Hello dear reader, I hope you had a blessed day.
It's taken me a few days to get the courage to continue recalling a most painful part of my life. I usually share the link to a new post here, but I felt so much shame that I couldn't. I will try to do it this time. I hope that people can learn from my experience, how being abused can affect a person, for years.
While mother was pregnant my behavior towards it was mixed. A part of me was happy, yet another was full of hatred. The child would be Manuel's kid, his flesh and blood. The son of the man who abused me.
Sometimes I would honestly be glad when my mother would ask me to touch her belly, to feel the baby move. But many times I would have to pretend, to act as if I was happy when all I could feel is hatred.
After he was born, mother entrusted me to help her take care of him. Back then I dropped the kid a lot, and to be honest I have no idea if it was on purpose or accidentally. What I do remember was that I felt a lot of resentment towards him.
During the pregnancy and his birth my grades dropped drastically and I started to drink in secret when I was out of the house. I didn't become a drunk, but it gave me a buzz that made me forget how miserable I felt.
I ended up being expelled out of my school, and the two schools after that. My imagination and day dreaming was partly to blame. Sometimes I would imagine being someone else, at peace, with family that truly loved me, that would protect me. Once in a while I would imagine Manuel dead at my feet. Yeah, those were dark days.
Mother eventually told me to get a job or else. So at 15 years old, without finishing what would be equivalent to high school; I got a job.
I had a friend who worked at the local Pilsen brewery that got me a job there. My task was quality control. The beers would come out on an automated line and I was to make sure no damaged or defective bottle went past my station.
The bonus was that I could drink as much beer as I wanted at work, as long as it didn't affect my performance. Everyone, even the supervisors would drink all day long. It was a great job for me at the time, every day I would leave work with a nice buzz.
Back then all my friends drank liquor and/or got high. Mother didn't know because I never invited anyone to come over. She had no idea how out of control I was when I was out of her sight.
At the time my definition of friend would be someone to drink with or get high with, or do something stupid (illegal) with. I never told any of my friends about the anger, shame and pain I carried every day.
On occasion I would see Manuel at home, playing with my half-brother. Every time I wished him to drop dead, I didn't care how it would affect his son. But I had to pretend that he was a good man, for my mother and my half-brother.
I should have told everyone what he had done, I'm certain that everyone in our building would have beaten him to a pulp, probably killed him and gotten away with it. Child molesters who get killed by a mob usually don't do time in South America, justice works like that sometimes there.
Within a few years I became reckless, but I was never caught during any of my stupid stunts. I was smart and got away with it every time. My friends encouraged me, some became accomplices.
At 18 years old I felt I could get away with anything. I was proven wrong soon after. I had crossed the wrong man, who wanted me dead and had the position and power to get away with it.
My mother found out about it, and feared for my life. She convinced some relatives to hide me, I could not be seeing in public. I spent a few weeks in the house of one of her cousins, then was moved one night to her aunt's home.
There was no way out of the situation, mother tried talking to the man I had betrayed and he told her he would shot me himself if he saw me. Realizing that I had to go somewhere, one night she sat me down at her aunt's and told me I was leaving the country.
I was surprised, since I knew we had no money to make that happen. Then she said I was going to the united states to join Chila, my grandma. I was happy but also scared. Mother told me I was going to be smuggled into a ship a night, and then I would spend two weeks at sea and then meet Chila.
What she didn't mention at the time, was that she had pretty much lied to the smugglers. Promising $2,500 dollars which we didn't have. She also didn't tell my grandma I was coming until after I had left, forcing her hand. I only found out about it later on.
Chila, didn't have that kind of money. She lived paycheck to paycheck. Chila had to borrow money from everyone she knew, asked her church for help to find someone to take me in when I arrived in California; because she lived in New York and didn't know anyone there.
As mother described, I had been smuggled onto a ship. Moved into a cabin where I was locked in, and given two meals a day. I was treated well, but more than once I had been told that if they didn't get their money, my body would never be found. I had assumed grandma had the money so I wasn't worried.
