I never knew that the masculinity of a man would come to haunt me in the darkest days of my life. All I can remember is the soft whispers in my ear and the massages about my neck and shoulders. This was his way of showing me his love; by caressing my innocence. I can’t remember every detail of these “so called incidences” with my brother; however the doctors that I am seeing in therapy says I purposely developed amnesia because I don’t want to remember those torturing moments. Even though I hated the touch of a man at first, as I grew older, it began to feel a whole lot better with the person who I was voluntarily intimate with. I often think to myself, “How could something that I hated so much as a child, feel so good as an adult.” My brother is the monster that no-one wants under their bed at night. “This is honor and loyalty, he would say. You can’t let a soul know about this or you’ll be taken away and sold into a third world country as a sex slave, and then they’ll kill you.”
How was I supposed to know that I was being molested?! I mean how I was supposed to know that my brother was a very ill human being and sick in the head. He allowed his posse to take turns with me especially on Wednesday nights. Yeah that’s right; on Wednesdays my aunt had to stay overnight in the nursing home where she worked. Oh Geesh! I hated Wednesdays; sometimes I would hope and wish that Tuesdays would never come around because Wednesdays always followed, but unfortunately, like clockwork, it always showed up. My brother would constantly warn me that if my aunt was to find out about our love for each other she will ship us to those terrible countries that will eventually kill us. I didn’t want to go there because from my understanding, they hurt people a lot more than what was being done to me. I made sure that I kept wipes and ice packs to ease my pain, and I kept the best kept secret that would end up being like the Santa Claus tall tale. Yes! I found out that I had been lied to for years. My brother led me to believe all of this non-sense and it was him that was the ‘third world country.’ This forced me into a very dark place and drove me to share my pain with every woman that never felt the way I did.
My name is Sharletta Dawson and this is my story.
How was I supposed to know that I was being molested?! I mean how I was supposed to know that my brother was a very ill human being and sick in the head. He allowed his posse to take turns with me especially on Wednesday nights. Yeah that’s right; on Wednesdays my aunt had to stay overnight in the nursing home where she worked. Oh Geesh! I hated Wednesdays; sometimes I would hope and wish that Tuesdays would never come around because Wednesdays always followed, but unfortunately, like clockwork, it always showed up. My brother would constantly warn me that if my aunt was to find out about our love for each other she will ship us to those terrible countries that will eventually kill us. I didn’t want to go there because from my understanding, they hurt people a lot more than what was being done to me. I made sure that I kept wipes and ice packs to ease my pain, and I kept the best kept secret that would end up being like the Santa Claus tall tale. Yes! I found out that I had been lied to for years. My brother led me to believe all of this non-sense and it was him that was the ‘third world country.’ This forced me into a very dark place and drove me to share my pain with every woman that never felt the way I did.
My name is Sharletta Dawson and this is my story.
I never really had a normal child hood. My parents were killed in an accident when I was younger. My brother and I come from a very small family and my mother only had one sister who eventually adopted us. My aunt’s name is Delilah.
Aunt Delilah had a beautiful spirit and even though she raised us with a firm hand, her rules were strict, but just. I loved her as an aunt, but often wanted to know did she experience the kind of love that I was experiencing in her home. “that is the kind of love that I thought, was love.” She seemed so warm spirited, but due to my shallow and spiteful feelings, she would become my first victim.
I wanted my aunt to feel the pain that I used to feel on Wednesday nights, so I started by bullying her. She loves roses and she had a rose garden in the backyard that she loved more than anything in this world. I would see her on her days off; especially on the weekends talking to those bushels like they were new born babies. I called them Bitches because they are loved by women. One day while Aunt Delilah was at work, I went into the backyard and it was terror by day. I put an ax to all of those roses as I caressed the stems while they were on the ground. By the time I was finished with that rose garden, it looked like a bunch of wild animals had had a field day.
I’ll never forget that faithful day when she went to visit those Bitches. She screamed, cried, shouted and the whole shebang once she witnessed her garden was destroyed. I ran out to hold her in my arms, and then I caressed her, wiped the tears from her eyes, massaged her neck and shoulders whispering the words I love you, and that everything is going to be alright. She just kept saying why would these animals do this to my darlings, they were so beautiful and full of life. She kept saying, “why animals why?”
As I stroked her hair, I thought to myself “yes Delilah you are right, I am an animal, but one who eats, breathe and sleep just like you.
Aunt Delilah had a beautiful spirit and even though she raised us with a firm hand, her rules were strict, but just. I loved her as an aunt, but often wanted to know did she experience the kind of love that I was experiencing in her home. “that is the kind of love that I thought, was love.” She seemed so warm spirited, but due to my shallow and spiteful feelings, she would become my first victim.
I wanted my aunt to feel the pain that I used to feel on Wednesday nights, so I started by bullying her. She loves roses and she had a rose garden in the backyard that she loved more than anything in this world. I would see her on her days off; especially on the weekends talking to those bushels like they were new born babies. I called them Bitches because they are loved by women. One day while Aunt Delilah was at work, I went into the backyard and it was terror by day. I put an ax to all of those roses as I caressed the stems while they were on the ground. By the time I was finished with that rose garden, it looked like a bunch of wild animals had had a field day.
I’ll never forget that faithful day when she went to visit those Bitches. She screamed, cried, shouted and the whole shebang once she witnessed her garden was destroyed. I ran out to hold her in my arms, and then I caressed her, wiped the tears from her eyes, massaged her neck and shoulders whispering the words I love you, and that everything is going to be alright. She just kept saying why would these animals do this to my darlings, they were so beautiful and full of life. She kept saying, “why animals why?”
As I stroked her hair, I thought to myself “yes Delilah you are right, I am an animal, but one who eats, breathe and sleep just like you.
PART 2 TO BE CONTINUED OCTOBER 1, 2016
No comments:
Post a Comment