I can’t believe that I’m going to have to rack up medical bills again and most likely file bankruptcy again after this one is done with. I don’t know what else to do – I need the medical care but can’t afford insurance. I hate doing this. Doc wants me to get a CT scan and ultrasound and some other tests. We are trying to figure out the origin of this constant pain. But, in order to get these tests, I’m going to have to get billed for something I can’t pay back, realistically, unless they will take like five bucks a month, which will take forever to pay (and I can’t afford to pay them each five bucks a month either), but maybe I can at least do that. A little is at least something, right?
I write this as a shedding of a skin that no longer fits me. I write this for me. Those of you out there reading this (if anyone ever reads this) may think of me as a whiner or something, but I don’t care. I have to get this out and shed this skin.
When I was five years old, my family was Mormon. We were poor and lived on big blocks of cheese and butter with tons of rice. I was a despicable child who whined about having to eat rice yet again and one time, I remember, that I threw up the rice because I couldn’t fathom eating it again. I threw up the rice that my mother worked so hard to provide because I was a spoiled brat, basically. Later, I would find out that we were in this program with the Mormon church that would help us with food and stuff, and as a complement to the program, we were to house a missionary family. Now, this would normally be an honor, but this missionary family was sick and dark.
I don’t remember what the first signs were or if it just happened, but suddenly my brother and I had to fight off the advances of a man and his two sons. They regularly raped us, along with the daughter of their family. The daughter, I think, was slow, but I’m not sure. I was so young, so I don’t recall. I know the two sons were mentally retarded and probably did not know what they did was wrong. The father, however, he knew. At least, I think he knew. I know he did what he did in secret and threatened to harm my mother if I ever told anyone. I will never forget the day that I was sitting there, trying to watch Sesame Street and be left alone from the father’s pawing, and he put his penis in the back of my underwear. His wife walked in from work and yelled at him to put his penis back in his pants. That was when I first realized that she knew about his nature and what he was, what he did, and there was no hope for help from her.
My memories are choppy from that time. I remember them wanting to find out if a flashlight would light me from the inside. I remember waking up one time in bed to pain and then realizing one of the sons had his fingers inside me. These things became common for me until one day I was at my Aunt’s house and she noticed blood in my urine. She took me to the doctor and the doctor revealed that I was pretty used down there and she called me mom and my mom had a breakdown about it. I remember telling the pastor about what they did to me, and I remember feeling in the end like it was all my fault. OK, there are the memories. There is the first time I was ever molested in my lifetime. And, now, here comes the rest of it – I forgive them. I have been seeking them out, wanting to press charges, wanting to shout out to the world what they have done to me, but it is to no avail. It is only destroying me in this trying to find justice. I forgive them and all they did to me. I forgive them so I can shed this skin and move on with my life.