In the last day two sailors showed up and took a wall apart, and put me and two other men inside the wall. They explained that there was random checks at the port and that this was the only way to avoid being found.
All three of us were sweating for hours until finally at night they opened the wall back up. We were given clothes to make us look as we were part of the crew. Waiting until late at night we all got off the cargo ship and were told to act as if we were joking around and laugh every few minutes.
Everything went smooth, we got in two cars. I thought I was going to be dropped off, meet my grandma and be safe. Instead the cars go to a dark place in the back of some large building, meeting another pair of cars. First I was confused, then I saw one of the sailor pull packages out of the trunk.
They also had smuggled drugs. I was at a drug exchange, which if anything went wrong, I could easily get killed. So from being in danger in Peru, I went to being in danger in an entirely different country. Now I can see the humor in it, of course at the time, I didn't.
I'm a bit tired, I'll continue next time dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Showing posts with label Mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mother. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 26, 2016
Friday, October 21, 2016
My secret revealed
Good day dear reader, I hope you are having a great day.
Today I will reveal how my childhood turned into a nightmare. It is something I've only told a handful of people. My wife knew, and for some reason, still loved me.
Here goes.
After my grandma left Peru, mother took over running the building. I never met the owner; apparently grandma had made some deal with the person decades ago in writing, which limited how much he could raise the price of leasing the building which my family in turn rented out.
I knew from conversations I overheard that the owner tried to force us out legally, but the contract must have been so well done that he just couldn't.
One of the renters was a nice man, Mr. Larrea. He was always kind to me, giving me advice, and candy. He had a niece, who became my first crush. To this day I remember her name. Lina. She was beautiful, a few years older than me and I was in love with her even before I knew what the word meant.
Without my grandma around, mother felt free to do things which probably wouldn't have met Chila's approval. She opened up a small business right in front of our home. She sold jewelry that she made herself and women clothes that she bought wholesale.
She started with a table, then moved onto a nice glass display on wheels which I helped her carry back upstairs. Our front door lead straight to stairs going to the second floor of the building, because the ground floor was taken by a shoe store that paid us rent.
Mother would go out often at night, but always spent time with me during the day, helping me with homework and making me part of her business downstairs as her "little helper".
She didn't bring men home, until one day she introduced me to a "friend" of hers. His name was Manuel.
It was obvious that he was less sophisticated than my mother, but I didn't care because he seemed like a nice man. Within a few months, I saw him as a father figure. He would take me to the movies, give me money for the local arcade and gave me the attention I wanted from a father. All three of us would go out to eat every week like a family.
I never heard him talk about what he did for a living, but mother always said he was a hard worker. Little did she know that she had invited a predator into our home.
One day mother told me she needed to be away for a few days and that Manuel would take care of me. She trusted him, I trusted him. There was no way for her to know that my life would change because of that act of trust.
The first night she was gone we watched TV in the living room until late at night, which wasn't out of the ordinary. I was tired and wanted to go to bed. He told me to stay on the sofa and turned off the lights. He then said that sometimes good friends sleep together. He asked me if we were friends and innocently I said "yes".
In the darkness he stripped me of my clothes, I thought he was helping me get into my pajamas. He then moved me to lay down next to him. He was naked and I could feel him laying behind me. I was confused, because nobody had ever told me that something like that was wrong.
He moved my hand and placed it on his privates. I didn't know what to do. I thought he was going to become my father, I feared that if I didn't do what he said my mother may become angry at me for disobeying,
That was the first night he sexually abused me. I don't want to go into great detail, it has taken me decades to forcefully push the memories down into a locked room in my mind.
The two days my mother was gone, was just the beginning. He would molest me at every chance we were alone or out of sight of others. This went on for months.
Eventually my mother noticed that my behavior was changing. I was easily startled, afraid of the dark to the point I always wanted a light on in my room; even when going to sleep.
One night she sat me down in her bedroom and I don't even remember what she said. But sometime during our chat I must have given her enough information for her to figure things out. I do remember her face, she was shocked, and angry.
For a moment I thought she was angry at me and perhaps she could see my fear because she hugged me tight and spoke softly. The words she used still escape me, but whatever she said made me feel at ease.
