Inojosa 1

Jaslyn Inojosa
Professor Jaclyn Hymes
English 113A
December 7, 2015
The Day Where My Life Took a Turn
In some point in time, there will always be a handful of unfortunate people that will be forced
to endure a type of trauma that proves to be more painful than any other; this type of trauma is
known as psychological trauma. Psychological trauma is agonizing to go through, and will
mentally push a person to live with so much more pain than the average being. Sadly, the pain
will always remain a part of the story, a part of who they are. Unfortunately, I am one of those
people.
The day I was molested was the day I was scarred for life. At the moment when it happened, my
feeble five year old brain could not comprehend what was happening and thought, I dont like
it. When you are a child, you let things go over your head and dismiss every problem you come
across as it would go away, but this stuck with me since practically ever. The earliest memory I
can recall was back when I was in kindergarten, 14 years ago, when it first began. This would
happen almost everyday kind of like a chore, and I always dreaded going back home to the very
monster who vowed to protect me: my grandfather. We are talking about the very man that held
me as a baby, who was like the second father to me, and who has failed to protect me from
predators, such as him. When I was old enough to understand what he had done to me, I just
asked myself, Why me? Why has God let this happen to me? and I knew that no one would
understand me, so what I did was I became silent. I remember one thing he would always say

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was, No se lo digas a nadie. Ser nuestro pequeo secreto, which meant Dont tell anyone. It
will be our little secret, and thats exactly what I did when I should have sought out help.
At the age of only nine, I realized I was molested and from that day on I became depressed.
The memories would pop up randomly day and night, but all I could do was sit in a ball or hold
my head until the flashbacks would stop. The inner kid in me died and the empty vessel where
the soul was once held has become nothing more but a hollow being. At age 11, I stopped eating
because everyone was making fun of my weight and became ill-looking, almost skeletal looking,
but I still didnt reach out for help. As a kid, no one was really there for me. My father left when
I was four and my mother was always working, but when she wasnt working, she would be
partying with her friends. The feeling of loneliness overcame me and I felt like I had no one to
turn to for help. The longer I kept the secret, the more the depression has sucked me into its
inescapable vortex. At age 13, I was at the lowest anyone could be, at the peak of my depression.
It felt like I had no life in me, I never wanted to get out of bed, dragged my feet everywhere I
went, and just sulked in this pool of my own negativity.
People around me thought of me as this emo person who was always negative for no reason
and steered clear of my way as much as they could. You can say that I was emo; I mean,
everyone was calling me that anyway, but I was emo, an emotional wreck. This weight on my
back was outrageous; I often cried every night blaming myself for everything, putting myself
lower than anyone could ever do. My relationships with my guy friends and boyfriends suffered
because I was honestly afraid to have any kind of relationship with a male. I wanted nothing to
do with a guy; I thought they were just mindless and harmful human beings with nothing better
to do with their lives than to hurt people in any way possible, but even then, I did want to have a
relationship with one. Eventually, I had a boyfriend, but it wasnt a normal relationship; he often

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took advantage of me because of how naive I was and used me because I was oblivious to
everything. Unfortunately, I was okay with it, thinking it was normal. There is a saying that I
lived by, by the author Stephen Chbosky in his book Perks of Being a Wallflower where he
writes, We accept the love we think we deserve, and it was the idea that I deserved nothing
more or greater than what I already had. All failed as I did not know how to truly love a boy and
my excuse for each break-up was, I do not know what I want; I cant love you if I cant love
myself, which was bullshit and they knew it too, but they would not understand why I could not
be with them.
I did think about suicide at one point, but after giving it a lot of thought, I said to myself, I
can beat this. I can do it. You can do it, and although the process was slow, everything great
doesnt take a day to make it happen. Rome wasnt built in a day. The healing process was slow
and it actually seemed to get even worse in the process; I developed anxiety then I would get
panic attacks in class and put my head on the desk as it would pass. At age 15, I tried marijuana;
the effects of the herb took my worries and morphed them into funny memories where all I did
was smile and giggle. I had almost forgotten why I was even depressed in the first place. The
good times ended once I went sober for a year and things got serious again. It was then and only
then I finally spoke out to some friends and family.
Finally, in 11th grade, I told a few of my close friends of my secret; in a way, this was kind
of like practice before telling any of my family. Then I told three of my trustworthy cousins. At
the end of my long story, they went silent and looked at me with this sympathetic gaze, but I
broke the silence saying, I guess this took so long for me to tell you or anybody was because I
was afraid you would look at me different, but each one of them hugged me and said, I dont
think or see you as anything else but the person I love. I am glad that this is off your shoulders. I

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became silent while looking at my shoes and once they said that, I started to cry my eyes out
with each one of them. Some of them understood why I couldnt tell my mom and the others
suggested I tell her no matter what but I knew how much my mother idolizes this man, I know
she would hate me. The weight that I had carried around for 14 long years had lifted and then I
finally felt happy for the first time.
To this day, my mother doesnt know of my secret and I dont plan to tell her as long as I
am under her roof, but the day will come when I do tell her. There really is no easy way of telling
anyone that you were molested, but it has to be done so you can feel free again to live; so quickly
pull that Band-Aid off. I am fine with writing this in hopes that it can help someone who has
gone through the same thing I have. Sadly, there are a lot of kids, both boys and girls, who have
gone through molestation, whether it was from a family member or not. Depending on how each
person takes it, it can either ruin them or make them stronger. I was lucky enough to get through
the experience and still be okay.