Tired of being "stuck"

I'm in my 40s, but I'm noticeably different than other adults my age. I feel immature...like an 'adult impersonator'. I also feel like I missed out on becoming the person I was meant to be because I'm stuck. My story is a very long one because I have to get this off of my chest. I've been walking around carrying someone else's burden and I'm just not interested in doing it anymore. It's time to let this sh*t go.

Sometimes, I wish I had been molested earlier in my life...in hopes that I wouldn't remember. For almost 10 years after it happened, I DIDN'T remember anything but my life was full of turmoil. When I was 23, I started having sick flashbacks. I could have been in the middle of a conversation, then I'd totally lose my thought because a brief thought of his penis in my face would cross my mind. I would dismiss it...wondering what the heck that was about. I could have been at an OBGYN appointment and when the doctor walked in, I could smell my molestor's rancid odor. I figured something must have happened to me because these crazy thoughts kept dominating my mind. This all started right around the same time my molestor...my uncle, Carl Anthony Brown, killed himself.

The night that he killed himself was a regular night for me. I was 23 years old, married to the biggest asshole on the planet and pregnant with my second child. As usual, my mother and I weren't speaking...so why the hell was she banging on my door at 3AM? I started not to get up, but curiousity got the best of me. I went to the front window and peeked out to see who was outside of my house acting like a crazy person at that hour. I looked right into my mother's face. She had her friend Maria with her. I figured something major must have happened, but I didn't care. I went back to bed. My husband asked why I didn't answer. I told him I have nothing to say to her and she has nothing to say to me. We went back to sleep. I worked for Prince William County Fire and Rescue at the time...in their 911 dispatch center. Later that morning when I went to work, I found out why my mother was banging on my door. It turned out that Carl Anthony Brown had gotten into a fight with his wife. Her name is Margaret, but we call her Burt. Apparently, Burt was full of herself that night because Carl ended the fight they were having by shooting her and then himself. She was taken to a local hospital. Carl was flown up to Washington Hospital Center. As I was getting a shift turnover report from my coworkers, I blurted out "that's my uncle". Everyone stopped and stared at me. "You have to leave...go to the hospital, he's still alive". My response was something along the lines of 'no, I don't need to'. I think my coworkers were offended. I didn't care and still hadn't figured out why I had no feelings whatsoever for that man. I went on with my day. Later that morning, the firefighters and EMTs who went to Carl's house called to let us know he was dead. I called my mother at that time, and she told me about the drama that had taken place that morning.

I didn't know why, but I told my mother that I was busy and couldn't talk anymore. Inside my head I was thinking 'who cares? I'm glad the mother f*cker is dead'. I still didn't know why I hated him so much. Fast forward a year or two. My cousin was taken to a hospital because he was tripped out on some unknown drugs. At the hospital, he told them why: Carl Anthony Brown, his step-father, had been raping him. I always thought my cousin was just a weirdo. I thought he was a weirdo because Carl mistreated him. Carl was always picking on my cousin...teasing him about not having girlfriends, about not being cool. Carl would give my cousin humiliating hair cuts. I'm sure my cousin was teased to no end because of it. Everything made sense! No wonder my cousin was so weird! It wasn't long after that that I figured out where my "weirdness" came from. The memories poured in like a waterfall.

I was 16 years old. We had recently moved again and I was having a hard time adjusting to life in Virginia. The people were different...not very friendly. I was having an impossible time making friends. To add insult to injury, my mother let that loser of a brother of hers, Carl Anthony Brown, move in with us. Oh joy! He was a dirt bag and I never liked him. He was always creepy to me. I can remember being a little girl and going to visit my grandmother in Harlem. Carl's nasty a** was always there. Too old to be living at home and not contributing...but he was always there, sleeping. After arriving at my grandmother's house, my sister and I would go to Carl's room to make fun of him. He stank and we couldn't believe that smell came from a person. Carl was well over 18 but still peed in the bed. Dirt bag. Carl would ignore us...but right around the time I was 12, he started telling me things whenever I was alone with him. He would ask me if I was adopted. If no one told me, how the heck would I know? I would turn the question around and ask him: I don't know, am I? He also told me stories about people he had killed. He said he was a hitman and worked for drugs. He didn't say how many people he killed, but he told me that he would never be caught because he threw his victims off the roofs of whatever buildings they were in. I'm not sure about now, but back then whenever we needed to go to the building next door, it was faster to go up one flight of stairs to the roof, cross the barrier, then go down one flight of stairs to so and so's apartment then it was to go down five stories, over to the next building and up five stories. His story seemed feasible to me and something in me told me he was telling the truth. I was scared to death and didn't tell anyone.

Oh yeah, back to me at 16. In the year or so that he lived with us, I don't ever recall him ever taking a bath. He slept in the living room, so the entire lower level of the house smelled like him. He smelled like vomit, fritos and dirty hair all mixed together. He was lazy as hell. All he did was lay around on the fold out couch. He was a moody person...he almost seemed like he had multiple personalities. After sleeping a few months of his life away and eating my mother out of house and home whenever he was awake, she told her brother he had to get a job to help her out. I was glad because I was sick of seeing that bum get away with being lazy while I was always being yelled at for not doing enough.

Carl finally got a job, which was great. The not so great part was I worked too and had to share my car with him. I had to pay for my own everything and often had to miss work because he dominated MY car. If I complained, my mother threatened to take the car from me to give to her brother. I was friggen 16. $10 to fill my gas tank was A LOT of money...and I have to let that asshole just drive MY gas out? Whenever I asked him to replace the gas, he went running to my mother complaining that I either wouldn't let him drive or that he called to pick me up and I never showed up. F*cking liar! And she believed HIM over her own child! I hated both of them. My car was taken from me and I had to quit my job. I withdrew and started sitting in my room alone. Rather than talk to me about what I was feeling, my mother punished me. I was constantly being yelled at or hit. I was the only 16 year old I knew who was still getting beatings.

