Family is a funny thing. I was raised to believe, early on, that my family had my concerns as their priority. But when the going got tough, that turned out to not be the case. Their own desire for stability and avoidance of embarrassment and potential divorce (my grandparents) made them decide to ignore what happened to me and pretend it didn't occur. They developed a story in their minds that what happened was not as big a deal as it actually was (I was molested by my uncle). This way, they could live with themselves when I would loudly protest I did not want to be around my uncle. Instead, through the idea of "keeping the family together" they made sure he was around me every Sunday and especially every holiday including Thanksgiving and Christmas. These are bittersweet times for me. They practically shoved him down my throat.
Some background: My uncle was diagnosed with Schizophrenia before I was ever born. No question he has problems. My grandparents (who are his parents) and my mom (who is his sister) have been dealing with it since he was a kid. He also happens to have an IQ higher than Albert Einsteins'. I think anyone with an IQ that high tends to loose track of reality.
Schizophrenia does not automatically make a person a child molester. In fact, most schizophrenics don't go there at all. So what makes my uncle different? a) he's a sociopath and b) he had opportunity with me as I was only 7 and thought it was all a game - that was, until he really hurt me.
Having to deal with this all their lives, I guess they went into "protective mode". Not of me but of him. He did know what he did was wrong. He asked me not to tell anyone he was doing it so it was not the schizophrenia. Again, I thought of it as a game (sometimes weird, sometimes very gross and uncomfortable but a game nonetheless. I was always a good niece). None of them expected him to go that far. They had no idea he was capable of that kind of act.
They took my side at first. They got him out of the house and into an institution. That lasted about a year and then they brought him back, saying the doctors told them he wouldn't do it again.
Oh really? I bet he would. Sure enough, when he had the first opportunity, he followed me down stairs to the basement. That was when he really hurt me. He took out his anger at the fact that I told on him. I guess he figured this was his last chance to get back at me.
Afterwards, I ran upstairs and said "He did it again!". My mom went after him - tried to tear his eyes out but my grandfather held her back. Go mom!
He was sent away again, this time for 3 years. I had forgotten about certain things but there's no question I was affected by what he did. I stopped playing with dolls almost immediately - holding the doll felt too much like him holding me and I thought it was gross. I was nervous that people would hurt me. Kids and adults. I knew it could be done.
3 years later, he came back. Yes, they brought him back. My mom told me he would be at my grandparents house when we got there that evening. There he was but this time, I wanted nothing to do with him. His presence made me extremely uncomfortable. I told my grandmother. I told her I didn't want him around me. She said to me, and I quote" He's not going away. I'm not going to do that. I'd have to change my life around and I don't want to do that." Huh?
I was rather shocked. Up until then, my grandmother had lovingly tried to do her best but a beast came out of her. I call it the Jeckle and Hyde syndrome. Here's the worst of it:
My uncle goes upstairs. My mom and gramma start playing rummy cube, a game, my grandfather is watching tv upstairs as well. So, since my uncle is upstairs, I head as far away as I can (I'm 11 years old now) I go down into the basement where there is an organ I can play with. I'm fiddling with the keys when I hear somebody rushing down the stairs. I look up and there is my Uncle! The Asshole was eager. I'm not kidding. He was in the doorway. I moved away from the organ and walked around him to get out the door thinking he would grab me to stop me, but he didn't. I ran up the stairs and up to my grandmother, who was playing rummy cube, and said "
In an irritated voice, as if I was bothering her, grandma says, "No he's not."
I looked at her in shock.
I turned to my mother. She was looking uneasily at my grandmother... and then looked down at her tiles. She did not look at me and she did not make a comment.
I didn't know where to go so I went up to my grandfather, who was watching tv.
"Grampa? I don't want
He was quite for a moment and then said "Well, he's family."
I said "But what if he hurts me again?"
He again was quite for a moment and then said "He won't."
I knew I was doomed. Melodramatic but true. My family was in complete denial.
Well, it turns out it was now up to me, an 11 year old kid, to defend herself again a child molester 3 times her age, size and weight. I will tell you that he never molested me again. I didn't give him the opportunity even though my family gave him ample. After a while, when they saw that he wasn't going to touch me, they decided everything was ok. They got quite angry at me when I kept protesting his presence. I even offered to stay home on Sunday's so I wouldn't have to be in the same room with him. I thought that was a good solution but it wasn't according to the family. Besides, I was 11 years old, my mom said. I can't leave you home alone.
I saw this picture once of a pregnant woman standing outside looking upset while she was smoking a cigarette saying that she was concerned about what the noise level of Jackhammers was doing to her unborn child. People just don't see their own hypocrisy.
I learned quickly that mentioning I was upset about the presence of my Uncle got the wrath of both my grandmother and mother. As long as I didn't discuss my displeasure at seeing him, the world was right. However, I couldn't help but be anxious and nervous around him as he had a tendency to stare at me A LOT. "He stares at everybody." was my grandmothers response. Yeah, but he didn't rape everybody, now didn't he?
This just gets more and more twisted as time moves on. I have a million stories I can tell of their utter hypocrisy. One moment, they would be telling me how much they love me and to be careful and that I can go to them with any problem in the world, and the next moment, when I say, what about
Eventually, I was old enough that my mother could not force me to go to my grandparents house every Sunday to be "with the family". Eventually, under evil eye glare and much protest, I was able to stay home. I was guilted into attending Thanksgivings and Christmas as these were "family holidays". Eventually, I told them I was done with that too. Honestly, they couldn't understand why I was making such a "big deal" out of it.
They got angry at me because I wouldn't play ball. I wouldn't pretend that everything was ok and no problem. Life was normal. Fa la la la la. My anger and rebellion was blamed on teenage angst. My aunts and uncles (including the culprit) were lead to believe that "
Anyway, that's the basis of my anxiety disorder, panic disorder, depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. My family sincerely wants to help me though this but they refuse to understand how much responsibility they have for causing this to begin with. That's why this time of year is so hard.
Good Luck to All.
