My name is Mary Jane, a regular girl with a very irregular past.
As a little girl, about nine years old, I lived in a small house in near downtown Detroit, Michigan. Everything about my life was regular as far as anyone knew at the time. What they didn't know is that my uncle was raping me almost every day.
Both of my parents worked full time just to pay the bills and that left me alone after school. My mom didn't like that idea very much, so she looked into daycare for me. I went there for a short time, but it didn't take my parents very long to find out that they couldn't afford it, so they looked else where for a solution. At about that same time, my aunt and uncle (her brother) moved near us (about two blocks away). My aunt worked full time at a factory and my uncle worked full time also, but only on the midnight shift. He was a security guard. I don't think it was long after they moved in that I was instructed to go there after school so that my uncle could baby sit me.
I don't remember exactly how it started, but what I do remember is that I was scared. I remember my uncle touching my private parts between my legs. I remember being there, but it almost feels like I was watching it all happen from somewhere else. At first, he would just touch me for a few minutes at a time and always with my clothes on. After about three months, things changed. He made me take my clothes off and he would touch himself while he looked at me. He told me that my parents would hate me if they knew what I was doing.
My grades in school dropped dramatically, I lost all of my friends, and I stopped talking almost altogether. My parents were always mad at me for my bad grades and I got spanked a lot. I remember my mom screaming at me to tell her why my grades were so bad, but I didn't know why. All that I knew was that I felt terrible about it and too scared to talk at all.
Things at my uncle's house suddenly got worse. He started putting his penis in my mouth. I remember crying the entire time. Not long after that he started raping me. Almost every day after school, I had to go to his house. I would cry all the way there. I don't know how long this went on for, but after a while I stopped crying. I guess I just gave up, I don't know. He raped me almost every day for about three years. The weekends were mine though. That's when I would try to be normal, but I would stay by myself in my room almost the entire weekend. All that I did know is that I couldn't talk to anyone about it. My life became numb. I didn't care about anything, including myself. My name is Mary Jane.
On my birthday, when I was turning twelve years old, while walking home from school, I attempted suicide by jumping off a bridge. I woke up in a hospital with a broken arm, broken collar bone, broken wrist, and a broken ankle. My face was almost completely black and blue and my eyes were almost swelled shut. I lived through it, but at the time I wanted to die.
After I was allowed out of the hospital, my parents took me to see a psychologist. I wasn't allowed to go to school at all at this time. I stayed in a mental hospital for about four months. The doctors there didn't do much for me at all. They would talk to me, but mostly they just gave me pills that would make be sleep a lot.
I met a boy there during lunch time and we started talking. Well, he started talking a lot. I just listened a lot. He would talk to me about all kinds of stuff, not just my problems. He was like my best friend. He didn't seem to care that I wouldn't talk or how my grades were. He wanted to be my friend and that's all. It took me about two months to really start carrying on a regular conversation with him and it felt good. Not long after that, I was taken out of the mental hospital, and was allowed to go back home. My mom stopped working full time and was able to be home with me after school. I sat with her one night and told her all about my friend at the mental hospital. About two weeks later, we went to the mental hospital to visit him, but he was gone. The very next day my parents were able to find out where he lived and we went to visit him. We spent most of the afternoon over his house. While we were there, I told my friend all about my uncle and what he was doing with me. Well, I guess he told his parents, and then they told mine. My dad came to me and asked if it was true. I remember my mom crying while I told my dad about my uncle. My dad got on the phone and called my uncle over to the house. It was a horrible night. I remember my mom screaming, and my dad hollering, but I don't remember what my uncle was doing. I don't even think he talked at all. I just knew that it was all my fault. I got sick to my stomach and threw up.
Later that night, my mom took me over to a friend's house that she knew from work. I spent the night there and we went to church the next day. I stayed there for a couple more days and then my parents came and picked me up.
I have been seeing a psychologist on and off since then. It has been a rough time, but I don't talk about it much at all and I still get those feelings every time that I even think about it. It just makes my stomach hurt. The only person that I could really talk to was that boy in the mental hospital. We stayed friends even until we were adults and I finally married him. His name is Mike and he is my best friend. I know that I have told people that my husband doesn't listen to my problems, but that isn't true. Without him in my life, I would probably have jumped off that bridge again. As for my uncle, I never saw him again and I still don't know what happened to him. My parents never told me. They both died a few years ago in a car accident. It seems odd, but I never cried about that. I just went numb. Again, it was like watching someone else go through it.
My parents and my husband Mike are the only people that have known about my past until now. The women here at WomensSelfesteem.com have slowly helped me to understand that it wasn't my fault. I will never totally be over what has happened to me in my past, but it seems easier with ever word that I type. I am now 40 years old and I still live just outside of Detroit in a little house and I am still happily married to Mike. We don't have any kids and I don't think I want any either. This world is too scary for me to bring another child into. We go to church now on a regular basis and it feels very comfortable to me. I also frequent the website www.womensselfesteem.com and try to help other women that feel bad about themselves. It makes them feel better, and me also. My Name is Mary Jane, and my life WILL go on. I will NOT let my past stop me.
If you are a parent, watch for signs that your child WILL display. If they are being abused, it will come out somehow. If they won't tell you, be their friend and let them tell you. Let them know that you will not be mad at them for telling the truth. Let them know that you love them and that you want to protect them.
