My Sister Vicki
Her first memory became her second memory once they started coming back, a piece at a time.
The old first memory, in her words:
“My step father has brought me into the back part of the house that we used as a living room. I am maybe four years old, maybe younger. I am very happy, as the Monster is being nice to me. I have a dress on, black patent-leather shoes with buckles and white ankle socks with ruffles. The couch is plaid – brown, yellow, green. His hand is on my knee and he is rubbing my leg, smiling at me. I don’t remember him taking off my panties, but they are gone. I am not concerned, I am just happy he is not hitting me, he is not yelling at me, he is smiling at me and I feel safe for the first time in a long time. His hand is under my dress and he is rubbing me and I have this strange feeling in my belly.
Out of nowhere, the most tremendous blinding pain I have ever felt. I try to scream, I try to move. He has his hand over my mouth and is holding down. The pain is unbearable. He is smiling. I can’t breathe. The pain is excruciating. Am I dying? Is he finally killing me? What is he doing? Why is he hurting me like this? As suddenly as it started, it is over. He gets up and leaves the room and I curl up in a ball sobbing. He returns with a washrag and rolls me over on my back spreading my legs again. The rag is moist and cold, he wipes me. I lay there terrified the pain will start again. When I see the rag, it is covered in blood and still he is smiling.”
She ran away then, into the fields of purple flowers. She ran and ran, finally falling down into the tall grass. The sun went down, it got dark, and though she was afraid of the dark, she was more afraid of him. Later she hears voices calling her name. Her mother, her aunt, her brother. Her mother crying for her, she stands up and hollers “Mama!” Her mother runs to her, crying, saying “My baby is OK! My baby is OK!”
Back at the house, her mother asks her why she ran away. She tells her.
Her words:
“She slapped me so hard across the face that I was knocked several feet backwards and fell to the floor. She screamed at me, that I was a liar and sent me to my room. I sobbed, hurting from the pain in my bottom and the pain in my heart, knowing that I was going to die. He was going to kill me. There was no one to stop him. So I did what all good Christian girls did: I prayed to God that I would die in my sleep before morning.
That was the longest night of my life. Somewhere in the night I fell asleep. When I woke up, the Monster was smiling down at me once more. My heart was racing and I knew I was about to die and he just kept smiling. He puts one hand on either side of my head holding me down by my long brown hair, and smiling the whole time, he said, ‘She didn’t believe you, she never will and if you ever try to tell again I will kill you.’ Then, like nothing ever happened, he walks to the door, opens it, and calmly says, ‘Breakfast is ready when you are.’”
She later remembered a time in the car, when she was much smaller. Three, maybe, almost four. Her mother was asleep in the back. She was on his lap, “driving”, a policeman is yelling at her Daddy. “Where are your shoes? Why are your pants unzipped? What is going on here?” She had a little dress on. He hadn’t hurt her yet.
How did her mother sleep through the policeman, through the yelling? Or was she asleep at all?
Her words:
“After the first night when I was raped by my stepfather and ran away, two things happened. Because I had run away, a lock was placed on the outside of my door. Every night when I went to bed I was locked into my room. From then on, when mother passed out at night from her ‘nerve pills’ and alcohol, Monster was guaranteed easy access to me.”
The abuse came from her mother as well. She wasn’t “Vicki” anymore, she was “bitch, slut, liar, whore.” Any infraction of any kind was met with blunt force, blows to the head, back, ribs, whatever was closest. Her fingers were held over an open flame until the skin bubbled and blistered.
In a few years, it was not just Vicki who was being sexually tortured, it was her two brothers. And then the brother and sister that her mother had with the Monster.
When did it end?
You want to know how long it went on?
Vicki was fourteen years old when her stepfather finally went to prison for his crimes. A caring neighbor finally heard her, believed her, and confronted her mother. Her mother had the option to help provide evidence against him or be charged as an accomplice.
Perhaps worst of all, her mother did not leave the Monster. When the Monster got out of prison? He left HER.
Vicki is my sister.
Vicki is my hero.
