother) to grow up in Peru. I had never met him and I didn't understand what was going on.
I still remember going up the stairs to the airplane, crying uncontrollably, because I was leaving and I didn't know where to. I remember seeing my mother behind the glass wall waving and I just remember feeling so abandoned. Why did she leave me? Why didn't she love me? I was a good kid. (crying again) It was another 13 years before I ever saw her again.
Now I had never met my father. I didn't know anything about him, but it was like "getting out of the pan and into the fire.” My father was worse than my mother. I didn't know it then but my grandfather had been a serial rapist in my country. He was arrested and had to serve a 20 year sentence. He raised my father until his arrest. My father was about 12 years old when he was left on the streets of Peru. Needless to say my father became a rapist too.
My father was worse than my mother because not only didn't he love me, but he HATED me too. He didn't know about my sexual abuse and he didn't understand my intense anxiety disorder. He was ashame of me as his son and he always let me know it. As I said earlier, I was constantly afraid of the dark, and my father decided he was going to beat this FEAR out of me.
I was forced to sleep by myself in the living room but I was so afraid. I checked everything more than once. I checked the garage, the windows, the faucets, the stove, the shower, the doors, constantly making sure that it was lock. This would take hours and I could never sleep. But my father didn't care or understand, he didn't want me to be a sissy, so I was forced to sleep by myself. So I still remember that in the middle of the night I would drag my pillow and blanket and I would put it right in front of his bedroom door. And every morning, when he opened the door, there I was sleeping. This made him furious and I got many beatings because of it.
He would say “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! ARE YOU A FUCKING FAG!! ONLY FAGS ARE AFRAID OF THE DARK!! YOU'RE A PIECE OF WORTHLESS SHIT!!!”
Sometimes he would pull over on the freeway and say “GET THE FUCK OUT !! I DON'T WANT YOU !! GET THE FUCK OUT!! YOU SHOULD OF STAYED IN PERU. YOU'RE A FUCKING WORTHLESS SON. DON'T CALL ME FATHER!! GET OUT!!” I would just sit very quietly and try my hardest not to cry. There was nowhere for me to turn to. I couldn't even speak English.
He did so many horrible things to me. Another time I allowed my sister's friend to cut my hair because it was long and it kept getting in my way. He was in a bad mood that day and became furious when I did that. I still remember seeing him coming towards with me with a two by four. I ran and tried to get out through the garage, but I wasn't fast enough. He cracked my head wide open and I lost consciousness. I woke up to my sister screaming uncontrollably and my blood all over the place. He kept screaming at me “IT'S YOUR FUCKING FAULT!! WHO THE FUCK TOLD YOU TO CUT YOUR HAIR!!” I was only nine. He never took me to the hospital. When I was eleven he stabbed me in my neck with the scissors because he was sick of my compulsive problem. He once broke my arm cause I was playing outside and didn't ask for permission. He once threw me on the floor and kick me until I almost passed out because I had accidentally locked the keys inside the car. He stabbed me in the head with a knive because I couldn't stop cleaning my hands. I could go and on. And through all this he never took me to the hospital.
He used us in fake hit and run accidents. He burned our house lightly to get money from the insurance. He was always in and out of jail. Always drunk and always violent. He tried several times to sexually abuse my sister but I was ALWAYS there to protect her. I NEVER left her alone with my father.
And worse of all he raped women. In the middle of the night , he would drag women down the stairs after he had abused them sexually in the other room. He took pictures and I found them. He never noticed me watching him in the middle of the night, but I remember it all so clearly and I will never forget it. I use to hate him with such a passion.
There is so much to say, but I am crying really hard now.
I remember that I use to come from school, get a knive and go to the bathroom and I use to say to myself “YOU CAN DO THIS. END IT. JUST KILL YOURSELF AND END THIS.” I thought about killing myself for so many years and I finally tried to when I went to college.
You see I was a straight A student. I hated English but in everything else I excelled. I attended UC Berkeley and majored in Mechanical Engineering on a scholarship. Unfortunately, Sophmore year I slashed my wrist and I never went back.
I can't believe I have been writing this much. I haven't cried this much in a long time. If you've gotten this far, THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart.
I unfortunately can't continue anymore. I wish so much to have someone say “I love you” and to actually believe it. I don't trust anyone and I have broken so many relationships because I don't feel that the person loves me. I'm so confused and yet I present myself like such a normal guy.
Women tell me that I'm attractive, sensitive, that I'm so easy to talk to, that I have a great sense of humor. Two times, two wonderful woman have asked me to marry them and both times I was forced to end the relationship because I never fell “in love” with them. There is this abyss inside of me that yearns for love, but love from a man not a woman. I just want to be hugged and told that everything will be okay. That I'm good and bad. And I hope one day to look in the mirror and love the person I see.
Writing this has been good, hopefully this will be a positive step to my recovery.
Thank you again for taking the time to listen.