Prior to entering drug addiction rehab and meeting the most amazing drug addiction and sexual abuse therapist and spiritual guide, I was a mess. I didn’t have any self awareness or self worth. All I knew was that something in me needed a boost, and I boosted it with drugs; weed and alcohol.
When I was about twelve years old, my parents brought in a househelp to help us around the house. She was a few years older than me and very dutiful. My mother liked Cynthia to no end. Mom said Cynthia had a lot of common sense. What she did not know what the damage that girl would do to me and the sexual abuse nightmare I was about to endure.
That year on the long school vacation, my parents decided I would stay home rather than tag along to the market with my mother. I reckon Mama didn’t want to pay the extra transport fare that would take me to and fro. And also she figured since the househelp was home, we could look out for each other.
We lived in a big compound house with many other families. The House belonged to my parents, and they rented parts to these other families. And it didn’t take long for Cynthia to make friends with another teenage girl in the compound. Her name was Efe. As soon as mom left for the market Efe would come into our apartment, looking for food and whatever else to eat.
And it was when Efe was around that I saw Cynthia’s true colors. She neglected her duties, sometimes going as far as making me do my chores and hers in addition. She did all the things mom and dad had specifically asked that we didn’t do. For example, we were told not to spend any time watching television, but that is exactly what she did. And she would threaten me not to tell. I feared her retaliation if I told on her, so I kept quiet. My big brother whom I was used to getting protection from was away at school.
It was during one of those afternoons, at home with Cynthia and Efe that the sexual abuse started. I really don’t remember the details of the first day, I guess my brain has blocked out the granular details to give me a shred of sanity. I just don’t remember that particular day, but I do remember other days. And I remember some of those days a little too much.
My most vivid memory, the one that keeps playing in my mind over and over is that of me stripped down to nothing. And my little twelve year old self was being commanded and directed around by these two older teens, who made me do things my emotions, brain and body were absolutely not ready for. And I remember the threats they made, of how if I dared tell my parents, they would fabricate stories and put it all on me.
I remember the fear and shame I felt, in my own home, a house built and owned by my parents. And I remember the trepidation, everyday when my parents had to go. I remember crying and begging for them to take me along. But they never stopped to listen, or see the fear and anxiety in my eyes. They assumed I was just acting up, and either screamed at me or spanked me to shut and and sit down.
For weeks and weeks, I endured the sexual abuse by Cynthia and Efe, trapped at home, between a supposed help who had become my molester and parents too busy to see the lines, talk-less of reading between them.
Something shifted in me. I was too young to understand but something changed. I became afraid of the world and I recoiled inside. Playing with my mates lost its allure and I kept to myself most of the time. I also began to wet my bed and I was absent minded all the time. My parents recognized my behavioral and mood changes, and rather than probe and find out, they began an onslaught of criticism and name calling.
Over time, Cynthia lost interest in me and the sexual abuse stopped. She moved on to older boys who were well equipped to help her find whatever sexual gratification she sought. And Efe’s family moved from our compound. I was able to breathe a somewhat sigh of relief and have a somewhat normal life again. I hung on to making good grades in school, something which will become my saving grace. But those memories never left me, and that shift that happened during the months of sexual abuse, never reversed. Something gave in me, never to correct itself.
Cynthia stayed with my family for years. By the time I finished secondary school, she had begun learning a trade. At age seventeen, I was no longer a scrawny little boy, and the timidity that had gripped my heart years prior had turned into a boiling rage. What stayed with me though, was the feeling of worthlessness and shame; and there were pockets of times where vivid pictures of Efe and Cynthia molesting me would play in my head over and over. Around that time, I began smoking weed, it gave me a level of confidence and peace I couldn’t find anywhere else. When I was high, nothing could touch me, not memories, not my parents’ verbal assault, not my self-righteous older brother, and not Cynthia’s stank persona. When I was high, I was king.
Oneday, after finding out I had passed my secondary school exams and I was on the highway to studying pharmacy in the university, Cynthia made a remark, meant to degrade me. She said, “Efe’s husband.”
Rage blinded me. I acted before I had time to even consider my actions. And she felt my fist before she saw me come for her. It took less than a minute for my mother to put herself between us. But that was a few seconds too many, because she suffered a busted lip, a couple teeth knocked out and a very black eye.
My mother was convinced I was demon possessed.
Alcohol eventually added to my drug of choice, mainly because alcohol is more acceptable socially. So when I couldn’t smoke openly, I drank myself into a stupor. Alcohol gave me the same effect as weed, courage. The only difference was, alcohol wore off much faster.
By the time I went to the University, I was a full blown alcoholic and marijuana addict. It didn’t take long for me to start mixing the two. I found a huge green glass bottle, and in that bottle, I mixed marijuana seed, leaves, cinnamon, mahogany bark, akpeteshie (local gin) and many other things to make a powerful concoction. And I found a way to navigate academic work and feed my habit. And just like that, without realizing it, I became a functional alcoholic.
My academics suffered, but not enough to require me to make drastic changes. I managed to hang in there, not doing great academically as I knew I could, and not doing badly enough to drop out of school. And at home I was still a ball of untamed fury, lashing at the least provocation. In my heart of hearts, I wished I could go back to the place where I’d been with my mother years prior, a place where she was the ying to my yang. But I was lost and didn’t know how to find my way back to my first love, my Mama.
Difficult childhood? Learn from people who have overcome childhood adversity.
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At MissKorang we strive to bring you life stories that teach timeless life lessons and, some of those stories, like this one, are real life stories submitted by our readers and shared with their permission. Identifying attributes are edited out to protect our contributors’ privacy.Can you leave your thoughts with these kind people in the comments? If you want to send us your experience, email us at submissions@misskorang.com. Or submit using this anonymous form. Please do not reproduce any part of this content without permission from us. Our stories contain affiliate links. When you click and make a purchase, we may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.
At MissKorang we strive to bring you life stories that teach timeless life lessons and, some of those stories, like this one, are real life stories submitted by our readers and shared with their permission. Identifying attributes are edited out to protect our contributors’ privacy.Can you leave your thoughts with these kind people in the comments? If you want to send us your experience, email us at submissions@misskorang.com. Or submit using this anonymous form. Please do not reproduce any part of this content without permission from us. Our stories contain affiliate links. When you click and make a purchase, we may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you.
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MissKorang
I am a mom, wife, believer in God and a lover of stories. I love storytelling because I believe it is a potent means to inspire and educate.