Survivor’s Tale



When I was 8 or 9 years old, my uncle Evan sexually abused me. I locked it away and didn’t tell anyone about it until I was 15 years old.


Most summers, my brother Tom and I spent July at my mother’s parent’s home in Colorado Springs, Colorado. We would sit on the porch with our grandfather, while he smoked a pack of Pall Malls and drank a Diet Pepsi with Jim Beam. Sometimes, we would harass our grandmother and sit with her in her bedroom and watch her watch her soap operas. Sometimes, we would just veg out and watch cable TV because grandpa had HBO.


We would spend the month out there but our mom would visit for a week or two. We would go fishing and camping in Leadville. Hear childhood stories of struggle, which really were awful but somehow turned funny. We would fish all day and end up at the Pizza Hut because we didn’t catch anything. After a weekend of roughing it. My mom would head back to Vegas and we would finish our time with our grandparents.


My mom is one nine siblings. My grandmother had two daughters from a previous marriage, Catherine and Margie. Then she married my grandfather and had my mom, Pam, Cindy, Debbie, the twins: Keith and Kevin, Becky and Evan. My mom is the only one out of her siblings that is not a drunk or drug addict or have some sort of disorder.


My uncles were often unemployed, homeless and drunk. They lived at home with my grandparents. When my mom came home to visit, my grandpa kicked them out of the house to live outside or in the shed. They rarely slept in the house. But when she was gone, they came back inside the house.


While we were guests at my grandparents, my brother and I slept in the living room. We took turns sleeping on the couch and on the floor in front of the TV. There was this giant velveteen pillow with fringe that we used as the main pillow. It was like a headrest. Then other pillows were propped against it in front of the coffee table.


It was my turn to sleep on the couch but Tom had somehow convinced me to give him my turn on the couch for TV time the next day. As I lay on the hard ground, I already regretted my deal and felt I had been swindled. My brother was a pro at getting his way and had likely persuaded me with one of my favorite things on TV. Probably another showing of Mommy Dearest.


It was dark. Late at night. The TV was off. The lights were off. The curtains were all closed. The front door was locked and closed.


I felt somebody lying next to me. A rough hand inside my shirt brushing my skin. Slowly the hand started rubbing between my legs.


My eyes popped open. I thought I was dreaming. I tried to sit up but another hand pushed me back down. A husky voice just whispered to me to lay down. So I laid down. I didn’t know what to do.


I wiggled. I tried to roll over. A firm hand rolled me back.


The hand kept moving. I just stayed still hoping it would just stop. I realized it was my Uncle Evan. He was telling me to be a good girl and stay where I was.


He took my hand and put it down his pants. He formed my hand around his penis and made me jack him off. Once he got hard, he took his pants all the way off. He pushed my face into his groin and made me put my mouth on him. I didn’t know what to do. He just kept pushing it at me. I put it in my mouth. He thrust it back and forth.


I cried.


He pulled it out. I choked.


I laid back down. I pulled the blanket back down. I didn’t know what to do. I got up and went to the bathroom. Maybe if I just went to the bathroom. He wouldn’t be there when I got back.


I don’t know how long I was gone, but when I went back, he was still there. I was afraid to wake anybody up. I was afraid I was going to get into trouble. I tried to ignore him and laid back down. His pants were back on. It looked like he was asleep.


I laid on my side away from him. As far as I could, but still in my assigned sleeping area. But he wasn’t asleep. As soon as I laid down, his hands were all over me again between my legs. Fingers forced inside me under my panties. He kept asking me if I liked it. He didn’t wait for an answer, he just kept doing it. I kept trying to roll away but I kept getting rolled back.


I don’t know when it stopped. I don’t remember going back to sleep.


The next thing I remember is my grandpa coming in and opening the curtains in the living room and asking how I slept. I wanted to tell him everything. I just didn’t know what to say.


I waited for my grandma to get up. I went in to see her and I told her. I cried and told her everything that happened to me. I told her that Evan had done these terrible things to me.


My grandmother called my uncle into the room. He sat on the bed opposite of us. She asked him if he did these things that I had accused him of.


He responded, “I did. I had a little too much to drink. I’m really sorry.”


My grandmother said, “Okay. This is over. Go give your uncle a hug. We will never talk about this again.”


That was that.

I never told anyone about it again. Not a soul. I began to suffer from insomnia. I had nightmares. It was shortly after that I made my first suicide attempt. But it wasn’t until I was 15 years old that I told my mom.


I was dating a boy and we were getting frisky. We were kissing and he slid his hand down my pants and touched me in a certain way and BAM! I felt like I was a kid again and had just been molested. I freaked out. Had a world class panic attack. Freaked this kid out. But I relived that moment and felt like I had been cut open. The wound was raw and fresh.


I told my mom. She was supportive and enraged. Shortly after me revealing the truth, she returned to Colorado to visit her folks. My uncle was hanging around. She cornered him. Actually, she tackled him in the backyard and started beating the shit out of him. He had no idea what was going on and why my mom had attacked him. My grandma was crying about her baby getting beat up and my mom looked crazy. She told them my story. Nobody believed me.


When it happened. Everyone said, she must be mistaken. It was Kevin. Kevin did weird shit with girls. She must be thinking it was Kevin. Hell, they had me almost convinced I had been wrong. But I go back to the next day after the assault. The conversation with my grandma. The bastard admitted it. I might be foggy with the details, but I was clear the next day and he admitted it.


Over the years, I have had to interact with my uncle. Both my grandparents have died. One of my aunts has died. We had to go to funerals in Colorado to mourn. I’ve had to sit in a car with him. Sit in services with him. Have dinners with him.  I have had to interact with him during those times.


I have cousins that love him. They think the world of him. They think I’m fucking insane. They think I have accused the wrong man. They think it was Uncle Kevin.



Evan had even convinced himself it wasn’t him. He has even tried to friend me on Facebook. He truly had no idea that he is the abuser.


This trauma left me damaged for many years. It took a long time to be able to talk about it. Now, I can share my story.


Although there was never any legal justice served in this case, there was a bit of karma served. Several years ago, Evan fell asleep, drunk in the cold of winter. He got frostbite on both feet. They had to amputate part of one foot and all of his other foot. He can no longer walk independently. I probably shouldn’t have but I had to laugh when I heard that. So, drunk that you froze your feet off. Well deserved. Could have wished it to be other body parts, but I’ll take the feet.


On another side note, apparently, Evan is now running a sober living facility and living a good life in Wyoming.


Too bad he’s not a registered sex offender.

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