I like sleep. Sleep is something wonderful, something desiring, something that we all need to keep us refreshed and grow. For an unborn child sleep is even more important. It is as important for the unborn child as it is for the mother. For me sleep was something that I had little of. I had plenty of food, water, clothing and other things, but sleep was something that I never had for the longest time.
For nearly two years, every morning at about 5AM my foster father would give me a gentle nudge to wake me up. Now, most parents might come in and check on their child. They might even get in from work after a late shift and place a gentle kiss on their child’s forehead. For me, it didn’t end with a kiss. My foster father would whisper in my ear to wake me up that he wanted a kiss. But then, it would become worse. He would abuse me in any way possible. I wanted to open my mouth and scream, but nothing ever came out.
When I fell pregnant with my daughter, I thought for sure that everything would stop. I thought that perhaps my unborn child would keep this evil man away from me. Somehow, I thought that my baby was a protective shield. I was wrong, the abuse continued and did not stop. He abused me the entire pregnancy. I think, rather, I know that my unborn child knew that something was going on. At the near end of my pregnancy I could feel my baby turning inside me and it always felt that she was running from my attacker. I would silently say to myself and her that everything would be fine. I kept telling myself that something good will happen, that one day, happiness will protect us. I said to my stomach, perhaps when you are born he will leave us alone.
When my daughter was born, there was a small reprieve. Perhaps, is it over. Has my abuser stopped his torment. I was wrong yet again. My daughter was four months old, and he came in at 5 am and woke us both up. He would carry on with his abuse, all the while my daughter was crying loudly, she seemed to scream for help. Her small eyes looking at me as he carried one, begging me to run away. Her eyes kept begging me to hide, to escape this evil man. Perhaps she wanted me to fight back. Perhaps she wanted me to scream for help. I will never know. All I know is that after he would leave, I would pick her up and try to comfort her. I don’t think she believed me.
This carried on for over 2 years. Almost every day at 5 am he would come into my room and my world and have his way with me. While the world was asleep and resting their eyes, my daughter and I were being tortured in the worst way possible. In fact, one time, after he was done, as he was leaving my room, he walked over to my daughters cot and gave her an evil glance and said “You will be a slut one day, just like your Mother!” I cried that morning for hours and hours.
To this day, my daughter has suffered from manic depression. She holds on to things that she cherishes so tight it is difficult for her to let go. I think, rather I know, that what a child sees at any age, even as a young baby or toddler stays with them for life. The images of my attacker burned into her eyes like a TV image on an old screen.
There is nothing positive that I can draw from those horrible mornings. I take that back, there is one thing. When my evil foster father finally died. After two years of abuse my nightmare was over.
Freedom was grand.