http://www.nbcnews.com/...
As the church bells ring in Ohio
Watching the demolition of the house where Ariel Castro held captive three young women for more than a decade, I can't help but reflect back on my place of abuse.
My grandfather would rape me in the master bedroom of the trailer he and my grandmother owned at the Lake. Their trailer was two down from my parent's where we would spend every weekend.
As I wrote in "Our Little Secret"
They had two rooms, and insisted on separating us when we went to sleep, otherwise we would giggle and laugh and never fall asleep. After tucking us in, they would both go outside to work in the garden or shell peas or shuck corn...but inevitably, the sliding glass door would open and close and I would hear his heavy footsteps in the hallway.
I remember burying myself in the covers, praying that he was just getting a drink, or just going to the bathroom, or that he would stop at the other door, praying that today it was her day, and not mine. But my heart would sink as I heard the creak of his bedroom door open.
He would pull me to the end of the bed and push my nightgown up. And I remember squeezing my eyes shut, trying to block out what was happening, what always happened. I would hum in my head to block out the sounds, I would clench my fists and beg my body not to react. I would feel the tears sliding down the corners of my eyes, pooling in my ears...But I never made a sound. I had learned not to.
In May of 2012, my Uncle Jr. died. He had inherited some of the property that my grandparent's owned and it was my first time back there in many, many years (maybe 20?) My dad had told me years earlier that the trailer had burned to the ground, but I had never seen it with my own eyes.
When we arrived, just as anyone going back as an adult to a place that they remembered as a child, I was shocked at how small everything was. There was nothing remaining but a slab where the trailer had stood and a brick fireplace that had once been the anchor to the front room they had built on.
However, although everything was gone, the memories of my childhood still lingered. As the following video says in its closing
And to this day - No one can see - That he is still - In front of me
Once of the most poignant scenes addressing childhood sexual abuse comes out of Forrest Gump:
"Sometimes, I guess, there just aren't enough rocks"
Watching the Castro house be demolished to me parallels the millions of lives that are demolished each and every day by childhood sexual abuse.
The Future of This Site
The house will be demolished by two local companies for free.
Cuyahoga County Land Bank obtained the deed to the house last week. In addition, the county is working to get the deeds to two homes adjacent to Castro's.
Sources say the other two vacant homes will probably come down in a month, opening up space for landscaping or a community betterment project.
Suffice it to say, I hope they plant trees.
*Triggering*
I was a kid – you were a man
My pain is palpable – but only to me.
I can’t seem to move, to act, to breathe.
In searching for answers I only find pain
As old, familiar questions arise again.
An empty vessel – that’s all I’ve been –
An empty vessel you stuck your dick in
Did you know that you killed me that day?
Did you know you took everything away?
That hole you ripped apart inside of me
Filled up with anger, disgust, self-loathing
Years I’ve spent abusing myself
Illicit sex, alcohol, my own personal hell
You put me there – I was just a kid
Do you even know what you did?
How can I make people understand
I was a kid – you were a man
You took your time to gain my trust
Told me I was special, pretty, loved
You told me it was our little secret
You told me it was something I’d never forget
You were right in one respect, I never forgot
In fact, for me, the abuse never stopped
I’ve been raped time and time again
By your memory, my family, other men
Their refusal to hold you accountable, to make you pay
Is just like you raping me every day
When I am here, when I let you in
I can feel you putting your mouth on me again
Taking from me everything that was good
Leaving me shattered, broken, misunderstood
How can I make people understand
I was a kid – you were a man
How did this become my fault, my shame?
Why do they look at me like I’m to blame?
No I didn’t stop you or say anything
How could I, Why would I, I was just a kid
And you told me you’d kill her, you’d kill me too
Tell me, please tell me – what was I to do?
Even now, 30 years later, the price is too high
It has cost me my family to ask the question “Why?”
Why they did nothing, why they sided with you
Why it didn’t matter that I was abused
It was your reputation we had to protect
You were the adult, I was just a kid
An empty vessel with no self-worth
Left to fend for myself in this hell-on-earth
This hell you created and left me to
Please tell me now what am I to do
In searching for answers, I only find pain
As old, familiar questions arise again
How can I make people understand
I was a kid – you were a man
Roxine © 2012