I remember it was St. Patrick's Day, 8th grade. We had been learning about sex abuse in health class. Ms. Buoy was my teacher. My parents had known about everything for about 6 months or so at this point. Everything was still a secret though. We could not let my Aunt find out. It would crush her, ruin her, and she would hate us. My parents had confronted the man and everything was actually going good. No offenses had been made. No more being totally scared. The only thing that hurt was hiding it from our Aunt. Everybody was walking on egg shells at all times.
Why though. Why would we keep it from her?
They had been going through a sexual abuse case of their own. Protecting their daughter from the babysitters son. You guys, we were babysitting for this man while he went to court to go scream, yell and try to get this boys life ruined, all while he came home and did the same/worse than the boy. During the court hearings, counseling all everything they went through, we babysat a lot. Hence, why things happened more and more. Also, I mean, their child couldn't go back to the babysitters house right? We had my grandpa on board with us, wanting to get us into self defense classes. He came to some counseling sessions. He supported us and helped watch us with a close eye. My grandma was also on board. Helping us, watching us and supporting us. My mom and dad were amazing through it. Protecting us day in and day out. They must have really scared the man because all things stopped immediately. We were also ALL on board with keeping this from the Police, and my aunt.
So back to 8th grade. We were learning about all the different kinds of abuse in class. It triggered something in me. My pot boiled over and I could not hold back emotion. Later that day, while sitting in a cold room on a cold hard chair in science class, I broke down. I let it out. I just started bawling, in the middle of class. And the more I cried the more I realized how ridiculous I looked for randomly bursting out in tears, and then I cried more. My teacher probably thought someone died. I died, teacher, I just boiled over and died.
I was sent to the counselor to talk about my problems and to call my mom and to figure myself out. I broke down and told the counselor everything. How he violated me for a year and a half. How I held it in for so long. How I wasn't strong anymore and I just needed someone outside to know. I had to get it all out, and that is exactly what I did. Another verbal vomit all on this innocent lady in her office. I felt better. I got it out. Someone else knew my secret. Then the bad news, she was required to tell legal officials. My mom had already been called and she was on her way to the school.
Again I felt alone, scared and like I had made the terrible mistake. You see, the perpetrators have a manipulation of turning everything around and that we will be the ones who get in trouble. Everything was about to change. My cousins would grow up without a dad. My aunt would hate us. Everything was ruined because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. Everything felt like my fault.
On some grace of mercy, because my mom is amazing at what she does and how she does things, we convinced this counselor that everything had been taken care of and no legal authority needed to be called. This counselor could have lost her job this day, but we thank her with all our hearts for not involving the police yet. Now was not the time.
I cried so hard that day. I will never forget. I always say March 17 is my anniversary of my verbal vomit. It isn't a day of wearing green for me, it is a day to protect others and reflect on my past. The day I humiliated myself at school for crying uncontrollably, and almost let our secret out.
Another day went by, and I was letting my uncle get away with sexually abusing me.
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