I was 5 when my step-father molested me.
I thought I would be able to get through it, but up to now, 32 years later,
I identify this episode as the main reason for my depressive behavior. My childhood was more like a horror movie, than a moment of fantasies and innocent games. I was always trying to escape from the Devil, who resided in my own house. My mother, so much in-love with him, showed dreadfully blindness in dealing with the situation. I was fated to live a life of profound
melancholy and anguish.
The days, months, and years passed like they were centuries. I was always feeling guilty, however, I could not tell why. I started developing a chronic insomnia when I was only seven years old. I remember my mother taking me to the doctor, and in our way out, she would put me down, saying that I was a liar, that I was faking a bad behavior, in order to get attention. Believe me, when I see the children being treated with so much love in this country, I feel happy for them; although, when I witness some of them receiving a poor treatment, I feel like speaking out to defend them, since I know what is to be abused physically, emotionally, psychologically.
I grew up and the problems grew with me. In order to be free of my step father, I decided to get married with the first man who came to my life. He seemed to be fine. Four years older than me, college degree, hard worker and seemed to be in-love with me. By the age of 19 I was entering in a cathedral, with a gorgeous dress, long size veil and lots of friends around. What I thought to be my freedom became a nightmare.
My husband turned out to be abusive and aggressive to me; even more than my step father. He used to have so much pleasure on being cruel to me. His words were like a very sharp knife on my heart, on my head. My feelings of helplessness increased big time. I had no pleasure on being alive. My only hope was my strong faith, which I developed in my early age, once more, looking for assistance and comfort. I used to be a volunteer, ever since I was twelve years old. It definitely saved from drugs and prostitution. As I have never experienced a connivance with a real father, I found in the figure of Jesus Christ, my relief and the example I wanted to follow. He was my savior in all the senses you can imagine.
My routine was constantly surrounded by the feeling of suicide. Despite the children, fruit of my marriage, my volunteering and all the people I loved; suicide was still an option for me. Nobody could ever understand why, and neither do I. My journey through psychiatrists, counselors, spiritual leaders, homeopaths, and anybody else who I thought it could help me was not enough to put me in the right track.
Obviously, I forgave my mother, who was also a victim of my step father violence and abusive behavior. She could not see what was going on with me. She may have thought there was only one option: kill her view of reality, or kill of the love of her life. My mother was never in the middle. So she took the path she considered to be more reasonable for everybody. Later on, my step father bit her up. It was a new begging for her. They split up. Four years later, his cadaver was found by the cops, near a river. The investigator concluded he was executed by a group of criminals. His lover, a Bolivian woman, was the one who demanded the crime.
We are in 2007 now. I am still having episodes of
depression. The difference is that I don’t feel alone anymore. I learned that a real unconditional love was the medication I was missing my whole life. I could not obtain it in Brazil, my homeland. I had to travel thousand of miles and go to another continent to find it. In 2005 I got married to a man, who is an example of dignity, devotion and love. He is from my favorite city in the world; The Big Apple.
Today I can see tomorrow. The windows are clean, the doors are opened. It’s needless to say that my husband is not only a man in my life. He is a gift. He is my best friend. He is my angel. He is the one, responsible for my new prospective life.