She told me not to move, and then left the room furious. Next thing I hear my mother screaming, cursing and I had to get up and look at what was going on. I saw my mother attacking Manuel, punching him and calling him names, telling him to leave, that she was going to kill him.
He only put his hands up defensively, fortunately he didn't fight back. Renters started to come out of their rooms due to the ruckus. Manuel was smart enough to know that if the men in the building heard what he had done, they would probably kill him, It was Peru after all. He left quickly.
I could hear the neighbors ask her if she was alright, and what had happened. She just told them that she had broken up with her boyfriend and that he didn't want to leave.
Apparently the truth was too embarrassing for her. No police was ever called. Not that day, or any other day. All she could say was that she was sorry. Not too long after she hired a female psychiatrist which to be honest, didn't make me feel any better.
The woman would mostly ask me for details of the abuse, how he did this and that. I hated her for doing that, and started to hate my mother for making me go through it in my head again with someone I considered a stranger. I did learn that what had happened to me was very very bad. Realizing that I had been abused gave birth to a hatred that was quite alive until just a few years ago.
She kept me out of school for a few weeks, spent time with me, buying me new clothes and toys as if that could fix anything. However as weeks passed by, I saw the sadness she carried. Slowly I started to get closer to her again. A sense of normality started to form. It didn't last long.
Two months after the night she had kicked out the man who had raped me, we had a conversation that numbed me. She was pregnant with Manuel's child, I was going to be a big brother. Her religion prohibited her from not having it. Then she told me I needed to forget what had happened to me, because her child needed to have a father.
I did as I was told. I had to pretend in front of everyone that he was a good man. At the time my mother was smart enough to distract me with the pregnancy, because I had always wanted to have more siblings.
Fortunately Manuel was never allowed to be alone with me or to move back in.
My feelings were a storm of fear, anger, sadness, disgust and shame.
I can't continue typing right now, I'll try to continue in a few days.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Today I will reveal how my childhood turned into a nightmare. It is something I've only told a handful of people. My wife knew, and for some reason, still loved me.
Here goes.
After my grandma left Peru, mother took over running the building. I never met the owner; apparently grandma had made some deal with the person decades ago in writing, which limited how much he could raise the price of leasing the building which my family in turn rented out.
I knew from conversations I overheard that the owner tried to force us out legally, but the contract must have been so well done that he just couldn't.
One of the renters was a nice man, Mr. Larrea. He was always kind to me, giving me advice, and candy. He had a niece, who became my first crush. To this day I remember her name. Lina. She was beautiful, a few years older than me and I was in love with her even before I knew what the word meant.
Without my grandma around, mother felt free to do things which probably wouldn't have met Chila's approval. She opened up a small business right in front of our home. She sold jewelry that she made herself and women clothes that she bought wholesale.
She started with a table, then moved onto a nice glass display on wheels which I helped her carry back upstairs. Our front door lead straight to stairs going to the second floor of the building, because the ground floor was taken by a shoe store that paid us rent.
Mother would go out often at night, but always spent time with me during the day, helping me with homework and making me part of her business downstairs as her "little helper".
She didn't bring men home, until one day she introduced me to a "friend" of hers. His name was Manuel.
It was obvious that he was less sophisticated than my mother, but I didn't care because he seemed like a nice man. Within a few months, I saw him as a father figure. He would take me to the movies, give me money for the local arcade and gave me the attention I wanted from a father. All three of us would go out to eat every week like a family.
I never heard him talk about what he did for a living, but mother always said he was a hard worker. Little did she know that she had invited a predator into our home.
One day mother told me she needed to be away for a few days and that Manuel would take care of me. She trusted him, I trusted him. There was no way for her to know that my life would change because of that act of trust.
The first night she was gone we watched TV in the living room until late at night, which wasn't out of the ordinary. I was tired and wanted to go to bed. He told me to stay on the sofa and turned off the lights. He then said that sometimes good friends sleep together. He asked me if we were friends and innocently I said "yes".
