i want to die - trigger warning

Now as I am coming to a new horizon, I wonder if looking back is really important in the process of healing.
By horizon, I mean that I have forgiven, or have I?
I know that there is something to the forgetting part.
But how can I forget until I have shared, and helped someone by these experiences.

Silence is usually the medicine we take for abuse. Not me, not anymore.

When my mother decided that her first marriage was over, I must have thought cool...two Christmas’s, two birthday cakes...


But I was no longer a little girl. You see, he had already begun to abuse me. I remember waking up in my makeshift bedroom to this man, this construction worker, fondling me. His rough hands were inside my panties.
I don’t remember how I felt, only that it happened all the time. I tried to tell my mother once, how she responded was so nonchalant that it must be okay.

I mostly remember missing my daddy. He used to tickle my back until I would fall asleep, or he would fall asleep. He would tell me I was his favorite, something I am sure he told all five of us. We would work on the farm together, me mostly playing but he didn’t care. We had rabbits and kittys, fish and dogs. It was really a magical time, living on the farm. Then the flood. Our basement filled with water and we hired the workers. They came everyday. And when the work was done, my mom found new jobs for him. His name is Bob.

I remember building the clubhouse with him. We couldn’t wait to show dad. My dad must of been hurt. Who was this man spending time with his wife and children?
But he was too busy to worry much. He had work and callings in the church.
He would worry about it later.

Then it was too late. My mother decided to move to an apartment.

By then the divorce was in the making, and the abuse was in full swing. Our new daddy would tuck us in extra tight, he must have liked me best for he saved me for last and spent extra time touching and playing with me as he tucked me in. I began to really hate him touching me. I hated every part of this new life we had begun.

It was then that I wrote a suicide note. I was ten now.

Dear Mom,
I hate Bob. I hate him and I want him to leave us alone.
I am going to take all my heart medicine and die
because I don’t want him to touch me ever again.
me