No one was coming

Every night The Monster that haunted my dreams would drink his poison of choice for the night and I would prepare for our nightly battle. In my little brain I would search for the bluest waters and the sandiest beaches to help escape from the reality of my young life. I would think about running around the grass with my siblings chasing them down to make them “it” in our game of tag. I would think about the holidays when my mother chose to flee with us at night and I had a couple of days of freedom. I would dream of having a normally loved child's life and not whatever weird perversion was going on in my life.

I was just a little girl; I did nothing to deserve it. Somehow, he still managed to keep the mantra, “This is your fault. You’re just a step kid.”

Every night the music would blare and I knew what was coming. I would hear the bedroom door crack. He would then drag me out of the bed with my ankles as I clung to my sleeping siblings. Some days my siblings were clinging to me until he yelled at them to let me go.

Even though the night started the same, it was going to change very abruptly, and my life was never going to be the same. In the same way I had imagined a “happy place” when The Bad Thing happened, I would also imagine getting revenge and freeing my family from the toxic lifestyle we had to endure at his hands.

My breath caught as I heard the door start to open and my body launched into flight or fight mode. Normally, I would choose to freeze instead and would just check out and wait for the end. Not this time. This time I had a plan.

I had spent years, eleven to be exact, wondering if somebody was ever going to show up and save me like a hero on tv. At just thirteen years old I came to the realization and acceptance that nobody was coming. It was me or nothing.

I think it was getting smacked across the face earlier in the night for not keeping the other kids quiet so he could sleep gave me so much rage but as soon I felt him bend down toward my little body I swung my brother's hard metal bat at the left side of his head. He was a big man, and I knew it, I knew it was going to take force. He was drunk so it stunned him for a minute before he felt the blood dripping down his face. I swung once more, and he stumbled to the ground. The fear drowned me, but I had to get away from The Monster once and for all. And I could not leave him to move on to my sisters or continue to hurt my family. I dropped the bat and left him lying on the ground.

I scooped up my baby sister and told the other two to follow me. We ran into the dark of the night to find a neighbor to call the police. Away from the bleeding monster that haunted me every single night. Even in my dreams he was there causing night terrors.

The first person that answered her door saw us cold, shivering, and with splotches of The Monsters blood strewn across my Hannah Montana pajama shirt. The kind woman looked saddened and calmly asked what was wrong and if we needed help as if it was not two in the morning on a blistering cold December night. I swallowed through a thick mass of stress and choked out. “This is all my fault.” The Monsters repeated and twisted mantra spilling out of my mouth and into the air. I wanted to believe that the blood on my shirt meant we would be free. I did not understand the feeling of safety that I would soon become accustomed to yet, but I understood the peace that my mind felt in the moment.

Surprisingly, the police did not come immediately to arrest me for the crime that was committed. I was just thirteen after all and it was a strong case of self-defense. They also were now intimately aware of all the abuse and trauma that caused me to snap. I just wanted to feel safe, and my actions led to that result.

The soft bellied older police officer from the night everything happened knelt by my chair I was seated at and looked me in the eyes when he said “This is not your fault. You were raised in a horrible situation, no person should have to endure, let alone any child. You did what you had to do. You kept your siblings safe and now he cannot hurt anyone ever again.”

With his reassuring words, I finally stood and walked over to the witness stand.

I was not just telling my story. I was telling all the other little girls that had not escaped, that are currently still suffering in silence, and I was telling all the grown woman who still hasn't to this day told anybody. I would not let the shame of being a victim hold me back from telling the truth.

The truth is that too many little girls and boys are going through the same thing I did. I was going to be the voice for those that never spoke up and asked for help.

I stepped up to the stand and looked at the court. The words “It's my fault” suddenly felt like foreign words that were not mine to say.

The words that were mine were the truth. I stood up confidently in front of curious eyes and spoke of how long the abuse had been happening, the extent of what only I had gone through, his excuse for it being my fault because I was a step kid and not actually his, and that I had to save us. The silence of the room could shatter the toughest hearts. The case was dismissed, and I was required to take therapy.

Many scars still exist from the abuse in my childhood but most of them are internal and cannot be completely mended. The old saying that “time heals all wounds” is only partially true. My wounds will always be there covering that scared little child but the woman I am today will always carry the fact that i was strong enough to survive and make it out. I began life as a scared helpless child and now I am a survivor who saved herself.