Crossroads: Part Three, Adolescence

Trigger Warning

The following narrative contains mentions of death, child abuse, and sexual molestation. Please do not read any further if reading about real life abuse is triggering.

Adolescence brought with it an entirely new set of challenges. There I struggled with my past and the now disintegrated relationship with my father. As I got older, my understanding of what in endured grew more and more concrete.

As a young child in elementary school, I was bubbly and outgoing. That changed slowly over time throughout middle school. I became quieter and more reserved. My outgoing nature eventually morphed into being shy and withdrawn. My mother did not notice this change in my behavior. If she did notice, she did not give any indication that when was aware, nor did she make any effort to investigate why I had changed.

In seventh grade, I faced a devastating loss. My best friend since the third grade died in a horrible automobile accident. I was told that she was riding in the bed of a pickup truck on top of a mattress. Somehow, a gust of wind was able to flip the mattress over, tossing out of the truck and killing her. Before her death, she had to deal with the alcoholic abuse from her mother. In a way, her passing was a relief from a mother who apparently did not love her enough to stop the drinking that was tormenting her child.

Although the abuse that transpired when I was younger, I struggled with putting that behind me. I never told my mother of the abuse until I reached middle school. I only told her because of the amount of upheaval I was facing because of our impending move to a new house.

We were planning to move out of my childhood home, where my father would continue to reside, while we would live at a new house. My mom and my father no longer got along, and the move would alleviate the tension between them. Of course, I wanted to be rid of my father, but I did not want to leave my childhood home. I am not sure what finally pushed me to tell my mom about the molestation, but after locking myself in my room, I passed a note underneath the door to my mom. I wrote it down because I found it difficult to verbalize complicated things, and writing it was significantly easier. After saying nothing for a long time, I opened the door, and to my relief, my mom told me that she believed me and that I had done nothing wrong.  She swiftly divorced my father.

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