Bob's your uncle.
I don't like that phrase. I cringe when I hear it. It sends a shiver right up my spine.
Bob was my uncle. Bob changed my life forever. Bob stole my childhood.
From the age of four years I was sexually abused, and it continued on for many years. At a time when I should have been carefree and engrossed in all things Barbie, I was consumed with fear, anxiety and unnecessary guilt.
For many years the memories were crystal clear, and I thought about it constantly. Eventually the years eased the pain, and faded the memories.
When I was little we would stay at my Aunt and Uncle's house. Sometimes the whole family would stay, sometimes I would go alone. Every night I would go to sleep in one place, only to wake up in the dark of night in the arms of my uncle.
Each morning I would wake, and I'd feel an overwhelming wave of nausea and guilt. I felt like it was my own fault. I would run to the bathroom and wash my tiny four year old hands, in an attempt to wash the whole night down the drain. Unfortunately it wasn't that easy.
Gripped with anxiety I would sit down to breakfast with a mental tug of war running through my head. Save me, I wanted to scream. I hope they don't know what happened, I thought to myself. I ate my toast and hid within. A poor little four year old trying to deal with so much, so much beyond my short little life.
We'd learn about Stranger Danger in kindergarten. Policemen and firefighters came in to our classroom to teach us about safety and being brave. They told us that if anyone ever touched us we should tell an adult. Inside I was screaming out to them to help me. I felt like it was finally my time to be free. I didn't tell anyone though. I just sat there, filled with sadness.
Bob had instilled a fear in me. He told me it was all my fault, I couldn't tell anyone. So I didn't. I kept it to myself.
Months and months passed. One afternoon, whilst playing with my sister and friends, we were talking about sexual abuse. I piped up that it was happening to me. My older sister was in disbelief. She was so angered, not at me, but at the situation. Even from the youngest age she's felt it her duty to protect me, and I guess at 7 years of age, she felt she failed.
She promised me my secret was safe with her. She told me she wouldn't get me into trouble.
That night it all came undone. My sister told my parents. I wasn't in trouble. I didn't do anything wrong. My Mum assured me of that. I was still frightened though.
My Mum came into me that night and kissed my tear soaked face as I lay on the top bunk. I was okay. I would be okay. I was finally safe. I was finally free.
Unfortunately, I wasn't free from the memories. The years following were the most difficult.
Trying to erase the images from my head turned out to be harder than I could have imagined, or hoped. The abuse tainted many areas of my life. Trust was a big one, especially with males.
I am here now though. I am okay. I am triumphant. I am a survivor. This is my journey, and it lead me to here. And I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
