Profiles in Abuse: Me Too, no hashtag. The beginning…
From time to time his words invade my memory. Not ‘I love you’ although I think he did. I loved him; with a pure love. The only kind of love a young child has to give. That was also a trusting love. When his words pop up in my memory feed, I wonder who else heard his words. I wonder who else has faced that kind of love—the audacity of it. And I wonder, why, how, and what causes a mature man to sexually exploit an innocent child and believes it’s OK, that it’s love.
“Damn, it won’t fit” I heard him say with disdain in his voice. My six year old mind could not truly grasp this new thing happening. ‘Why was he mad’? My panties were off and my legs were spread, after that I don’t remember much else. I knew that I was in the woods somewhere between Plum Point and Prince Frederick. The sun was glowing and the heat caressed my little body. I had always liked the sun. So I focused on the goodness of the sun. My six year old mind had found an escape. It knew that a part of me had been taken captive, by deceit, force and violence, though it did not feel that way. After he realized his attempt to rape would not be realized; he put me on his bike and we rode back home. Just like that.
That day set me on a road of brokenness, shame, rage, conflict, and soul searching; leading me to Christ and Christian Ministry.
Rev BJ Buchanan