Abuse is surrounding us every single day. It almost feels like it’s something we will never be able to escape. I get trapped with that feeling on a daily. Not only have I experienced physical, and sexual abuse, but I’ve also experienced domestic violence abuse that has left me scared from the inside out.
I honestly can’t remember a time when abuse wasn’t a factor in my life. I grew up in the middle of broken relationships and broken homes. While my parents were living with their trauma, my life resulted in trauma. Most people don’t understand the mental and emotional side effects of healing from abuse, especially as a black woman living in America.
At times, I try to push the memory of my pain down, but other times, I am forced to relive the heartbreak experiences all over again. I get triggered by the littlest things, and just when I think I’m over it, the flashbacks come back to torture me—the constant reminders of knowing that I must work daily to survive and move on healthily.
One of my first encounters with abuse was living in a family house with my mother, older brother, and my aunt with her kids. During this time, I was in the first grade and didn’t even know what abuse was. One night, when the adults were out running the streets, the eldest supervised all the kids in one room with a bunk bed and a large screened TV. I remember being on the bottom half of the bunk with the eldest cousin when he began to touch me in inappropriate places.
I remember feeling dirty and icky after he forced me to do some of the most unthinkable things. A sixteen year being inappropriate towards a first grader is some sick shit. I didn’t know what was going on until I got his age, and to this day, I feel embarrassed that I was in that situation. Of course, I know it wasn’t my fault, but honestly, I can’t help but think, “Why did I have to end up on the bed with him?”.
The craziest part is that I’m keeping things vague because the events were highly disgusting. To know that he did that while children were in the wrong still sickens me. I often get flashbacks of that moment, and I never know how to feel or explain it, which is why I’ve never spoken about this TO ANYONE! However, after creating this series, I realized that my story deserves to be told by me on my terms.
Moving on to second grade, it was a sunny afternoon at school when my father picked me up from school to spend time with me. As the daddy little girl I was, it was a joy to spend time with him. Suddenly, days passed as I started to realize that my mom was coming to pick me up from his house. Life instantly became a blur for me.
The next thing I knew, I was moved into a small room at my father’s house, including his new wife and son whom I just met that same day. Ironically, my dad had me and step brother sleeping in the same room and the SAME BED. I was dreading going to sleep next to someone I had just met, but little did I know that I would get to know him. From the day until my mom finally came and got me seven years later, I was getting assaulted by a person who was younger than me.
Honestly, that’s always been hard for me to say because how can someone younger than me and my stepbrother hurt that way? My grandmother knew something was up but didn’t know exactly what. She was the only one who believed me, but everyone else looked over me. When my mom finally came back to get me, I was already mentally checked out.
By the time I was in the seventh grade, I felt like life wanted me to fail, but life was just beginning. From seventh grade to my junior year in high school, my mom and I moved around a lot. I began to talk to older boys, experiment with girls, and just be on the streets.
In my first year of college, I attended Blinn College in Brenham, TX, where I experienced a wide range of abuse from thirsty boys who couldn’t say no to an answer and only wanted one thing. Don’t get me wrong, I was going there to be in a relationship, but I always wasn’t going to be misused and abused.
It was a week before winter break, and most of my roommates were already gone when an overly sized football player barged into my room asking for chips. I knew that was an excuse for him to enter my room. He lived in the apartment unit next to us, so I believed we were friends, but I needed clarification.
He plotted on me and waited until everyone was gone to take advantage of me. After that, I left Blinn and never looked back. I never thought something like that would happen at a young age because I was trying to heal from the past.
However, the abuse didn’t stop, and even after leaving school, I thought I was on the right track to finding someone who wasn’t abusive. WRONG, AGAIN! In my early twenties, I dated an upcoming rapper who presented themselves as a man who loves hard. I was highly attracted to that, but I didn’t know that hard meant CRAZY!
He was a master at getting drunk and choking me out. I experienced a heavy amount of mental, physical, and emotional abuse from him to the point I completely lost myself and began to fall for his trap. I will never forget the night we went to celebrate a friend’s birthday when he saw someone interested in me and it became my fault—the night ended with terror and drunk sleeping.
As years went by, he tried to contact me to try to remember that night while telling me he never abused me. I dodged a bullet by slipping up and telling my mom what was happening. I had no choice but to leave him, or she would have done something she might regret.
Fast-forward to 2018. At this time, I was on a journey of healing and trying to be me again, until I took a solo trip to Chicago. I was so excited about this trip because of its iconic roots. However, I had one of the most unwavering experiences with an overseas basketball player from Chicago.
It was a long day after an event when I was invited to a small kickback. I instantly caught the attention of the person who invited me, and we developed a good connection. However, the drinks were constantly being served, and the night became blurry.
All I remember is going to the restroom as he follows me into the bathroom as I am intoxicated while he is letting me know that I belong to him. My mind couldn’t process what he said, but my heart knew something was wrong. As I tried to walkway, he pulled me in and said
“You’re mine. I’ll kill you.”
And honestly, I’m still in shock. I still get goosebumps every time I have flashbacks. I remember thinking, “Oh, he is serious.” My mind and body could not do anything, and he could see that. I also remember being guided up a flight of stairs and ending in a dark room. My clothes began to fall, and my hands began to touch me.
I felt so numb. I didn’t know how to react because I was too drunk and scared to do anything. Deep down in my heart, I knew he wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. So, I allowed him to do whatever he wanted. And he did just that.
Today, I am 28 years old and I have escaped abusive relationships and have learned valuable lessons that will hopefully get someone safe in the future. I didn’t go into full detail because my story is a triggering catalog worth protecting. However, I believe it’s an essential factor, especially when I’m advocating for abuse.
It’s important for me to speak and spread awareness of abuse, especially in celebrity culture, because representation is key. Those stories will keep hope alive! Thank you for hearing me.
There’s much strength in your vulnerability. Thanks for sharing and possibly being an outlet where others with similar stories can be motivated by your resilience.
i’m sad to say i can relate to your journey. thank you so much for sharing your story and being a continued advocate for abuse. i see you and hear you. there is so much power in sharing our experiences and voice. when we all speak up, we can hold each others hand along the way. until monsters don’t feel safe doing dark deeds anymore, because the light will always find them.