Big Girl's Don't Cry (Memior)

Big Girl's Don't Cry (Memior)

A Story by Voice

My story..


Big Girls Don’t Cry (Memoir)


[Names of people and places have been changed for privacy reasons]


            It all started here at this very apartment building that I sit before as I write. St. Johns Street in Dakota Michigan, I never thought I would ever end up back here again. I’m looking at the last window on the bottom right hand side of the building. All around me is illuminated by the mid day sun, but I know within that room is a darkness like no other. The memories come flooding back. Every last one is like a crooked nail being pounded into my chest. In this spot I do not speak, and I cannot breathe; all I can do is remember.

            The tree I sit under has gotten much larger in the eight years I’ve been away. Even the red door has since been replaced by a glass one. Everything outside seems to have changed yet somehow I feel like nothing really has. Though my memory has been somewhat eroded by the sands of time there are some things that I will always remember no matter how hard I try to forget.

            I see his face flash before me. His pale skin, graying mustache, and bald head make me shake in disgust as I try to force him out of my mind. I wonder if he has changed on the outside as much as the building has. I know he is still the same evil on the inside, though. Some things cannot ever change. I have so many questions I have wanted to scream at him since I was eight years old, but he has long since gone, and these bricks have nothing to say. I have always found stone to hide its secrets quite impenetrably, so I don’t bother to ask.

            This is the first time I have been physically back to this place in all these years, but emotionally I never left. I grew up a long time ago so I could protect myself from him, and I return as the naïve little girl that once walked through that door. Long locks of curly blonde were falling down her back as she trotted along. She could never have know that the young woman sitting not far behind would be her soon enough.

            I guess by now you have an idea about what took part here? Even with that I know I must tell you. First you must get acquainted with this man the way I have come to be. He is the monster that dwells deep within my closet and the nightmare that haunts my sleep. He is the ghost of past and present. He was the creature that taught me what real pain is. To this day he is the only person with the power to break me. His name is Vince, he was my babysitter’s husband, and once upon a time I trusted him.

            He had been a father-figure to the fatherless me. He had given me pony rides on his knee and taught me about his many model cars. I can still remember the first one he gave me. It was a blue convertible T-Bird. Both side doors opened along with the trunk, and it had a fully assembled under carriage. That car meant so much to me; that’s probably why I didn’t throw it away until the 7th grade. It would be one morning before school that would change everything.

            I can still feel the silky, dark, blue comforter placed loosely over me as I lay next to him in his bed. The only sound was that of our breathing. I didn’t feel right laying there, but after all I was safe with him. I never thought that he would touch me the way he did. Putting his hands down the back of my pants as I pretended to be asleep or forcing me to touch him when I would roll over in a desperate attempt to make him stop.

            I didn’t know what to do. My little world was spinning out of control. I can still remember thinking, “Maybe he’s sleeping.” Thinking somehow this was all an accident, but deep down I knew someone couldn’t make a mistake like this. So I laid there. I was afraid of what would happen if I spoke or if I tried to run. Would he kill me even with his wife in the next room?

            My body left that day alive, but my spirit had been shattered. True innocence is what a child has before coming face to face with evil, and I had lost that innocence. A child’s body is not built to please a man; yet that is what he used mine for, and because of that I left ashamed and dirty. Somehow it had been my fault, but I didn’t know what I had done. All I knew was that I would never speak of this to anyone. So for many months I let the pain and rage build inside me. I never once shed a tear while in the presence of others, but at night I would cry until my eyes would finally close.

            I was thankful as time passed, and I was watched by them less and less. Staying either with my grandmother who had recently retired or at Alana’s Small World, a day care right down the road from the school I was attending. It was there were I met Alexis. She was only four at the time, but we quickly became friends, and for the first time in a long while I was happy. This was a feeling that was short lived.

            Though I was not being babysat any longer, my mother had remained friends with Vince’s wife Judy, so occasionally I found myself over there. That is how I learned where Alexis and her mother lived, and who also babysat her. I looked at this small girl with her hazel eyes and short brown hair, and I saw myself. What was he doing to her? I had to save her.

            It was with this new knowledge that I found the strength to tell my mother what had happened to me. It goes without saying she was shocked and angry. She asked me a lot of questions, which I answered vaguely if at all. It was only when she brought up going to the cops that I became hysterical. I refused to go or talk to anyone. I made it clear that the only thing I wanted was to make sure Alexis was safe and to forget it ever happened. And she let me.

            In the meantime we continued to go to their apartment, but I was never once left alone there again. We even helped them pack up and move into a new house. That has never sat well with me. I have always felt like in a way I had helped him escape from the very place that imprisoned me. Somehow it had also fallen into my hands to tell Alexis’s mother. That was just as hard if not harder than telling my own, but it had to be done. In the end I couldn’t say it to her face so I had Alexis tell her, and I confirmed it by yelling up the steps and then running.

