Trauma

I awoke to the sound of dining ware clanging and people laughing downstairs as breakfast was being made. The morning light shone brightly through the sheer curtains, and it was truly stunning against the dark contrast of the wooden walls.

I was at my favorite place, my aunt and uncle’s farmhouse in Michigan. Each summer, my family would road trip there from the Chicago suburbs and spend at least a month with them. If you were to imagine what your dream summer as a child was, it would seem a little something like how I spent mine in Michigan as a child. The property had acres of cornfields behind it that we would explore, a pool, a tire swing, livestock. It really can’t get much better than this, I remember I used to think.

My feet padded down the stairs anticipating the breakfast spread that I knew what would await me when I reached the source of the commotion that had awaken me. I was the last one to wake, per usual, and I was greeted with teasing jokes from my family about how late I slept each morning. 

Me and my 2 siblings looked up to my cousins immensely, they were several years older than us, but always were incredibly nice and kind to us. I was particularly close with my cousin Casey. At the time he was 16, and I was 6 years old. However, he and I got along well, and he would always take the time to make sure me and my siblings were having fun and enjoying ourselves. I never felt belittled by him, or like a nuisance.

I had predicted this to be the best summer yet, from what my parents had told me there were many exciting things had been planned.

After breakfast, I quickly went upstairs to change and brush my teeth so I could go outside and play. I threw on my favorite worn out cutoff shorts and a graphic shirt. I don’t remember much else that happened between then and the events I’m about to discuss, but I do know that it changed my life forever and is still with me today.

After a long day of running around outside, all the kids retired inside to watch T.V. I was the last to enter the room, meaning all of the chairs had been occupied. Casey beckoned for me to sit on the armchair with him, so I did, of course wanting to be included.  He mentioned he was cold and pulled a blanket over us. I felt totally comfortable, this was normal behavior as far as I was aware of. Within a minute, I felt his fingers approach the button on my shorts. I shifted, bringing my waist out of his reach. He persisted, and I glanced around at my clueless cousins and siblings with their attention completely focused on the TV. Soon enough, I could feel his hand slide under each layer I was wearing and onto my bare skin.

At 6 years old, I did not really understand what was happening, but I knew something was wrong. From this day forward, I hated every summer at that fucking farm house. Things only began to become more intense with Casey each time we returned. He was getting braver, and I was becoming more afraid. 

It was years later when I told my parents what was going on, and that was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had to have in my life. I struggled with shame and guilt. I felt violated, and like a piece of me had been stolen. Now at 19 years old, I have yet to find the piece he stole from me, and I doubt I ever will.