I caught a bit of a break afterschool. My mother usually got home late from work and Carl was working full time at Burger King. I enjoyed not having them their bothering me. It was peaceful. One night I feel asleep early. I heard my door open but didn't know who it was...I was in a lucid state. The next thing I know, a man was calling my name. He said "I need you to do something for me". I asked what it was and he told me to open my legs. I was stunned but still not fully awake. It felt like I was outside of my body watching all of this happen. I told him no, leave me alone, get out! He kept trying to push me onto my back and I kept resisting. The next thing I knew, I was on my back and he had my arms pinned to my bed. My nightgown was up around my stomach and he was raping me. I was a virgin. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect or want to lose my virginity like that. One of the reasons I'm stuck. I haven't been able to find it in me to forgive him for taking my virginity. I haven't been able to forgive him for ruining the life I had planned for myself.

It seemed like he was on top of me forever. He finally got up, told me 'if you tell, nobody will believe you', then left. I knew he was right. If my mother won't even listen to me when I tried telling her that he was lying about using my car, why would she believe he raped me? I didn't even get up to clean myself up...I went back to sleep. By the next day, I was convinced that I dreamed the whole thing. This went on every night for several months. Carl apparently became bored with my lack of interest and tried to force me to do oral on him. I remember him putting his penis on my face and grabbing the back of my head, pushing it toward his crotch. I remember fighting him and finally I told him if he didn't leave me alone, I was going to bite him. Something else that's prevalent to me: where the hell was my family? How did this go on everynight and NO ONE heard a thing? Night after night...hearing my door open then smelling him in MY space. I would cry non-stop. One night I decided to lock my door. Let that dirtbag find a prostitute to bother, like he normally does. On this night, my mother came home early. I had skipped school that day and hung out with a guy I was dating at the time. My sister had called my mother and told that I skipped school. Even though mom wasn't getting home until late, she was STILL mad many hours later. She tried to open my door but it was locked. That made her even madder. She yelled for me to open the door and I did. She asked why I locked it. I told her 'to keep HIM out'. She asked who. I said 'your brother'. She lost it. She told me that her brother is welcome anywhere in HER house. She said blood is thicker than water, she loves her brother and if anyone was getting out, it would be me. He smirked when she said that. And I got my a** beat for skipping school. I couldn't take it anymore so I ran downstairs. All I had on that night was a turtle neck, underwear and a pair of socks. She asked where I was going. I told her since I wasn't wanted there, I was leaving. She tried blocking the door and I told her to move. She wouldn't, so I pushed her. We started fist fighting. I hit her as hard as I could and called her an abusive bitch. She then opened the door and started shoving me out of the house. I told her I needed shoes, pants and a coat...things I bought for myself. She told me everything in her house belonged to her...she STILL has this mentality...shoved me out the door and locked it. I was in my underwear...it was about 30 degrees outside,l toward the end of October and it was sleeting. I ran down the street banging on doors until someone opened their door. The lady let me in, gave me a blanket and called the police. I told the police about the fight with my mother. They took me to the police station, then to a foster home. I was there for several months and during that time, I forgot about EVERYTHING. I was stressed from living with strangers but glad to not be abused anymore. It was almost 5 months later when I was sent back home...and that's the same time I realized I hadn't had a period in months.

After being home for a couple weeks, my mother asked why I never need pads anymore. I told her I didn't know...because I didn't. My mother accused me a being a whore and told me I'd never amount to anything in life. She said she didn't want me around the boy I was dating anymore...which was easy because during the time I was in foster care, we only saw each other for a few minutes a day at school anyway. My mother took me to a doctor for a pregnancy test and the results showed I was pregnant. I also had chlamydia!! My mother made me call my boyfriend to tell him. I did because she made me but deep down I knew it wasn't his. Lots of drama followed after that. My mother asked me what I planned to do. I told her I wanted an abortion or I was going to kill myself. She took me for the abortion. Carl still lived with us and he was pissed...but never said why. Eventually he moved out and married Burt. We lived happily ever after...for a while.

Fast forward to age 19. I never quite got things back together and was pregnant again. Abortion wasn't an option this time. I ddin't have the money and I wasn't about to tell my mother that I was pregnant again. I pretended everything was normal. I had my son and raised him alone. Carl took a liking to my son...and since he was married, I allowed my son to stay with Carl and Burt. One day, Carl called and asked me to give him a ride to an auto parts store. On the ride back to his house from the store, he asked me to take an alternate route. During that ride, he kept trying to get me to let go of my steering wheel in my car...telling me it's a well made car and can steer itself. When I wouldn't do it, he tried taking control of the steering wheel. I slowed the car down and asked what his problem was. He told me 'you ruined our family. Do you know how much it hurts to be around X (my son) knowing that he should be mine?' He said 'we were meant to be together'. I was dumbfounded. What the hell is this fool talking about? I don't even remember what I told him, but I put my car in gear and continued driving his a** home. I stopped letting my son spend as much time with Carl and Burt after that. Thank God my son was never abused.

Sixteen is when my life stopped. And Carl was right. When I was 24 or 25 years old, I told my mother about my abuse. She was very confrontational and hostile. She accused me of making the whole thing up, because I had always been an attention seeker. I tried talking to her again in my 30s. Again, she said I was a liar. She asked Anna (my grandmother) if I ever talked to her about it. When my grandmother said I had never talked to her, that confirmed my lying ways for my mother.

I have accepted the fact that my family will never believe or support me. I want so badly for things to be different but I don't know how to make the changes that I need to.