When my dad finally got back from whatever it was that they were doing, I asked him quietly to come into my room. He told me it’d be a few. I sat there waiting for him to come in and tried to piece together the words I needed to tell him. How would I explain that their favorite child had wronged me this way? My dad came in and sat down next to me on my bed, and I poured my heart out to him. I told him about my step brother violating my privacy in the shower not only once, but twice. I attempted to tell him how this made me feel and how distraught I was from this traumatizing situation. His reaction was quiet and solemn. He didn’t react in the way I had hoped. This issue didn’t seem to bother him all that much, but enough that he cringed a little at the thought. He told me that it was a strange thing to happen and that he would see what he could do.
“She seemed to make a mockery out of my complaint and even cracked a few jokes about it.”
After the word was out there was nothing but additional stress in my household. I assume he told my step mom about the bathroom incident, and she simply didn’t believe him. She seemed to make a mockery out of my complaint and even cracked a few jokes about it. I asked dad if he was going to do anything and he told me that he would put something over the window to prevent anything else from happening, and move the ladder to another location. This was the extent of my parents handling this situation. Not only did I feel alone and helpless, but I felt like they didn’t even care about me. I was forced to sit across the dinner table with a person who made me feel vulnerable and exposed. It was hard to force food down because I was getting so sick all the time. I realize now that the feeling I was experiencing was anxiety. No one had ever explained to me what anxiety was, and my parents weren’t exactly the type of folks to think that seeing a mental health professional was a good thing. I really wish they would have sent me to see a therapist after my mom died, but then I would have exposed the family secrets.
About two weeks after the shower incident I was supposed to go to a football game with my high school band. I had asked my step mom or dad to take me because I still didn’t have a driver’s license. My step mom told me that my step brother could take me and this sent shivers down my spine. How could this even be an option? Did they not remember what had happened only weeks ago?
I didn’t want to think about riding in the same car as this person who thought it was okay to violate my privacy with his perverted tendencies. I told her no, and she acted like I was being irrational about the entire situation. She said that I was being over dramatic and that I needed to stop acting that way. I seriously could not process why these people didn’t get it? I began to cry, and I was defeated. All I was capable of doing was sitting back and taking in the words that made me feel like an object. Me getting into the car with him would feel like an open invitation for him to put his hands on me. I told my parents that I would rather not go, and they practically forced me to get into my step brothers vehicle. I ended up having to ride with him all the way to my school, and every second inside the truck was agony.
After a long series of arguments regarding the trip, my dad decided to take my entire family to the park for an “intervention.” The idea was to magically bring our family together, but it didn’t really work out that way. Dad planned to take us to a public place to avoid us yelling at each other.
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