13 Years Later


I began that diary entry 13 years ago at 2:35 a.m. saying, “I just want to die. I am in so much pain and can’t stop crying. It got really bad tonight. I feel so dirty right now. I am sitting in bed with images running through my head of tonight.”

I can remember every detail about that night including the details I left out of both my books. I never mention in either of my books that night fell on a Friday the 13th of March 1998.  This Sunday will mark 13 years later from that traumatic Friday the 13th when I was 13-years-old. The last night I was ever abused in my childhood. A month later my sister and I would end our interview at the Children’s Advocacy Center reporting 13 different counts of sexual abuse against our cousin. It would make sense why I dislike the number 13 more then any other number.

After a childhood of sexual abuse from 6-8 and 11-13 that final Friday the 13th I fought back like never before because I knew it would be hours before anyone would be home. An aunt and uncle not expected home until  1 a.m. and it was just a little past 9 p.m. when watching television on my aunt and uncle’s bed was interrupted to him standing at the door. I jumped off that bed so fast and was shaking with fear watching him lock the door and walking around the bed to corner me. I got back on the bed and jumped across it only for him to grab my ankle and wrestle me down on the bed until he was on top of me grinning. That smile and laugh made me want to spit in his face right there, but I thought of something even more powerful because I knew what was coming. I got one of my hands free and did something I had never done to him before punching him in the balls. I watched that smile disappear from his face and found my escape as he fell off me holding himself as I jumped off the bed, unlocked the door, and ran downstairs in a state of panic. I ran first into the family room and looked out into the darkness and wondered if I could run all the way home but feared I had upset him so much he would catch up to me and drag me into the  marsh’s tall grass. I then made my way into the kitchen praying the entire time he would just stay upstairs. Then I heard him making his way downstairs and felt as if I was in a horror movie. I centered myself in between the middle of the kitchen right in front of the fridge so I could watch both entrances to see which one he would appear from. In that moment I just wanted to disappear as my heart raced. When he appeared I took off running into the dining room and soon we were running in circles from the dining room, living room, front entrance, and back into the kitchen. Then as I made my way back into the kitchen he disappeared. I knew he was hiding waiting to jump out at me again. I made a decision to run back upstairs and run for my little cousins who were sleeping in their rooms and hold them to protect him from getting me. As I ran for the stairs he popped out from the living room and running up the stairs right behind me, stopping me before I got the boys room completely open and ordered me to close it.

I did everything I could as he pulled me down the hallway dragging me back into his parent’s bedroom. I tried to grab at the walls hoping I would be able to latch onto the door frame from the bathroom and hold onto it. I was ready to do anything not to get behind a locked bedroom with him again because I knew the horror that would await me. Before I knew it I was back behind locked doors with him on top of me. As the abuse began again I looked over at the clock sitting on the nightstand and the red numbers 9:38 p.m. are burned in my memory. I thought to myself, “I have no one to interrupt him my aunt and uncle are not going to be home until 1 a.m. and this is no family party that someone can walk in on this and catch him or notice were missing.” What felt like an hour I looked over at the clock only to see that it was only 9:43 p.m.  I thought my mind was playing games with me and looked again hoping it would change and see 10:43 p.m.

At 12:05 a.m. Friday the 13th ended for me.

He looked at me from the doorway of the bedroom and reminded me this was our secret, no one will believe me, and if I tell anyone I have no way of proving he did anything. I watched him walk down the hallway and disappear into his bedroom.

Time doesn’t erase the memories. 13 years later it is all still there.

I had one thing 13 years ago trapped in that bedroom with me and that was God.

13 years later He is still with me and He will be with me Sunday.


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