My Father came home from Vietnam with a silent mental illnesses (PSTD). He violently attacked my mother in front of me and my older brother. I was seven when I witnessed him almost kill my mother. After that, we were being stalked. My mother had warrants on him, but still felt like her life was threatened. Because he would not obey the orders from the court. A year passed she started to feel like she had control of her life. My Father stopped coming around all of sudden. Me and mother both woke up late, got dressed made are way to the parking lot. My Father had Vandalized the car. By busting the tires and placing tar on all the door knobs. My mother reached out to her aunt. Who stayed near her job. Asked if she could watch me while she worked. My aunt spent most of her time in her room entertaining her company. Meanwhile, I was in the next room getting raped by her son- I was eight. When my cousin heard his mother come out the room. He stopped. I broke free.
I ran to tell my aunt what was happening in the room. My cousin running behind me calling me a liar. My aunt did nothing and never said anything to my mother. When she picked me up from her house that night.
I became rebellious. I was put on all kinds of medication to keep me stabilize. My mother would call the same aunt to chastise me. My mother had no idea I was molested. How hard it was for me to express myself at such a young age. I was all alone in the world I had nobody.
During my teenage years these were my darkest times. I was promiscuous and misunderstood. My mother started back dating again. several years after my father stopped harassing us. The guy who she was with physically abused me secretly. She never knew what was going on. because I was to scared to speak. I abused the medication that I was being given. I wanted to die I felt like I had no purpose to live.
In adulthood I was withdrawn, depressed and over protective of my children. My life was one dark hole and I was stuck in it. I woke up one day feeling overwhelmed. It felt like someone was beating me. Not knowing I was about to be delivered by my own child. I went to get myself together before my children came home. I did not want them seeing me stressed out. Opened the door to my son’s room and my notebook was on his bed. I heard him coming in the house. I hurried back to my room and set down. My body weigh heavy my legs mounted to the floor. He comes and gives me my notebook. Tells me how good he thought it was. I asked him what did he get from reading it he said “Its about a girl who had a secret and she never told anyone”. Feeling humiliated. I took a deep breath and said “I was that little girl in the story”. He looks at me and said “That makes a lot of sense. I think you should finish it and help other people like you” He was only 13 at the time. It took me five years to write Jilted Silence is Deadly. A week later my book was published and my son graduated high school at 17.