In the darkness he stripped me of my clothes, I thought he was helping me get into my pajamas. He then moved me to lay down next to him. He was naked and I could feel him laying behind me. I was confused, because nobody had ever told me that something like that was wrong.
He moved my hand and placed it on his privates. I didn't know what to do. I thought he was going to become my father, I feared that if I didn't do what he said my mother may become angry at me for disobeying,
That was the first night he sexually abused me. I don't want to go into great detail, it has taken me decades to forcefully push the memories down into a locked room in my mind.
The two days my mother was gone, was just the beginning. He would molest me at every chance we were alone or out of sight of others. This went on for months.
Eventually my mother noticed that my behavior was changing. I was easily startled, afraid of the dark to the point I always wanted a light on in my room; even when going to sleep.
One night she sat me down in her bedroom and I don't even remember what she said. But sometime during our chat I must have given her enough information for her to figure things out. I do remember her face, she was shocked, and angry.
For a moment I thought she was angry at me and perhaps she could see my fear because she hugged me tight and spoke softly. The words she used still escape me, but whatever she said made me feel at ease.
She told me not to move, and then left the room furious. Next thing I hear my mother screaming, cursing and I had to get up and look at what was going on. I saw my mother attacking Manuel, punching him and calling him names, telling him to leave, that she was going to kill him.
He only put his hands up defensively, fortunately he didn't fight back. Renters started to come out of their rooms due to the ruckus. Manuel was smart enough to know that if the men in the building heard what he had done, they would probably kill him, It was Peru after all. He left quickly.
I could hear the neighbors ask her if she was alright, and what had happened. She just told them that she had broken up with her boyfriend and that he didn't want to leave.
Apparently the truth was too embarrassing for her. No police was ever called. Not that day, or any other day. All she could say was that she was sorry. Not too long after she hired a female psychiatrist which to be honest, didn't make me feel any better.
The woman would mostly ask me for details of the abuse, how he did this and that. I hated her for doing that, and started to hate my mother for making me go through it in my head again with someone I considered a stranger. I did learn that what had happened to me was very very bad. Realizing that I had been abused gave birth to a hatred that was quite alive until just a few years ago.
She kept me out of school for a few weeks, spent time with me, buying me new clothes and toys as if that could fix anything. However as weeks passed by, I saw the sadness she carried. Slowly I started to get closer to her again. A sense of normality started to form. It didn't last long.
Two months after the night she had kicked out the man who had raped me, we had a conversation that numbed me. She was pregnant with Manuel's child, I was going to be a big brother. Her religion prohibited her from not having it. Then she told me I needed to forget what had happened to me, because her child needed to have a father.
I did as I was told. I had to pretend in front of everyone that he was a good man. At the time my mother was smart enough to distract me with the pregnancy, because I had always wanted to have more siblings.
Fortunately Manuel was never allowed to be alone with me or to move back in.
My feelings were a storm of fear, anger, sadness, disgust and shame.
I can't continue typing right now, I'll try to continue in a few days.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Friday, October 7, 2016
Matthew waved at me
Hello dear reader, I hope you are healthy in every sense of the word, by the grace of god.
Today I thank god for his kindness, Hurricane Matthew could have plowed through Delray Beach and turned it upside down. Instead everyone got a scare for a few hours while staying inside a hurricane shelter at a local high school.
Even though today I have no place too call home, I'm still grateful to be alive.
In my previous letter I started at the beginning, let us continue the walk down the story of my life.
Germany. Back then I felt German, not Peruvian. I spoke the German language fluently and knew very few Spanish words. My mother would call me "Luchito" which is an endearment of my name. Usually if you have the name Luis in my country your nickname is "Lucho". So "Luchito" would be the equivalent of calling me "little Luis".
I loved living there, playing hide and seek, laughing with Mike almost every day. It was a paradise to me, if it was imperfect, my childish view of the world probably was blind to any imperfection during that period of my young life.
Mother would call grandma about once or twice a month, I could tell because she would speak Spanish to her over the phone. I couldn't understand their conversations but I could see sometimes the sadness over my mother's face after the call.
