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I'm a Professional Artist and My Rapist taught me how to Draw
7 years ago · 2 · child rape, +7 · Explicit
754
My mother was a whore, in every sense of the word. She was a "single" mother on Centrelink benefits with five children. I was the youngest of them all, and all three of my brothers were physically disabled. But me and my sister were lucky. When I say lucky, don't get offended, my mother drank and used drugs heavily while pregnant with me and would punch her tummy in fits of rage. So, yes. we were lucky, to not be born dead or disabled.
We moved around a lot as children, we never stayed in one place for long, and I learnt early on it was a bad idea to try and make friends, because we would just have to leave them behind in a couple weeks. I can remember one girl though, Carly, I liked her a lot and we would play on the street with our barbie dolls. But I left her behind too.
I can remember us walking, for countless hours along highways to the next suburb only carrying a plastic bag each full of our clothes. Sometimes we slept on the floor, sometimes we would sleep on an old mattress without a blanket or pillow. I remember shivering one winter, curling up into a ball and tucking my hands into my chest to try and keep warm.
We weren't poor though, my mother was given money from Centrelink for caring for my disabled brothers, which she utilized every week in everything but the caring of her children. The only food we ever had in the house was dry weetbix, which was awful and if we had hot water we would use hot tap water to soften them so you weren't eating them dry. I used to hate how the dry flakes of weetbix would cut my gums.
On rare occasions we would have sugar to put on the weetbix. Better than sugar and weetbix though, I remember my brother and me, stealing dry cat food or dog food from the kitchen cuboard that was for the animals and eating it on the kitchen floor. I remember how my tummy hurt that day and how good wet dog food tasted. I felt sorry for the dog because I knew he was hungry too. But my mother "let him go" a couple weeks later. Letting an animal go was quite literally my mother driving as far as she possibly could away from our house and leaving an animal stranded on the dirt roads. The dog only made it back once, he didn't come back a second time when she let him go again.
Growing up, my mother had scores of "male friends" and drugs, sex, alcohol, neglect were all rampant. When the parties would finally die down, and people began to pass out in the early hours of the morning and it was still dark, strange men would often stumble into my room, telling me while I hid under my covers, heart beating wildly in fear, that I had my mothers eyes, that they thought I was pretty like her. They all had roaming hands, and they all smelt of piss, cigarettes, weed and victoria bitter. These men never raped me, but they would touch me, and they would make me hold them, make me help them come, and if I refused to help them they would just do it next to my bed. They fucking stunk.
Police would frequent our home, their cars and their flashing lights were a common sight where ever my family went. I remember one time when a police officer came to our house, after he fucked my mother I remember him picking up a marijuana seed off the carpet and giving it to me, saying, "You know you can eat these?"
I remember my mother being fucked by men in front of us in the living room, I remember them fingering her. I remember trying to ignore it and keep reading my Harry Potter book because you didn’t dare leave the room.
I distinctly remember docs coming to our house, walking in and walking out, barely glancing at us. No one ever came to take us away. No one cared. No one except Cam.
I’m 25 now, and I don’t remember much about Cam. I remember a lot, but the small details… I might not even be spelling his name right. I remember him telling me he was African, but I remember thinking that strange because he was white and all Africans I knew were black. I remember he owned a farm that he inherited after his father died. But he didn’t live on the farm because he was fixing it so he could live in it, so while he was fixing his farm he lived with us. I don’t know if he ever fucked my mother because Cam lived in the shed outside, which he made into a home.
I didn’t know my real dad very well back then, but my dad always tried to track me down and contact me through letters, sometimes he would send me Mcdonalds cookies in the mail. All of us kids had diferent fathers. And with an absence of a father figure, Cam became my dad. When things in the house would get really bad with my mother, he would invite me into his shed. The inside of his shed was amazing to eight year old me, he had countless drawings covering the walls, I hadn’t seen much beauty in my young life but I thought his drawings were beautiful.
