Me too

At the age of two, my mother left me in my father's custody for 2+ years. Since the idea of adopting me was not his, he decided to find whatever babysitters he could that day to leave me with. This went on for the two years I lived with him.

My earliest memory of what I believe to be sexual abuse is me sitting in a bathtub (naked) in a dark bathroom at a stranger's house.

That's it.

I don't remember being fondled or anything of the sort. All I remember is a dark bathroom and the overwhelming feeling of uneasiness.

Years later, I finally did decide to speak up to my mother and tell her "something bad happened to me," she refused to believe me because I didn't remember details.

The disbelief would continue throughout my life.

Puberty came early for me in the form of breasts. Men often asked my mother if I was 18 when I was only 13.

There was a young lady I had gotten close to at church who was a bit older than myself. She invited my mother and I to her wedding. At the reception, a man in his thirties asked me to dance. I happily said yes. I was about 13 or 14 and this man wanted to dance with me. I distinctly remember after two or three dances, he tells me he wishes we could be alone. He then proceeds to ask if I knew what we would do if we were alone. I merely nodded. I never saw him after that.

During my teenage years, my father took in some boarders. Two men in their twenties who spent a lot of time trying to corner me or would just leer at me. I was so relieved the day they moved out.

One day, in my own home, my father asked me to take one of his workers to the kitchen to get a tool out of a drawer. Instead, he touched my breast. Right there. He just reached out and touched my breast. I was scared and shocked. I never spoke up. I was too scared.

Similar incidents would continue to happen throughout my teenage years and early twenties.

The man I worked for while my mother was ill sexually harassed me, including at the meal after my mother's funeral.

Shortly after her death and a couple of days before Thanksgiving 2004, I was sexually assaulted in my own bed by someone I knew. He was never arrested. The detective asked if I was having an affair with him and was this a lover's spat? The attacker continued to call and harass me, telling me that essentially I asked for it.

That's the major reason I left Miami. I was scared for my life.

The harassment by men hasn't stopped since moving either.

Just the other day, the produce manager at a local grocery store gave me a leery smile as he does all women and said, "Anything for my girl."

He claims he's friendly and flirts with "everybody."

It's just plain disgusting. A call to corporate will be made.

While some have been polarized by the "Me too" movement, I have been freed by it.

"But she loved you so much..."

My mother was abusive.

There, I said it.

After 40 years, I'm finally able to publicly acknowledge that my mother was both verbally and emotionally abusive to me.

I realize that those who knew her casually may be shocked by the above statement, but I can assure you, it's the truth.

You saw the smile and heard the infinite amount of praise. I saw the anger and heard the word "stupid" more times than I care to admit.

I have this one very vivid memory of sitting on my bed crying. Like numerous times before, I had done something to upset her. This time must have been particularly bad because she told me she wasn't going to love me anymore because I was bad. I pleaded with her, told her I was sorry, and she said it wasn't good enough and she didn't love me.

I lived that torment often. In school, if I received anything less than an A, it wasn't good enough. In public, she'd put on the proud parent facade. The minute we were alone, she became this whole other person. A person I was terrified of.

The summer between my junior and senior year in high school, I put on some weight. She was absolutely livid. I was told I was fat.

One day, I skipped lunch to make up a test. One turned to two, then a week went by, then a month, and so on. I started dropping weight and she was happy. I, on the other hand, was sick. In a span of a few months, I dropped 3 sizes.

A year later, I confessed to her, only to have her call me stupid.

I remember an incident where our electricity got turned off. I had to go pay the bill with money I received from a settlement. She was unhappy because she felt I took too long to pay the bill that day and called me an ungrateful bitch. We were living off of my money at the time and I did what I was told, yet I was ungrateful.

I was often called names or told awful things.

Once she told me that if my (future) husband hit/beat me, I'd deserve it because I had a bad attitude.

There's so much more I could talk about, but at least this is a start.

It wasn't any easier to write than it was to read, believe me.