I must've been around 8 years old when mother told me we were leaving Germany to go back to Peru. I was angry, not comprehending that because my mother had divorced her abusive husband she could not stay legally in Europe for too long. She didn't explain that legal aspect to me but I figured it out years later.
What she did tell me was that grandma wanted us both back. I didn't remember her, even asked my mother why couldn't she come to us instead. The answer to my question was that grandma just couldn't make the trip but that we could.
It was the first time in my life I remember real sadness and pain, from leaving my best friend Mike, my school, the neighborhood, the park nearby, riding my bike down the street.
The day we left is a blur to me. Leaving the apartment with our luggage, taking the elevator downstairs, hugging my friend Mike goodbye, getting into the taxi that took us to the airport, boarding the plane to Peru. I recall it as a flash, if it all had taken place in a matter of seconds.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did soon after we arrived. I will explain further in my next letter dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Today I thank god for his kindness, Hurricane Matthew could have plowed through Delray Beach and turned it upside down. Instead everyone got a scare for a few hours while staying inside a hurricane shelter at a local high school.
Even though today I have no place too call home, I'm still grateful to be alive.
In my previous letter I started at the beginning, let us continue the walk down the story of my life.
Germany. Back then I felt German, not Peruvian. I spoke the German language fluently and knew very few Spanish words. My mother would call me "Luchito" which is an endearment of my name. Usually if you have the name Luis in my country your nickname is "Lucho". So "Luchito" would be the equivalent of calling me "little Luis".
I loved living there, playing hide and seek, laughing with Mike almost every day. It was a paradise to me, if it was imperfect, my childish view of the world probably was blind to any imperfection during that period of my young life.
Mother would call grandma about once or twice a month, I could tell because she would speak Spanish to her over the phone. I couldn't understand their conversations but I could see sometimes the sadness over my mother's face after the call.
I must've been around 8 years old when mother told me we were leaving Germany to go back to Peru. I was angry, not comprehending that because my mother had divorced her abusive husband she could not stay legally in Europe for too long. She didn't explain that legal aspect to me but I figured it out years later.
What she did tell me was that grandma wanted us both back. I didn't remember her, even asked my mother why couldn't she come to us instead. The answer to my question was that grandma just couldn't make the trip but that we could.
It was the first time in my life I remember real sadness and pain, from leaving my best friend Mike, my school, the neighborhood, the park nearby, riding my bike down the street.
The day we left is a blur to me. Leaving the apartment with our luggage, taking the elevator downstairs, hugging my friend Mike goodbye, getting into the taxi that took us to the airport, boarding the plane to Peru. I recall it as a flash, if it all had taken place in a matter of seconds.
Just when I thought things couldn't get worse, they did soon after we arrived. I will explain further in my next letter dear reader.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Thursday, September 29, 2016
In the beginning...
Hello dear reader, how are you today? I hope you had a wonderful day by the grace of god.
Where should I start? I guess, at the beginning.
Do I remember my childhood? barely. Was it so bad that I blocked it all? No. Well, the good parts I remember I guess.
I was born in August of 1969 in the country of Peru (south america). I don't remember my father leaving me and my mother, all I knew was that I had a mother and no father. I think I was 5 years old, old enough to understand what it meant when she explained it to me, that he had left us but that it was not my fault. It wasn't until years later after we returned from Germany that I found out he had left us for his mistress.
Germany... good memories there. I don't remember even the face of the man my mother fell in love with, but I remember how we left Peru with my grandmother crying at the airport the day we left for Europe. I believe I was about 7 years old.
It didn't take long for things to change, the kind German turned into a monster. I can still remember how badly he had treated her. I could hear the screams and how he abused her verbally and physically. I hated him, wanting him to disappear, It went on for a few months, until one night mother packed our things and we left to live with a girlfriend of hers, I think they were coworkers.
Mother worked at a hospital, I'm pretty sure she was a nurse and the way her friend treated me with kindness and always with a smile. I thought that she had to also be a nurse.
It did not take long for her to divorce, even tho she never mentioned the word, only that we would never be with that bad man again.
