Beautifully Broken (Natasha's Story)

story in diary form about my friend who dealt with sexual abuse

Dear diary,
Yesterday was the day I wanted to end it all. It's been ten years since I was molested and the person who did it was never held responsible. When I told my mom what happened, she flew into a rage like I had never seen. Her eyes were wild and she suddenly turned pale and started shaking uncontrollably. Then, as she held me in her protective embrace, the tears fell. I felt sick to my stomach and was just hoping and praying that this was just a terrible nightmare that I would wake up from- but it was grim reality.
Mom then contacted CPS (Child Protective Services) and reported the assault. They showed up, asked questions, wrote stuff down in a notepad, and said they would do a full-scale investigation, and that they would be in touch with us. A few days later, CPS got in touch with my mom and told her that because they couldn't find any evidence against this person, that he was not charged.
No,
No.
NO!!!!!!
I felt so helpless, so angry, so....alone. I didn't want to talk to anyone. Activities I used to enjoy like taking photos, going for walks, and socializing with my friends didn't interest me anymore. I felt like a prisoner in my own home. Talking to my therapist did no good since she recommended that I take twenty different kinds of anti-depressant medications.
Not only was my innocence stolen, but my trust was forever shattered. This man was a monster; a wolf in sheep's clothing. And someone I thought I could trust.
No matter how often I lick my wounds, the venom sinks deeper under my skin. When will I no longer feel pain? I am alone.



Dear diary,
I took a hot shower last night and I scrubbed and scrubbed every inch of my skin till I felt raw. The hiss of the water spraying drowned out my sobs. All I thought of was how hideous and ugly I felt. I am no longer beautiful. I am broken. Beautifully broken.
My days blend into nights till I am no longer aware of what day or time it is. Every night, I sleep under a mountain of blankets. They provide a comfy cocoon for me. A cocoon I wish I could stay in forever. I do not want to face the world. Nothing is the same anymore. I don't feel safe.
Mom is worried because I am not eating. I'm just not hungry. I just want this pain to go away. Every day, I write in my journal. Writing is my biggest comfort; my greatest joy!! But I keep my journals to myself. I don't dare show my mother because I don't want her to relive this nightmare. I don't want to see that look of horror on her face. The pain in her eyes will stay with me forever. I have to keep my thoughts, my feelings hidden. Private. Just for me. But it sure would be nice to tell someone all the emotions that bubble to the surface. I don't tell my therapist EVERYTHING! I guard my broken heart and wounded soul more closely then ever. The world is too big and too scary. I feel all alone. At least I have my diary and journals. They are the only comfort.... my friends... my closest confidants. But yet, even with my writing, I feel alone. Lost in a sea of strangers. Too scared to talk and afraid to trust anyone. Suddenly, everyone looks like a monster.
I just got a text from my close friend, Abbie Douglass. She told me I should write a memoir about myself. It can't hurt.... could it? I'm so tired. So I text her back, saying "thank you" before plugging my phone into my charger, changing into pajamas, and going to bed. Tomorrow is a new day. And maybe a new beginning.... IF I take up my friend's suggestion and write my memoir. Good night, going to sleep now.
Dear diary,
Today is a brand new day. And with that new day, brings a sense of hope. I feel like I have a little bounce in my step. Mom has made blueberry pancakes with sausages- my favorite!! After eating my breakfast, I hurry back to my room. I will write my memoir! Starting today! And the best place to start is the beginning. So here goes nothing!
My name is Natasha. I was born on November 16th, 1993 and I live in New Hampshire. My older sister Susan and I are very close. Growing up was fun. I vividly remember Susan and I riding our bikes together with all our friends that lived nearby. We had cookouts at the local park. Mom has photos of me picking flowers and giggling as I tried to catch butterflies. I was a happy child with a special ability to make friends rather quickly. On nice days at the park, Mom would take Susan and I and pretty soon, there was a group of us kids playing make-believe games that I conjured up from my favorite fairy tale stories that I liked to read. As a child, like many other children, my imagination ran wild. During the summer, I would play in the woods and make forts out of branches and leaves and moss and grass. I'd pretend to be a Native American princess from long ago, sitting in my tepee. I was a happy child with a loving family, lots of friends, and an optimistic outlook on life. Nothing could hurt me.
