Father and brother sexually assaulted me
My father is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
In the eyes of friends and family, he is a highly respected person-a professional, an activist in his church, and a model father of kindness.
To me, however, he was a livestock, a livestock trying to rape his own daughter.
Once I had a budget, I secretly prayed for him to go to hell.
I don’t know if my brother, who is two years younger than me, inherited the nature of this livestock from his father.
One night when he was only 12 years old, I woke up and found that he reached under my T-shirt.
Nightmares began with three brothers and sisters in my family.
I am the eldest daughter and I have a younger brother and a younger sister.
Father seems to love his children.
He always does some interesting things with us on weekends.
For example, flying a kite or taking us to various fancy restaurants.
Asian fathers are generally conservative in their affection for their children.
Not my father.
He studied at a prestigious American university.
Perhaps influenced by Western culture, my father has always expressed his love for us very directly.
He was not afraid to embrace us, not even in public places.
When I was 12 years old, my father seemed to find more ways to show his “love”.
The first expression of these “showing love” is that he hugs me from the back, and at the same time his hand will “inadvertently” touch my developing breast.
At first I didn’t care too much about his actions.
Because, I think he just showed me his love as before.
In his eyes, I was just a child, a little girl, not a girl who had begun to develop.
But shortly after, my father’s “inadvertent” contact with my chest became more and more reckless.
One night, on my way to the bathroom, my father suddenly appeared behind me, and put his hands directly on my chest to caress my breasts.
He murmured that he liked me very much and that I was his “favorite” child.
I was stunned.
When I stumbled and fled back to my room and hid in my bed, my mind wondered if everything that had just happened was a nightmare.
This time, I felt that what he was doing was very bad, but I was still reluctant to let myself admit that it was all true-until he imitated the claw to me again.
A few weeks after that evil dream-like experience, one day my mother took my brother, sister and sister to my grandmother’s house.
I stayed at home with my father alone.
When I woke up at siesta, I found my father was kissing me.
I stared straight at him, completely stunned.
But he just smiled at me, then stroked my hair, and said to me that he liked me very much.
I felt stiff at the time and couldn’t move.
As he caresses my breasts, I can only lie straight on the bed and let him at his mercy.
He touched my whole body shamelessly.
But I couldn’t even make a sound because of my fear.
After a while, he left me.
I lay in bed with amazement until my mother and siblings returned from grandma’s house at night. Lonely and helpless I know what my father did wrong.
I also know that fathers should not approach daughters in this way.
But I was very confused and had a mess in my head, I couldn’t figure out what was going on.
I have been protecting my father since I was growing up. I have always thought that I love my father deeply, but now it is hurting me.
I started to avoid being alone with my father.
The conversation with him also became unnatural.
But he disguised himself very well and made a look like nothing had happened.
In fact, his sexual harassment made me feel that it wasn’t really the same.
Because, afterwards, he always behaved like nothing happened.
When I was 13 years old, my father sexually assaulted me again.
This time, he took off his pajamas in front of me.
He took my hand and placed my hand on his penis, and made a gesture to keep me silent.
He forced me to masturbate for him.
At that time, I could only close my eyes tightly and let him at his mercy, telling myself in my heart that everything would soon pass.
Sexual assaults like this have been happening intermittently.
The interval between each violation is sometimes weeks, sometimes months.
The year my 14th birthday was over, my father’s assault on me reached its extreme.
One day my mother went on a business trip.
I forgot to lock the door while I was sleeping that night.
The next morning, my father slipped into my room.
He forced my pajamas to my waist and tried to take off my underwear.
I used my strength to push him away.
However, he was tall and heavy, and I could hardly resist.
I sizzled desperately with the loudest voice I’ve ever had, and kicked and slammed on him with my greatest strength.
This is the first time I’ve resisted with such a stethoscope.
I think my resistance frightened him, and he was afraid that my exclamation would wake up the siblings.
So I had to leave my room stingily.
With patience, you may ask why I have been silent on my father’s violations.
Except that I couldn’t figure out what was going on, I felt shameless to talk to others about it.
It is impossible for me to tell this to my mother, because I have never been close to her.
My father and I are no longer close.
I don’t know if my mother is aware of this.
I became very negative.
I lost interest in school, food or something else.
Soon, my parents and teachers found that I was losing weight and my academic performance plummeted.
Mom expressed concern.
However, her father laughed at her concerns, acknowledging that she said that my weight loss was caused by a girl of my age who sought a slim figure.
Regarding the decline of my studies, he even told his mother that it was because I began to have an admiration for boys, which affected my focus on my studies.
I started hating my father and wanted him to die.
I had thought about deliberately spraying bath oil on the bathroom floor so that my father could slip and break his neck while taking a bath.I also wanted to play tricks on his car to get him into an accident.
I can’t even imagine him having a heart attack or dying of cancer.
To make matters worse, I remained silent for the rest of the month after my father’s last one offense against me.
But I never expected that my 12-year-old brother would sexually harass me.
One night I suddenly woke up and found my brother’s hands on my breasts.
I jumped up from the bed and shouted, kicking him.
When my parents heard my shout, they rushed to my room.
I told them I was going to call the police.
You didn’t see his father’s expression at the time-his face was guilty, and his eyes twisted nervously in his eyes.
He looked like he was looking for a way to escape.
I was so angry that I was crazy.
My parents had to coax me.
My long-term depression and anger since I was sexually assaulted by my father, and then burst out completely at this moment.
My parents tried to discourage me from calling the police after they had stabilized.
My mother begged me while crying, and changed me to say that my brother was just a puberty child and was at a loss.
But when I insisted on calling the police, my mother made a loud crime against me, saying that I did not accept discipline and disregarded brotherhood.
For weeks after the incident, I have not spoken to my parents-I can’t believe that they can still favor his brother in such a serious matter.
Mom’s hysterical response that day seemed to make people feel that the sexual assault I followed was self-inflicted.
This incident seriously affected my relationship with my brother.
He avoided me for months afterwards.
I think he knows what he did wrong.
Because of his father, he also stopped encroaching on me.
It’s been 10 years since I regained myself.
But for years after those terrible things happened, I kept blaming myself for scale.
Thanks to the encouragement and support of friends around me and the passage of time, I gradually found myself again and regained confidence and self-worth.
The opportunity to study abroad for further study has greatly helped me in the process of regaining myself.
The experience of staying away from my family made me rediscover myself and made me understand what I could do.
I am grateful that my sister was spared the same doom as me because of my resistance.
After regaining my self, I still hate my father, and sometimes I still want him to die.
If one day he could confess to me, I think I might forgive him.
But I doubt this day will never come.
I don’t know what broke my silence and stood up when my brother violated me that night.
But I’m glad I did.
I am even more fortunate that my nightmarish experiences did not make me lose courage in life, nor did it affect my ability to establish normal relationships with the opposite sex.