TW // sexual abuse, child abuse

My body was mine until I was 7, then I lost control. My innocence rests next to my peace of mind, it stays behind with the memories of my childhood. Sometimes I wish I could forget the betrayal, turn back time and never step foot in that room. I quickly learned that my body was merely a spectacle to the men that filled their cups with incestuous thoughts and sin. 

A harmless family party turned into a two-year court case, meanwhile, I couldn't remember the night. Until I was brought into a small room at 9, no bigger than a hospital room, furnished with goodwill couches that didn't match, and the stale air whispered with the hum of the fluorescent bare lightbulb. There my preparation for the hearing started, I was constantly being asked questions like ‘Do you remember...? Did he do anything else? What did he say?’ I walked through every second of that moment, piecing together a mosaic of my memories from that night. After months of finalizing details in the case it was finally time for court. The entire time I sat behind the stand my hands were sweaty, I couldn't stop tearing up, ripping apart the tissues I used in the process. I sat there for what felt like 10 hours, answering every question, confirming the photos of the scene, and repeating my statements, every word counted. I wasn't aware of the extent of what happened to me, I knew it was wrong but didn’t know why. Although I believe the hardest part of everything was seeing my family sitting on the benches, unsure whether they supported me or hated me for getting him deported. I even felt sorry for my Tia, I was taking away her husband, her lover, for something I could have just forgotten. 

After the court case, I continued to live my life knowing I was a victim but never facing the crime, every flashback I continued to push down and after a while my body finally became mine again. I lived in fear of being violated, keeping myself safe, and staying away from men. My fear kept me on high alert, I resorted to self-harm in order to release all my frustration. Though guilt for hurting the body I was blessed with kept me from going too far, or doing too much. But one day a stove fire forced us out of our home, the summer vacation before my 8th grade year I was isolated. The first month I lived in a hotel, unable to see any of my friends or go outside. Then for the next 2 months I lived in my uncle's mother-in-law suite, everyone else had places to go or things to do meanwhile I was stuck staring at the wall thinking the same thoughts every day. 

That same summer I trusted a cousin, he took advantage of my situation, a summer of no place to call my home, no one to talk to, and I lost control again. I was 12-14 being strung around like a puppet for him, only there to please him when he demanded. For nearly 2 years I was constantly afraid of getting his call at 3 am. My shame and self-hatred returned and it was worse than ever. I avoided mirrors as much as I could, the sight of the body I allowed to be used made me sick to my stomach. I lived in a stranger's body, my thighs covered in slashes of my raging pain. I couldn't understand how I ended up in this situation, how he managed to trap me so well, when would he move on?  There were so many questions I had for myself, but I wasn't there. I was in another world where I lived a different life, I was seen as no less than a body and  I was loved a little more.

At 15 I spiraled out of control, relying on substances and negative coping mechanisms to distract myself from my life. Throughout that time though, I appeared completely normal to everyone else. No one in my life knew about what was going on until my mother caught me with drugs. She took me to the garage with my father and demanded to know why I was involving myself with those kinds of things. I had been speaking with my therapist about everything that went on, and she had planned to tell my mother and report it to the state the following week unless I told them. So I broke down and told her everything, how it happened, what he did and the fact that even though it was over, I still couldn't get my head out of that situation. My father reacted horribly, essentially blaming me for being so irresponsible, we didn't speak for 2 months after that. Then shortly after my mom took me to the Linden Oaks Mental Hospital we expected a quick evaluation but instead, they took me in right away. My prognosis was suicidal tendencies and an eating disorder, though they ruled my bulimia to be the larger concern so I was placed in the Food Disorders unit, isolated once again.

Although my mindset was very different once I left, I was able to spill everything out to my physiatrist and release all the anger I had. I wasn't afraid anymore, I was safe, I had finally felt somewhat safe. I had no contact with anyone, I had no pressure to be perfect, I just existed physically and my mind was free to travel wherever it pleased. I felt I had some type of restart, even if my life was exactly the same when I returned, I was different. I shed my old skin and grew into a new Luisa, one that I was in control, one that hadn't been touched or abused. I am a new person inside and out, but I will always have the same scars on my heart. My downfalls will always be my reason to stand back up. My body will no longer be anyone else's, it belongs to me, I get to dictate what happens to it and how it’s treated.