“It seems almost a lifetime ago when I knew him to be nothing less than a caring and responsible father. Raised in a home where I had felt nurtured and loved, I’d never once imagined that I would one day look back at my teenage years only to feel sick with disgust. The world should have been my oyster, but the year I turned 15, I was raped by my very own father.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Kind and dutiful, he was the sort of man that made sure his family came first. Even when he started working as a truck driver and disappeared for periods of time, he made sure we had enough money for daily expenses. But soon, days away from home stretched into weeks – that’s when we knew we were losing him.
As fate would have it, the day he finally returned home after a three-week absence was also the day I stayed home from school. I was down with a fever and resting in bed, but I’ll never forget the creaking of the door as he pushed it open and came to my side. His touch, which had once been gentle and familiar, now had fear gripping at my throat as his hands began groping me in places they shouldn’t have. I begged him to stop and screamed in revulsion, but this was a different man from the one I knew: vicious, eyes glazed from drugs, he threatened to hit me. I could only choke back my tears and revulsion as he crossed the final line and violated my body.
He left after that and I retreated into a shell, building high walls around myself and refusing to let anyone in. While friends my age went out, I locked myself in my room, ashamed to face the world. I didn’t dare tell anyone of the terrifying ordeal I had gone through – not even my own mother, who kept asking me if something was wrong. Where would I begin? How could I bear to see her crushed? And worse, what if she didn’t believe me? I couldn’t even bring myself to make a police report when I thought of the devastating consequences it would have on our family – and so, I was determined that this secret would never see the light of day. But I was stuck in this downward spiral of depression, which finally took its toll on me as I became ill constantly. Unable to bear it any longer, my mother brought me to a clinic only for the both of us to be dealt another shocking blow: I was pregnant.
Stunned, she begged and begged me to tell her who was responsible. And even though I had clamped my mouth initially, there was no hiding it any longer. I remember her sobs and the way they broke my heart, right before she marched me to the police station to lodge a report. A week later, my father was apprehended and he’s currently serving 20 years in prison for rape and drug-related charges.