A few weeks went by before we moved into a small apartment in a tall building (at least it looked tall from the outside). I'm certain we lived in Hamburg.
There is where I met my friend Mike. I don't even know how to pronounce his name properly, decades have passed since then. Probably his full name was Michael, and his last name sounded like Lepa or something like it.
He was a blond kid, a bit older than me. Son of a woman that lived downstairs from us, we played ball, rode our bikes in the neighborhood and played with our toys every day. It was the most innocent and wonderful part of my childhood, something I held on to for many years, and still recall on occasion with fondness.
Every weekend or so mother would take me with her down to the local laundromat where I would run around (because I didn't listen to mother, like most kids do at that age) while she was taking care of our clothes. One weekend, I ran straight into the door handle of one of the washers. Next thing all I saw was red and hearing my mother screaming frantically.
I remember being in an ambulance, then waking up in a hospital bed with bandages over my left eye. My mother was sitting on a chair next to the bed. She told me I was lucky that I still had an eye, that the German doctors had saved me from being half blind.
To be honest, at the time I didn't understand it all. It took many years until I could understand how badly I had injured myself. Today I can feel the bone under my left eye, pushed in as if someone had hammered part of it.
A few weeks went by and everything went back to normal, back to school, back to playing with my best friend Mike, back to being a careless kid again. My mother did become a bit more protective then.
I wonder sometimes what I would've become had we stayed there. Until next time dear reader, I will write my next letter as soon as I can.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
Where should I start? I guess, at the beginning.
Do I remember my childhood? barely. Was it so bad that I blocked it all? No. Well, the good parts I remember I guess.
I was born in August of 1969 in the country of Peru (south america). I don't remember my father leaving me and my mother, all I knew was that I had a mother and no father. I think I was 5 years old, old enough to understand what it meant when she explained it to me, that he had left us but that it was not my fault. It wasn't until years later after we returned from Germany that I found out he had left us for his mistress.
Germany... good memories there. I don't remember even the face of the man my mother fell in love with, but I remember how we left Peru with my grandmother crying at the airport the day we left for Europe. I believe I was about 7 years old.
It didn't take long for things to change, the kind German turned into a monster. I can still remember how badly he had treated her. I could hear the screams and how he abused her verbally and physically. I hated him, wanting him to disappear, It went on for a few months, until one night mother packed our things and we left to live with a girlfriend of hers, I think they were coworkers.
Mother worked at a hospital, I'm pretty sure she was a nurse and the way her friend treated me with kindness and always with a smile. I thought that she had to also be a nurse.
It did not take long for her to divorce, even tho she never mentioned the word, only that we would never be with that bad man again.
A few weeks went by before we moved into a small apartment in a tall building (at least it looked tall from the outside). I'm certain we lived in Hamburg.
There is where I met my friend Mike. I don't even know how to pronounce his name properly, decades have passed since then. Probably his full name was Michael, and his last name sounded like Lepa or something like it.
He was a blond kid, a bit older than me. Son of a woman that lived downstairs from us, we played ball, rode our bikes in the neighborhood and played with our toys every day. It was the most innocent and wonderful part of my childhood, something I held on to for many years, and still recall on occasion with fondness.
Every weekend or so mother would take me with her down to the local laundromat where I would run around (because I didn't listen to mother, like most kids do at that age) while she was taking care of our clothes. One weekend, I ran straight into the door handle of one of the washers. Next thing all I saw was red and hearing my mother screaming frantically.
I remember being in an ambulance, then waking up in a hospital bed with bandages over my left eye. My mother was sitting on a chair next to the bed. She told me I was lucky that I still had an eye, that the German doctors had saved me from being half blind.
To be honest, at the time I didn't understand it all. It took many years until I could understand how badly I had injured myself. Today I can feel the bone under my left eye, pushed in as if someone had hammered part of it.
A few weeks went by and everything went back to normal, back to school, back to playing with my best friend Mike, back to being a careless kid again. My mother did become a bit more protective then.
I wonder sometimes what I would've become had we stayed there. Until next time dear reader, I will write my next letter as soon as I can.
May you walk in the light of God.
Sincerely.
Luis
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