Independence Day

On the 4th of July in the United States we celebrate Independence Day. Over time the anniversary of the country's freedom from British rule came to symbolize the freedoms that some, but not all, Americans enjoy. With this being the first Independence Day since my public disclosure of my status as a survivor of childhood sexual abuse my mind is drawn to the day that I consider to be MY Independence Day, the day I escaped from my childhood home.

It was the summer of 1997 when my path to freedom began. I was sixteen going on seventeen when my mother got a little overzealous in cleaning my room one day while I was out with friends. She found the issue of Playgirl magazine that I had hidden under my mattress. Is there some law that says all teenage boys must hide their nudie magazines under their mattress for their mother to find? Something tells me that finding a magazine full of nude men was not what my mother was expecting to find when she went snooping. When I got home she confronted me with the magazine and angrily stated that she didn't know what to do about me and that she was going to discuss the situation with my stepfather. My blood went cold.

For those of you just joining my blog my stepfather was the man who sexually abused me, along with his friends, from the time I was three years old until almost my twelfth birthday. It had been four years since the last time my stepfather sexually assaulted me and now my mother wanted to tell that man that she thought I was gay. My mind was racing. Would he think that meant I liked what he did to me and allowed his friends to do to me? Would he start again? Was the nightmare I thought was over going to begin again? I won't let him. I won't let him touch me again. I won't let him rape me again. I won't. I won't. I WON'T!!!

While my mom locked herself in her room to once again bury her head in the sand for the millionth time, I ran to my room and shoved a bunch of clothes into a bag and headed out the front door. I called the only person I could think of who might help me, my step-sister, and she came and got me. She helped me get on my feet, get my emancipation, finish high school, and make it to adulthood finally free of my stepfather and the threat of renewed sexual abuse. Finally I was safe. I was independent. I was free. Physically at least. The journey to free my heart, mind, and soul from the aftereffects of my childhood sexual abuse continues...