How very wrong I was....
Dear diary,
After I was sexually assaulted, I felt like I lost myself. I lost my innocence, my trust in people (especially the man that assaulted me), my childhood, my security, and I lost the person I once was- and would never be again.
Anyone else who was sexually assaulted as a child, probably feels the same way- and even more so if the person was someone they knew and/or were close to. These pedophiles are wolves in sheep's clothing. Their objective is to get close to the child, befriend them, and earn their trust with the end goal of sexually assaulting the child. These predators are absolutely disgusting people, who, in my opinion, deserve to rot in a jail cell- and in Hell! Heaven's gates will never open for them! Ever!
When I told my mom, she went ballistic! She screamed, she sobbed, and held me tightly like she never wanted to let me go again. She kept saying it was her fault because I would go over to his house frequently, and she never suspected anything about this person that would give her the slightest suspicion or hesitation. She too, had trusted him. Her first instinct was to get the gun we kept in the house for protection and kill him! But I begged her not to because I didn't want her to go to jail. The look in my mom's eyes were wild. It scared me a little. She was like a lioness, wanting to attack and go after the crocodile that hurt her cub. With all her might. And she wouldn't stop till the threat was extinguished. Like any mother, she would fight tooth and nail to protect her flesh and blood.
When my mom contacted CPS, I was shaking like a leaf. I was truly frightened. Here I was, eleven years old, dealing with a nightmare, that unfortunately, was reality that I couldn't get away from. I had to face this daemon. And I wasn't ready. I should have been more concerned with getting seconds of dessert or trying to stay up past bedtime or laughing with my sister. It felt like my world was falling down around me and it was completely out of my control. I couldn't turn back time and make what happened go away! I couldn't run away as far as I wanted, no matter how much I hoped and prayed that this living Hell was just a nightmare. But it wasn't. It was sadly, all too real. And even when I was in a room full of people, I was alone. Their faces faded into the background and the only sound I heard was my heart beating wildly. The noise, the conversation, the people, everything didn't exist. All that existed was my own sorrow and pain. I see people completely differently. Everyone is now a stranger, a monster. I trust no one. And I doubted I ever would again.
My heart, my soul, my very being was destroyed. Shattered into a trillion pieces. I tried to pick up the pieces, but every time I did, my hands would bleed. I had never experienced this kind of pain or trauma. There is no "getting over it." Once you're a victim, you stay a victim. Will this pain ever go away? Why did this happen to me? How?! My tears fell like a fierce rainstorm. I don't feel safe or secure. Now, I wish my mom had killed my attacker! I wish that I could kill him. In the Bible, it says "thou shalt not kill." No one who sexually assaults a child (or anyone, but especially a child), in my opinion, should live. They deserve to be tortured, slowly and painfully. They don not deserve to be walking on this Earth and breathing air!
Every night when I said my prayers, I asked God to send my attacker's soul to Hell. I was afraid that there would be or were other victims. What happened to me was traumatizing and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. But there is one comfort: me writing this memoir in hopes of helping every other minor that was sexually assaulted. Every day, I write more, I start to feel a sense of peace and calm. It's like my thoughts and emotions I kept bottled up are released from my hand holding my pencil as it dances across the paper. It's like a release. It feels good to write down my emotions, my feelings, and my truth. I want to help others and let them know that I understand what they are going through. I found an outlit that has very, very, very slowly made me feel back to my old self before the assault took place. Writing my words is a comfort and everyday I write more, I feel less scared. But only just a little bit. There is still a very long road to travel before I truly feel at peace.
Dear Diary,
Yesterday at school, one of my classmates came up to me and said that she was raped by her stepdad two months ago. We held each other and cried together. We were bonded- and unfortunetly, it was in a way that involved trauma and the stealing of one's innocence. But when I looked at my friend (whose name is Molly Andrews), I saw something in her eyes- it looked like relief that she could tell someone without being judged- especially after she told me her mom didn't believe that her stepdad had raped her. I could see the pain, the hurt in her eyes. It broke my heart.
