A letter to my molester.

I have toyed with the idea of writing to you for some time now. I wondered if I would have the courage. I wondered if I got up the courage, what would I say? I talked to my therapist, I talked to my husband, I talked to myself. I feel that now I am ready to deal with this head-on. I am doing this for myself; it has nothing whatsoever with giving you forgiveness or making you feel better. This is for me. The thought of writing to you has kept me up many a night. I pray that I will say the right things; the things that will let you know the damage you have done. The things to let you know how much I have hurt and ached, screamed and cried, hidden in drugs and alcohol. I have not been a whole person for a long time. My ability to trust is so small. I really believe that, for me, the first step to healing began with the birth of my daughter. Her entrance into my world gave me the insight to realize that in no way had I caused this or asked for it. To see a child so new and so vulnerable; to know that her very existence is dependent on my commitment to protect and love her; it gives a new perspective into the role of a parent or a parent figure. You had a job to protect me. You failed. You had a job to love me. You failed. You had a job to ensure my childhood was safe and secure and filled with childish things. Again, you failed. I want you to understand this; YOU FAILED. I didn't. I have blocked out so many things, probably because of the former abuse, but the things that I do remember affect me. The things I don't remember affect me as well, they wake me up at night in a cold sweat. The things I do remember, I intend to spell out for you. I want you to know that I was awake; that I do remember; that this did forever change my view of the world. There are things in my memories that are only shadows. But I also know, by the age I was, that you did them. I used to take Little Rudy to bed with me and hope that you would leave me alone 'cause he was there. I remember. I remember. Those words are so empowering to me. My memories help me to say to myself, "These things did happen. He hurt you. It is not all in your head." I remember wearing my mother's old nursing gowns to bed and waking up with them unbuttoned all the way. It never happened on the nights that you had duty; what a coincidence. I remember waking up one night to a shadow masturbating in my doorway. I remember the endless nights of tossing and turning when I would wake up and realize you were there. I always thought, "If he thinks I'm waking up he'll go away." You never did. I remember waking up to my finger against what felt like your anus and the nausea that rose within me. I had to go to the bathroom and wash myself as soon as I knew you were no longer there. I remember, too, you "wrestling" with me. You would 'slip' and touch my breast. I also remember putting a can of hair spray under my pillow. If you did anything, I was going to spray you in the eyes. You took my courage from me too. I also remember going to your family reunion in Texas. You were driving and I fell asleep in the passenger seat. You couldn't even let me sleep then. You fondled my vagina and my breasts. I also remember finding those nude photographs in your book bag. I was so terrified, the experience was so traumatic. The nausea I felt. Then I became euphoric when I realized that I finally had the concrete proof that you had acted inappropriately with me, that you had molested me. Too bad they said it wasn't enough. I remember the very first time that you molested me. You were spending the night at our house in Japan. You put your hand under the edge of my panties and cupped my vagina. I wiggled away and you groped around trying to get back in. You told my mother you thought it was my stomach. You didn't even lie very well. I remember being elated when I knew you had to go out on deployment. Those were the best times for me; I slept. The saddest thing about you molesting me is that you could have been a great father. You chose, at a young age, to marry a woman that happened to have two children. This is a very tricky thing. My daughter was four months old when my husband and I began dating. It takes work to become an instant family, it is hard. I wish that you had been able to match this challenge. I wish that we could have been a family. As the saying goes though, "Wish in one hand, $%^& in the other…." I pray for your salvation. I pray that you will get help for your problem with molestation. Maybe it was a one time thing; maybe not. I am a Christian now. I attend a local Baptist church with my family. My one solace in the face of my molestation is that I can give it to God now. I no longer have to deal with this inside myself. If I want to, I can scream it from the rooftops. I am a survivor; no longer a victim. You can reply to this letter or not. That is your choice. The one thing that I ask is that you only contact me by letter. Do not try to call me or come to see me. I do not want you anywhere near my daughter. I hope that if nothing else, this letter will give you an insight as to the damage that you caused me. But I no longer hold that now you can have it back, it was yours to begin with. I survived.

With God All Things Are Possible,
Dancing Moon