Essay #2 Second Draft

Deja Woolard

Janel Spencer

WRT 101S

October 24, 2019

A Bump on The Road

I have come to believe that I will always speak my mind whether I might be right or wrong and to never suffer in silence. I am standing here today as a strong black woman who has a mental health issue that is affecting my social and spiritual life, but continue to make progress everyday to prevent it from continuing to happen. Mental health should never be something that you are   ashamed of, and you are never alone.

  It all began when I was eight or nine years old. My father and I were out of town and traveled to North Carolina to visit family. We both stayed at my aunt’s house for a couple of days at the time (but eventually got our own hotel room). I was in  the backyard at my aunt’s house. Her and my cousins had a bulldog named “Chill.” I was on the trampoline all by myself in the hot and humid weather while also playing with Chill, who did nothing but play around and lay around all day. Once I was done playing, I went inside to get a cold soda, and saw my older cousin, who was sixteen at the time, give me the weirdest look ever. He said, “Deja, come here! I have something to show you.” Once I got my soda I went in his room and said, “What is it?” My cousin closed the door behind him and locked it, looking at me as if I was some kind of animal. He never did respond to my question and instead said, “Play with me.”  Still not knowing what he was talking about, he slowly came up to me, and out of nowhere, he started making out with my face while grabbing my hand and putting it on his genitals, rubbing it around. While he was kissing me, he used a lot of tongue, and in an instant, I pulled back and said, “What are you doing?” All he did was smile at me and placed his hand around my private area. I quickly got up, unlocked the door, and went straight to the bathroom to clean my face from all of the saliva that he put on me with his tongue. I locked the bathroom door and cleaned myself up, and I thought to myself, what did I do? What just happened? I held back my tears and never told anybody about it.

Ten years later, I finally told my dad about it one day, and after I told him, for some reason, he did not look concerned about what I told him at all. After I told him what happened to me I asked him, “What is it called?” He told me, “That is child molestation.” He also said, “He was young, sounds like you guys we’re just playing around.” My heart never felt so broken when my father said that. The look of concern never showed and it looked as if he thought I was making up a story. A few months later, I finally was able to tell my mom about it and she was very angry. She asked me, “Where was your dad? He should have been there, and your aunt should have done something about it if she wasn’t so distracted!” As much as I believed everything that my mom said, I can not control what has happened with the situation. My mom then continue to be upset with my father, my older cousin, and the rest of my father’s side of the family for failing to protect me. 

A year later, I was finally able to have the courage to tell my aunt, the mother of my older cousin who molested me.  I told her everything about what happened on that day. When I told her about the trauma and what her son did to me, she froze and said to me, “I can not believe that! There is no way! I am very upset!” I spoke to her on the phone and I was in such pain and was afraid of what she might say  about it. I overhead her calling to my older cousin, and she asked him, “Did you do anything to Deja? She’s saying that you molested her?” I heard him respond to my aunt saying, “No! I didn’t do anything to her! She’s lying!” After his response, my aunt’s mood went from upset and concerned to relieved and happy to hear what his response was. She believed him, and she said to me, “He was just playing, and he didn’t do anything wrong.” After hearing her response, I quickly got upset and hung up on  her. The emotion of anger and pain I felt has affected me a lot and I decided on that very day that I would no longer stay in contact with my aunt and to never see or hear from her ever again. 

A few years have gone by, and life continued to be difficult for me. Trying to have a healthy social life and relationships were very hard for me. Throughout time, I have developed anxiety disorder and clinical depressive disorder. I would sometimes have flashbacks about my trauma, and it has eventually gone away, but the scar is still there. I have learned through this horrible tragedy that family can never be trusted and will not always have your back when you think that they actually do. The molestation has affected my life in many ways to where  it caused me to have hatred for my cousin, my aunt, and have trust issues with everybody in my life. I have tried many times to forgive my cousin for what he has done, but I still have not done so. I felt at that moment it was my family vs. me and nobody cared about what I had to say.

My life has changed  ever since the trauma and the biggest thing that changed  was having to deal with anxiety and depression and having trust issues with people. The main issues were that I was always having issues with was my depression. I felt that nobody understood me,  that something was really wrong with me, and that nobody will ever like me. There has been a few times where I was feeling so down to where I was feeling suicidal, but the more I grew up, the more I have managed to never feel that way. I have always had a very rough time telling my parents about my mental health because it seemed like they never really knew what to say other than, “You need to see a doctor about it,” rather than telling them listening to my issues and offering what they can do to help me out with the situation. They were both equally as hard to talk to about it, and it felt very disappointing and saddening about how they were never able to really help me individually. They instead focused on me  seeing a psychiatrist , and eventually I was prescribed medication that never worked. Eventually, I was able to convince my mom that the medication was not working on me and made me twice as worse than I was before. Throughout time, I was able to have as much peace in my life as I possibly could, and I am now aware that I never have to be afraid to speak up and ask for help due to my mental illness. I have suffered more than enough, and so did the eight year old girl on that day. I am not 100% healed, but I try my best everyday to get better and to have a better life without having to deal with the issues that I have had. I am a strong, independent black woman who has been molested and has anxiety and clinical depression, and I am not ashamed of it.