            It was not long after when I learned that I had been too late in speaking up. My little Alexis had been abused at his hands as well. Her mother blamed me, and I understood why. At this very moment I am still convinced it was my fault and no amount of counseling, church, or being told that it wasn’t can change that. It was my job to protect her. You may ask how, but think about it this way. I knew he would hurt someone else, and I didn’t tell. Maybe I thought it wouldn’t be anyone I knew…I don’t know. I would hope that I’m not that selfish. It doesn’t really make a difference now.  

            I never got to see Alexis again, but her image is permanently etched in my mind. It was probably best that way. Her mother had said that she was pressing charges; if anything came of that I will never know. You must understand my mother only did what she thought was best. She had seen my cousin go through a trial for the same thing, and she didn’t want me to go through that. It was swept under the rug, and time moved on. We all forgot, and life was never better…I only wish this was true.

            I never forgot and, I never healed. It caused me to lash out at those around me especially my mom. I felt like it had been so easy for her to just move on and forget, and I hated it. I felt like she didn’t care. Still I didn’t speak of it, and I never cried. I couldn’t let the world see me fall apart. I couldn’t be a child. Thank God someone could see me cracking.

            It was in 6th grade when my silence was finally broken by my 4th grade teacher. It all started with the question, “Does your mother know why you hate men?”  It was another year after that though before I was finally strong enough to talk to a counselor at my middle school and had the molestation reported. Nothing would ever come of the charges I pressed due to the inability to locate Vince or his wife. By this time, I had withdrawn from my mother completely, and I would tell her nothing about what I was going through. It would stay this way for nearly eight years after I was molested.

            Come back with me to the present. My junior year in high school, Obama is president, and the world is still spinning. Sit with me under this tall tree and look into the eyes of a survivor. It has taken me all this time to make it back, but I am finally home. Somehow I have also found my way back into the arms of my mom as well. I still refuse to talk about the things he did to me with her, and I probably never will, but it is nice to feel her standing next to me again. I have traveled a road many women and girls have taken before me, and I almost didn’t make it out alive. God sent me the angels I needed to keep going though. If it wasn’t for them, I would have ended my life long before I had the chance to find happiness.

            Today I continue to struggle with what he did to me, but I’m no longer alone or afraid. I still have not been able to actually say most of this out loud, but in time I will get the chance. For now I am quite content with writing what I need to say out here, and just allowing myself to enjoy life again. I’m not sure there will ever come a time when I don’t think about him daily, but I’m willing to keep working towards that goal. I hope that someday I will be able to help many others with my story, but firsts things first.

            I watch the door of the apartment building swing open, and a familiar figure steps out into the light. A child stands before me with her long blonde hair falling in her face and her blue eyes radiantly shining. I stand up and wrap my arms around her, allowing the wall of tears to finally come crumbling down. I know how long she has needed this hug. “I have missed you so much,” I tell her. She smiles at me, “It’s going to be ok now. I’m home.” Hand in hand we walk away from the hell we once faced, and together we will never look back.


“I’m so tired, but I can’t sleep. I’m standing on the edge of

something much too deep. It’s funny how we feel so much, but we cannot

say a word. We are screaming inside, but we can’t be heard. I’m so afraid to love,

but more afraid to lose. I’m clinging to a past that doesn’t let me choose.

Don’t let your life pass you by weep not for memories.”

                                      "Sarah McLachlan



Thank you to K.R.L for giving me the chance to write this, and to share it with someone.


© 2012 Voice

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Excellently written, deeply moving writing. I know its extremely personal but thanks for sharing it your way. Hope it helped and I hope you are achieving your goal. X

Posted 4 Years Ago

heartfelt, strong, inspiring, and oh how time can stop and end at a single moment... and how we need to come back and take home the little girl that got left there.
Very moving, in many ways.

Posted 6 Years Ago

I felt like I held my breath through the entire story even knowing what I know it’s still a breath taker. You amaze me, your strong beautiful young woman. I am so proud of you and your journey to this very place in your life.. You have an amazing future ahead of you, I have always told you that!! I have not forgotten you nor I never will.. You are always in my prayers and I see they are being heard!!! You courageous young Hero!!! I applaud you!! I salute you!! I thank you for standing up and taking back the life that Monster tried to take.. You may never forget him and what he did, but I promise you… YOU will never allow him to erase the wonderful memories of childhood.. I learned that.. I can now breathe and see over his head when I think about my childhood.. I love you missy!! Hugs… Sand Beaches.. J

Posted 6 Years Ago

Very strongly written...

Posted 6 Years Ago

This is beautifully sad. You write eloquently, and the pain you have gone through comes through clearly. I especially enjoyed the ending. Thanks for sharing this with us. (:

Posted 7 Years Ago

excellent story, id say it was very hard to write.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 7 Years Ago

Way to make me cry.

This review was written for a previous version of this writing

Posted 8 Years Ago

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7 Reviews
Added on September 22, 2010
Last Updated on November 13, 2012
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