Larissa’s Story: Me Too

I was four years old when I met ‘Mr. Helmethead’. I enjoyed playing with him, it was fun; he was a mini construction worker. He was my stepfather’s penis. He would make me jack his penis for him. My mother encouraged it for a while, laughing about it and what not until she got jealous. One day she told me that he was her man and that I needed to leave him alone. I didn’t understand what I did. It made me sad. I was just doing what they told me to do. I’m almost thirty now and I still refuse to jack anyone’s penis. It makes me feel dirty and uncomfortable. It’s also hindered me from simple activities such as braiding my daughter’s hair, sewing/knitting, knot tying etc. After some time, it stopped; I personally believe it was because of him almost going to jail for something else. Years went by and I was around 10 when he started saying sexual things to me. It always disgusted me. I’m biracial and he would ask me if my nipples were brown or pink. My menstrual cycle started when I was 9 and he would make sure he told me that I was able to have kids now. He would sneak into my room late at night when everyone was asleep and play with my boobs. I would always roll over so that he would stop, and he would. I was always scared to go to sleep because I already knew what was going to happen. I remember hoping my mom would wake up and find him. One night he came in and I just thought omg, please leave me alone! He started doing what he normally would do, and I turned over. He stopped but continued. That was a first. He just kept doing it and I kept turning over, but he wouldn’t stop. He took his shirt off and his pants off; I was so scared, heart racing. He laid on top of me and I just cried and when he tried to put my legs up, I said please stop. He did, he laughed and told me that he thought I was my mom. Seriously? He gave me twelve dollars and told me not to tell my mom. Time went by and I didn’t say anything to anyone. I had to get a rape kit done and they asked if anyone I know has ever done something sexual to me and I told them about my stepdad. I was still young and didn’t think anything would happen, but they started an investigation. They made me tell my mom before anything started and of course she took his side. She was a single mom of three kids with no job, so I guess I don’t blame her. I was treated like complete shit for years. Called IT, called a bitch on a regular basis. I was told how I would be murdered and buried in the backyard. I started cutting at one point and my mom told him and he said, “Well obviously that bitch ain’t doing it right because she’s still here. I’ll show that bitch the right way and throw her ass in the yard.” My mom turned on me too. I started living on the streets. Sleeping on bus stop bench or park benches. Having sex with strangers so that I could have a little food or a warm place to sleep. Washing up in gas station bathrooms. Having guns put to my head and being beaten when I refused sex. I was just waiting to die. One day I called my mom to see if she could pick me up, but she refused. I was only down the road, like a thirty-minute walk away. I started walking home and car pulled up, it was my stepdad. I cried and just thought wow, he does love me. I stopped running away, started going to school regularly, stayed of the streets and got my life together. I repressed all those memories until after I was drugged and raped when I was 19. I was in A-school waiting to be shipped of to my first ship. I drank underage and was out of limits of where I could go, but I trusted my liberty buddies. One of my liberty buddies’ friends raped me in the back seat of a car, with my buddies in the front seat. I had literally told this guy all day that I would not have sex with him. I had one drink and was done until he kept on asking me over and over if I wanted a drink. After an hour of him asking I finally was like fine I’ll take a drink. It was completely my fault, but I really did not think he would be the type of guy to drug someone. I thought that only white people did that kind of thing- not black people. Dumb way of thinking but that was what I thought from the type of people I had hung out with up to that point in my life. I definitely learned otherwise. I didn’t report it because I didn’t want my ‘friends’ in trouble and because I was scared. I already dealt with not being believed once, so why waste my time again. My life has really gone down hill since that. I abused alcohol for years, I’m always irritable. I shut people out, nightmares are horrid. I’m always nervous, my body hurts from always being on alert. Life sucks, but it’s finally starting to get better. I finally started seeing a therapist and I know what’s wrong with me (CPTSD/MDD) and understanding it is helping me understand myself. Why I do the things that I do, why I am the way that I am. It’s hard, but every day I feel myself getting better, gaining confidence. I’m striving to become the amazing woman I know that I was meant to be.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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