He had drawings of people, faces, but mostly he just drew cats. I liked cats too, I told him so, and I told him about how I had a pet cat once, I called her Penny and she used to wear a collar with a bell that tinkled every time I called her and she followed me everywhere, but one day I woke up and she was gone. I remember him smiling kindly. He offered to each me how to draw cats and I felt like I trusted him. So every day after school or on the weekend I would be in Cams shed while my mother fucked and drank. Cam wasn’t like the other men my mother knew, he didn’t touch me or hurt me or make me do things that made me feel sick in my tummy. He just wanted to spend time with me. And we’d sit on the ground drawing, he taught me how to shade fur and how to put a gleam in an eye with a squishy eraser. He put my drawings up on his wall alongside his. He told me I was a clever girl, he told me I was a really good artist, that I was learning fast.
Sadly however the time came when Cam finished work on his farm house and had to leave. When he told me he would no longer be living with us, I was devastated. I remember crying all night when I heard. No more drawing with Cam, no more drawing with my dad.
Before Cam left he invited me to come stay with him on his farm. And I was so desperate, I went to my mother, I cried, I begged her, I pleaded to let me stay with Cam on his farm, at least on weekends. She gave in quickly. I suppose it was one less kid running around the house.
The next thing I know, I’m at Cams farm, and I’m so excited. He’s showing me around his farm, we drive around his farm gathering firewood, I have my arms full of sticks. We put them all in the back of his ute. When we get back he picks up bones of dead sheep and hands them to me, I pretend they are dinosaur bones, he shows me where the kitchen is, where the tub is, and where we will be sleeping. He only owns a bunk bed. He says I can sleep on top. Which I was thrilled about, every kid knows the top of a bunk bed is always the best place to be.
The day ends faster than I wanted, and before I know it it’s dark and it’s time for bed. I give Cam a hug, he pulls me on top of him so I can sit on his lap. I feel like a baby, I’m warm and happy, and I feel safe with his arms around me. He kisses the top of my head. I love my new dad. Cam then gives me a cup of water before I go to bed, he insists, so I won’t wake up thirsty he says. So I go to bed, excited for what he will show me tomorrow around his farm, but I was very tired after such a long day.
When I wake up, it’s dark. I don’t feel good. I feel sick, I remember thinking I felt like I was on a sailors ship and everything is moving in and out of focus, I try to sit up, but I can’t move, something heavy is on top of me. I try to open my eyes properly, but it’s very hard to see, but I recognize my new dad, Cam, he is above me, his palm is flat on my chest pinning me down to the mattress and the other is undoing my jeans. I remember my confusion. Why… why is he undoing them? At the time it was so important to know, I had to understand, so I opened my mouth to ask him why he was doing that but he covered my mouth and whispered hoarsely in my ear. “Don’t tell your mother.”
I expect Cam drugged me. Because I remember how hard it was to keep my eyes open and how weak I felt trying to push him off me. His arms felt like cement. And I was weak, I was 8 years old, underfed, scrawny really. Daughter of a whore.
But the pain I remember, I can still feel the memory of him, the pain was worse than his betrayal, worse than when I’d stacked my bike and skinned my knees, worse than when I’d broken my little toe. I remembered once when my mother was gardening, I remembered asking my mother what childbirth was like. And her simply responding “It’s like being split in two” and now I was being split in two, was I going to have a baby now as well? Time had no meaning, the only thing I was aware of was the pain and him grunting on top of me. It felt like it would never end until finally it did.
A duck in a suit once told me that drawing can be a good outlet for my feelings.
Every single day I sit down to draw for my job.
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This makes me so sad. I am sorry that you went through such a horrible childhood and when you finally found someone you trusted, he betrayed you in the worst way. What a fucking bastard. I admire people like you, who have the guts to keep living and smiling when they have been through the worst. Good for you... Sorry that you have this daily reminder though. I hope that you have seen someone professionally.
ReplyIs cam in jail yet
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