The life of a child of incest

I often wonder, (as a mother of two daughters myself) what exactly it was that my grandmother thought to herself the night I told her about my abuse?
Her exact response at the time was 'I'll talk to him about it, don't worry - I'll take care of it'.

When I was a young child, (after I told her) I just assumed that she had spoken to him and maybe he had convinced her that there was nothing wrong with what he was doing - just the same way that he had convinced me.
I never questioned why the abuse continued, or how she could continue to leave me alone with him now that she KNEW what he was doing with me.
I believed and trusted that they both knew better than me what was right and what was wrong.

By the age of 10 I had started to wonder if maybe I hadn't explained what was happening to me in a way that she understood?
Maybe she had just forgotten?
Maybe she didn't really like me or want me to stay with her?
Maybe she had been waiting for me to run away?
I felt so confused about what to do. I loved my grandparents so much and I didn't want to upset them so I started to pray to GOD for help.
I prayed everyday and started writing things down. I decided to write down a prayer one day at school and the teacher found it. The Department of Community Services stepped in and removed me from my home.



I lived with my father for roughly a year and during that time my grandmother and now also my mother pleaded with me to return to them.
They swore that they would PROTECT me, they swore that they were SORRY, they swore that HE was sorry, they swore that if I came back everything would be so PERFECT for all of us.
Now I was confused again, I didn't want to upset my father and my step-mother (who loved me very much) but I believed that I had made a mistake.
I thought that my grandmother didn't love me, but she really did! And now my mother wanted me too - for the first time in my life she wanted ME!!

At the age of 11 I went back. I had every hope and expectation that life would be so good.
Now I had my mother, and everybody was aware that I didn't like what had happened to me. My grandfather had finally seen that his actions were wrong and all would be FORGIVEN.

The day that I returned was really the day my life was altered forever.
As a child I wasn't aware of how wrong my abuse was, but when I returned I had a much clearer understanding of what had happened, I understood that it was wrong and I was relieved that it was over.
I was not prepared for what was about to happen.
Once I arrived I was forced to go and apologise to my grandfather for the trouble I had caused him. He had lost his job, he had been forced to see a councillor and discuss what he had done.
He had been humiliated when the authorities found out what he was doing - and I had gotten of 'scott free' - without having to be held accountable for MY actions.
He would NEVER have continued 'LOVING' me in that way if I had told him that I didn't like it.
I didn't have to go and cause all that trouble, I was just lucky that the case didn't go to court - because then I could have REALLY upset them, because my grandfather could have gone to prison (and I would have had to explain my actions too - everybody would have found out what I had been doing).
I felt SO horrible, and apologised immediately.
I never meant for all those things to to happen, it just was not fair to them - after all - it wasn't as if he had 'HURT' me.
A few days after the 'appology' there was a party.
All the family attended to celebrate my return, and to prove that 'dear old poppy' had really done nothing wrong after all.
It was then that I realised I had been tricked. I was trapped now, with no escape. I couldn't go back to my father (who was battling cancer at the time). I couldn't tell the authorities because I had CHOSEN to go back to them.
In that moment I died.
The person that I could have been was lost.
The little girl that I was had ceased to exist.
I locked her away in the depths of my mind, my soul, my heart.
I swore to keep what was left of her safe inside me.
I would NEVER forget her.
Now she could 'rest in peace'.

From that day onward I was a slave to my grandfather.
I never resisted his advances, I learned to 'love' him the way he 'loved' me. I accepted my fate and I found ways to cope.
My grandmother, mother and step-father all allowed my 'relationship' with my grandfather to grow. There was no reason to hide a 'kiss' or a 'touch'.
There WAS a way to 'make payment' when I needed a favour - a lift to a friend's house, a new dress for the school disco. Life went on like everything was NORMAL.

It wasn't long before I began to get my period. We had learned about puberty, menstruation and pregnancy at school so I was well aware that I could fall pregnant with my grandfather's child.
This played on my mind constantly, but I had no way to prevent it.

I didn't realise at the time that I was just making a bad name for myself. I soon started attracting the attention of some very undesirable people.
This caused me BIG problems at home.
My grandfather became infuriatingly jealous if any boy called the house, or if there were going to be boys around when I went to the movies with friends. My mother and grandmother considered me to be a 'SLUT' who just 'couldn't get enough'.
Life became a living hell.
I was searching for an escape, looking for a way to cope. I found drugs. Marijuana was enough (at that time) to calm me and allow me to detach myself from my situation.
Before I knew it, I was constantly stoned. You don't need money when you you can offer a much more satisfying method of payment.

Then the day finally came when I was given a choice.
I was almost 14 when I saw my father walking down the street.
My heart stopped.
A million thoughts ran through my head.
Should I hide?
Will he hate me for leaving him to go back to these evil pricks?
I don't have time to think - I HAVE TO MAKE A CHOICE!!!!!!
I called his name.
He looked my way.
He smiled.
I was safe.
I had an escape.
I had made the right choice.

The next day, my mother's phone rang. It was my step-mother.
My mother was not happy.
The look of anger and fear on her face told me that I was stronger than she was.
I had my way out, and I didn't care what she said or did, it was only going to last as long as it took me to get the hell out of there.
I spoke to my step-mother, with my mother breathing over my shoulder.
That weekend I went out with my father and step-mother. I did not waste any time asking them if I could come back to them.
I DIDN'T tell them what had been going on.
I DIDN'T tell them that my grandfather shared my bed.
At that time it didn't even matter anymore. I just wanted to get out of that house.
I knew the day was coming when I would be pregnant.
I would be carrying my child AND my aunt or uncle - his child AND his great-grandchild.
I would rather be DEAD.

The following week was my last days in that evil house.
My mother was insane with anger.
She warned me that if I left I could NEVER come back (music to my ears), she told me that I was a whore, and that no man would ever love me like her father did (thank GOD for that), she guilted me by telling me how much I was hurting her, and my grandparents (not half as much as they had hurt me).

The one thing she didn't do was tell them I was leaving.
I don't know why.
But I do know it was the most 'motherly' thing she ever did for me.