Shortly after my 14th birthday, I laid in my grandmother’s house listening to the yelling and threats coming from my family in the kitchen. What were they going to do with me? Where would I live? Who was going to support me? Someone is pregnant. They kept saying my name, but that can’t be me. I’m only 14; I can’t get pregnant. How do you get pregnant? I’m still playing with Barbie dolls and doing prank calls, so I’m sure they had the wrong person.
A few hours later, the man who called himself my “fiancé” (he put a ring on my finger at 12 and told me I was his, and my mom said I had to do what he told me) came to get me and take me to the doctor. I thought it was, once again, the virginity tests I had been subjected to a few years before. It was so embarrassing during these exams; I would just cover my head with the sheet and think of other things until it was over.
I didn’t even like my so-called “fiancé.” He was 20 and in the Army. He lived in my neighborhood and kept stalking me, telling me I was his girlfriend.
As he was franticly driving me to the doctor, he screamed at me, “Tell them you begged for sex, tell them I fought you off, tell them you pursued me! Tell them anything or I’m going to jail!” He said, “If you have an abortion, they are going to court-martial me, and I’m in jail for 15 years, and I will kill myself!”
I couldn’t let him kill himself; I couldn’t be responsible. He had been pressuring me to have sex since I was 12, but I said no. But one night he laid upon me and, without my consent or knowledge, raped me in the backseat of his car. The pain was horrible, and I was terrified.
Afterward, he berated me. “No one will want you now. You are no longer a virgin. You are just a whore now, so you will need to stay with me, and we will keep this secret together. Don’t tell anyone or you’ll be taken from your family.” The rapes would happen two to three times a week, and I never said a word to anyone.
At the doctor, I sat silent. I was alone. The doctor said, since I was pregnant, I was considered an adult and could make my own choices. My “fiancé” said, “You better tell them you want to marry me, or the state will take you away to a shelter, and you may not survive.” Upon returning home, I told my mom I wanted to get married.
The next day, my “fiancé” and I went to courthouse. We stood before a judge, and he married us. The two secretaries were my witnesses, and no one questioned the 14-year-old crying profusely. When we left, my then-husband said, “Now for sure, you are mine!”
On the way home, he took me to my school and told me to go inside and quit. I was a married woman now, so no need for school. That was the longest walk of my life. Crying, I went in all by myself to withdraw, and no one questioned it.
This started five years of brutal rapes – including one when my daughter was just three days old — mental abuse, physical abuse and neglect. I was stealing wood from the neighbors to heat the house and stealing vegetables at night to feed myself and my children. He withheld even the most basic of necessities like menstrual products, baby bottles, diapers, heat, electricity and food. We lived in a fully electric house once with no electricity. By this time, I had two babies, and maggots and roaches would crawl from the cooler where I stored the baby formula.
All those years I was told, “Well, you got yourself pregnant or you wouldn’t be in this situation.” I couldn’t get help anywhere. He officially had custody of me since I was married to him, so I had no choices.
After five years, my mother was sick and asked me to move in with her, which is when I left him. But that didn’t last long, and I married the first new guy who came along. By 20, I had three children and an eighth-grade education.
My two former husbands conspired to take my children from me, and the judge took their side since I had no formal education or long-term job. Enter husband number three. He was a friend of the family who had seen what was going on with the courts and my ex-husbands. He promised that if I married him, I would be able to keep my children.
We married the next morning, and everything stopped for a while, until he became abusive. Eighteen months later with three children, 36 dollars, a broken hand and some garbage bags of clothing, we snuck out and left him behind. We moved out of state and hid out for years, as he had told me if I ever left, he would kill me.
I did eventually re-marry again at age 29. We have been together 31 years. I have successfully raised more than six children. I have fought hard and been through many things, some of which I can’t even mention. I have had horrible PTSD, which I worked through with many years of therapy. I have signed up for school multiple times, but each time had to quit, so I still don’t have a degree. However, I have been a three-time successful business owner. I have been a General Manager and District Sales Manager for several large companies and corporations with great success. I am goal-oriented and have always stepped up and done what was required of me.
What did that 20-year-old man take away from that 14-year-old girl? EVERYTHING. He took away my youth, my desire for a successful career, knowledge, travel, identity, respect, and the list goes on. But one thing he never took away was hope: Hope that one day, I will be of some use to someone to help them get to a better life.
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*At Carol’s request, the photo used here is not actually of her.