Vicki has spent most of her life overcoming the most horrific kind of abuse imaginable and despite it, despite every bit of it – the foster care, the beatings, the years of alcohol and drug abuse to blur and erase the memories – she has not only survived, she has overcome. She has raised a son who is now in college. She was married to the love of her life until she lost him to a sudden heart attack. She is the strongest, most self-sufficient woman I have ever had the privilege to meet in my life.
I thank God for many things, but most often I thank Him for two things:
That Vicki is my sister. And that I? Was relinquished by her mother at birth to adoption.
My sister thanks God that I was given up for adoption. Which makes me weep.
I read the stories and support the survivors on VU on behalf of Vicki.
###
Mary writes at Barnmaven’s Clean Shavings.
Thank you for visiting Violence UnSilenced, a speak-out platform for survivors of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and sexual abuse. If you are a survivor and it is safe to do so, we encourage you to share your story here. If you are not a survivor but you want to support those who are, please click around this site and find out more about what you can do.
Comments
Thank you.
I feel just awful for Vicki. I'm so glad, though, that she made it through and took back her life. She is incredible, and so are you for sharing her story.
What a heart wrenching yet powerful story. Thank you and Vicki for sharing.
Thank you. Sharing that story is so important. Again, thank you.
Oh the terror I felt in my heart for that sweet little girl. Knowing what was coming in the next lines of the story is my cross to bear. The scars have healed and the hurt is less, and my heart beats on. The hurt is just there under my skin. I share your grief and sadness, but I also share in the triumph of survival and thriving, despite your childhood!!! I hold you both in my prayers and thoughts of peace and healing go out to you both.
I am holding your sister in my heart today and wishing her peace beyond peace.
This unfortunate girl lived through a nightmare that seemingly never ended. Once the abuse itself ended, she was left with the remnants of a life. Whatever she could create out of that is nothing short of miraculous. Worse than any horror movie that seeks to drive us to the limits of our ability to imagine - she not only lived it, she survived it.
Thank you for giving a voice to Vicki's experiences so that we may know and applaud and be inspired by her brave survival.
Peace to Vicki.
Vicki is a hero. She came from such abuse to be a fabulous sister, mother and friend. Congratulations, Vicki, for not letting something you 100% DID NOT DESERVE hold you back.
OMG You made me cry. Please let your sister know that she gives me hope to keep fighting. :) Thank you for sharing.
I have no words, just tears
Sending love, admiration and respect to Vicki -- for speaking out. For standing up. For telling the world -- I am MORE than a sum of my past & experiences. I am MORE than you believed I could be.
Every time she shares her story she destroys those that tried to destroy her soul.
I am woman -- hear me ROAR!
Vicki's story breaks my heart. Thank God you escaped, but my heart hurts for her. I'm so very proud of her for not only surviving but thriving. Thank you for sharing her story.
My baby is four. I cannot even comprehend this. Can. Not. It's too terrible.
I have no words for how I felt reading this. From the depths of my being, I wish this had never happened to Vicki, or to any child.
Thank you for sharing her story.
Thank you for sharing this story.
Heart wrenching, as angi said, and then hopeful. Thank you for sharing Vicki's story and courage.
What a heart wrenching story. Bravo to you for writing it, and to your sister for surviving and OVERCOMING it.
brutal. so brutal. thank you for sharing your sister's story and speaking her truth. thank you for reading and supporting at VU on her behalf. Thank you for sharing that she has grown into a strong woman, too, it gives hope to those who have not yet begun to heal.
Oh my...this really squeezed my heart. No one (NO ONE) should ever have to live through what Vicky lived through. I hope Vicky knows she is loved and supported.
Today I'm thinking about the women in my family who have survived abuse and rape and how strong and amazing they are to have become such individuals - much like your sister.
Oh, Mary. I'm so grateful that you were safe. I'm also so sorry that your sister had to deal with that horrible, evil man. I hope he burns in hell.
Tell your sister that she is loved dearly by those of us who have read her story and wish nothing but the best for her and for you.
Much love,
Another V
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