The Sabotage of a Spider
I remember my 7th birthday. People came over to celebrate. They would say, “Hey spider, happy birthday, Princess”. But every time I would begin to have that feeling of happiness, something would tear it down.
My brother, who was 15 at the time, would take me behind my closet door when everybody was partying, and fuss at me. He would grab my arm and twist it, then grab my face and twist it, then turn me over and slap my butt — hard. I would scream but no one heard or cared.
Every day my brother would come at night and twist my leg to make me open them so he could do some. When I told my dad, he got a pressing comb, heated it up and pressed it against my bare chest. I was screaming and no one cared.
From the age of 8 or 9, if I didn’t flush the toilet, my dad got a skillet, heated some water to boiled point, told me to open my legs, and poured it right in between. There was blood of course, and I screamed. The same routine happened every day until I was 13. My aunts and uncle would stick needles and pencils in my buttock as they sang, “Isty bitsy spider made a stupid cry, down came the tears and washed up all the day, the itsy bitsy spider went up and down again, and the itsy bitsy spider, bled and bled all day.” YES, I REMEMBER THE WORDS.
When I turned 15, I ran away to a local foundation that was known for helping abused children. I got help and I was safe until 2 women and 3 men from the system wanted to see what an abused spider looked like and they began raping me. I ran away again until I finally found a Christian Society where I was healed and became empowered by Jesus. Thank God for saving me. I thank him now at age 18.