'Someday, we will feel victorious and not defeated,' I thought. 'One day, we will gather up our courage and stand tall and turn our pain into purpose!' "We will come through the fire, stronger as a result. We will not let him win! We will win!!'
The question was how?
Dear diary,
I told my mom about Molly and she was heartbroken- and even more so when I told her that her mom didn't believe she was sexually assulted. So, Susan and I thought we'd bake some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to cheer her up.
Susan and Mom suggested that Molly and I go to the library one day after school and look into groups that are specifically geared towards dealing with the after-effects of sexual assult. When I brough Molly the cookies I had made, she seemed a little happier. She told me she sometimes had nightmares about the assult and her stepdad. I can relate. I have had terrible nightmares, too! But I snuggle with my pet cat, Muffin, which helps me a lot. Feeling her warm, furry body all snuggled up next to me as she purrs contently makes me fall asleep peacefully after I have terrible dreams. Molly said she'd start sleeping with her favorite stuffed animal, a rabbit named Darla.
After school, we walked to the library. Our favorite librarian, Ms. Lucy, showed us where to find books that contained resources on dealing with sexual assult, like hot line numbers to call and web sites to visit. We took the books out and read them throughly, making notes on points thast were important to us. Later that night, my dad went online on his computer and printed text from the web sites I had written down- that included groups to help minors who were molested or raped. One of the groups was in our town called 'Take Back The Night.' It was a march where victims come together and take back their power and stand strong and refuse to be a victim anymore. It sounds silly, but Molly and I thought we were the only victims in our small town who were sexually assulted- but to my surprise, it showed a map of all the minors that were abused. I couldn't believe my eyes! There, on the online map, were no less then twenty-two minors! I was shocked! My thoughts drifted to all those poor souls that had their innocence violently taken from them. It made me so angry! I knew what they were dealing with and it not only broke my heart, but it also made me sick!
Who can we trust? Our sense of security was forever shattered- with no way to repair it! Why did this happen? How did it happen? I could feel myself start to slip into hysteria as my thoughts raced a mile a minute. But I quickly told myself to be strong and courageous. I couldn't fall apart. Not now! Not when those poor, innocent people needed a comfort during their darkest days. They need me. Molly needs me! I couldn't let them down.



Dear Diary,
Last night, I went to the local park, where the 'Take Back The Night' vigil would take place. There were so many people there. It took my breath away! We all said a prayer and lit our candles and began our march, each one holding a candle high and proud, taking back the night- and our worth and self-being.
There were chants like "Rape Kills!" "No means no & yes means yes!" along with signs that the crowd held, cheering us on as we marched. There was pride in our stride, as we marched on, continuing to chant until our voices were ready to give out. But as we ended the march, myself and all the others, felt a sense of accomplishment. We had stood in our power. We did win! We took back our self-being and our worth as human beings.
I ended the march, with a speech I had written. I wanted to share it with the crowd.
"We did it! We took back the night! Everyone comes from many walks of life, but we are bound by the common thread. That thread being sexually assulted as a minor. We had our dignity, our innocence, our sense of trust and security forever destroyed. But we have two choices: we can lay down and die or we can take back the night, stand in our power, and fight back! We are all beautiful human beings and even though we are scarred, we wear our scars as a sign of when life tried to break us- and failed.
Do not let your attacker win! They have to live with themselves every day, knowing what they did and hopefully, they will eventually rot in Hell or in a cold, dark jail cell until it is their time to go. They are weak and we are the strong ones! Our voices will rise in unison, as we use our courage to never give up and to continue to be a guiding light for every future victims!
We will rise out of the ashes and soar, up, up, up towards that bright light! We will win! We will be strong and brave and mostly, we will turn our pain into purpose!!!"
When I finished giving my speech, for a moment, there was a stunned silence- that very quickly turned into a thundering, roaring applause. As Molly and my mom embraced me, with tears rolling down their cheeks, I felt calmer then I had in weeks.
I refuse to be a victim anymore. I am a survivor.