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TRIGGER WARNING: childhood sexual abuse, language, threatening language, violent language, psychological abuse

So far I think I’ve written some very detailed and intense images of my abuse, early on. As I got older it changed, as it usually does with sexual predators. One of the things that really fucked with my head as I got older was that I started to find out that he had done this to many other girls. This includes his own children that he had with his first wife.

Now I don’t know if he did anything to all three of his children but I know he raped his one daughter when she was 2 years old. Two.Years.Old. And his wife at the time, didn’t care. In fact, when this girl was born she said (and I heard this being said by him when I was younger as he was telling it, more like bragging as though this was funny and okay to others) “It’s just another slit ass.” Meaning, it’s a girl. This woman…that is how she talked about her own new born baby. She said these things and he thought it was funny. He used telling us things like that to justify his abuse. He would laugh and say, “What are you gonna do about it, this is what happens. You think I’m the only one?”

When I started middle school (5th grade), I ran into a girl at the school who was pregnant at the time. Somehow she knew who I was. She came up to me. (She was probably a few years older than I was but she was definitely pregnant in middle school.) She came up to me and said, laughing, “Your mom married him, I bet he already fucked you.” I was frozen. First of all, I was not a very outgoing child in the first place and my continuous rape and torture did not make it any more so. She kept laughing at me, “He fucked me and my mom in the same room, my mom was into it too. I bet he fucks you.” She kept laughing at me and I remember running into the bathroom to throw up. Yet another one…with another mother who actually allowed him to do this to her daughter.

So this isn’t just about being raped and tortured by a sick man but a sick man who was able to either abuse, beat, coerce or oddly find women to allow him to rape their children. He was and still is a monster. And he is still out there.

His big thing was laughing at you. Laughing while you fought him off. Laughing when he saw you cry or upset. Laughing when you tried to tell him “no”. He always laughed when he was trying to convince me that “this is what men do”. He once told me that if I let him do this, maybe when I’m old enough, he’ll let me have a boyfriend and then I will be ready to do this with him.

One of my favourite stories (and I say “favourite” not in the sense that it is a good story, but in the sense that it really emphasizes just how fucked up this guy is and just how much he fucked with my head) is the story about the railroad tracks. So I used to love saving up my money and ordering things out of catalogues. I saved up and bought this white coat that I really wanted and I was so excited to get it. Well it was waiting at the post office and he offered to take me there to get it. Of course, my mother told him okay. Knowing he has been abusing me, she just let him take me somewhere alone. Anyroad, he took me to the post office to pick up this parcel and I was so happy that I was opening it up in the car. I was looking at the coat and feeling it when I realized we were not heading in the direction of home. We were on some back road (although many of the roads where I grew up can be classified as back roads, this was a back back road) and then through a dirt road into the woods. My heart was in my throat and I clung to this coat. All I wanted was to pick up this coat and go home and put it on and be happy that I got it. Show it to my mum. But here I was on a dirt road into the woods where he parked the car next to these railroad tracks.

Robert Santafede Photography

Robert Santafede Photography

I was staring at the dashboard, not moving, frozen, going into no feelings and no emotion and no reaction mode. This is what I did when he did anything. I shut down. He turned the car off and sat there, then stared over at me. I wouldn’t look at him. He said, in a low voice, “Are you scared?” I didn’t answer. He laughed, “You’re scared. You’re afraid I’m going to do something to you, aren’t you?” I still didn’t answer. Then I started to cry and it made him laugh again. He said, “You like your new coat? I could fuck the shit out of you, break your neck and throw you back here by these tracks with your new coat and no one would ever find you.” I was 13. I was shaking on the inside because I did my best to never ever react to him but the tears were the one thing I had a hard time controlling. He got out of the car and started to walk in a slow circle around the car, laughing. I didn’t watch him but I could see him in my peripheral vision as he walked around and around the car. Then he stopped in front of it and slammed his hands hard down on the hood and I jumped and looked at him. He said, “Stop fucking crying like a fucking baby, you’re a fucking idiot you know that?” And he got back into the car and watched me until he started the car back up and pulled back out towards the main road. He drove me home and I went into my room without saying anything and held onto my coat. That coat was always tainted with the energy of that day though. Every time I wore it, I was reminded of what I went through to get it. I didn’t have it long.