***Trigger Warning – mentions elements of sexual abuse against a child/teenager which readers may find graphic in detail
Family Matters
When the martial arts instructor could not regain the access he once had to me, he took matters into his own hands by using his sister against me. He would match her up against me in sparring tournaments where I would have to will myself to fight as if my life depended on surviving. When using his sister against me did not procure him the results he wanted against me, he then came for me by using my siblings against me.
It was only a matter of time before he voiced to me what he would do to my siblings if I did not give into his demands. His demands were his desires to be able to continue sexually abusing me as he once had before. The more I was around this instructor, the more I attempted to avoid him. I did not like his touches. I did not like his kisses. I did not like him at all. I had grown to detest him. He was a very wicked man.
Oddly, I was flattered by his attention to me in the beginning, and I even relished in the fact that he appeared to affectionately like me. For a long time, I held guilt and shame over feeling good about his attention to me until his demands increasingly became more than I could handle or even wanted to participate in with him. His demands had become more aggressive, and I did not like how I felt when I was around him. I did not like how he believed he owned me in some way either. He was very possessive.
The instructor’s touches had progressively become more intimate as he continued to initiate more sexually suggestive advances against me. Before I began avoiding him at all costs, he had begun fondling me above my clothing. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he progressed to going underneath my clothing. I was quite fearful of this to the point that I literally split off into other selves so that I could cope with the rest of my life.
In fact, I remember there being three of me – the dissociated me who tried to cope and strategically get through martial arts class, the school me who somehow turned all of those occurrences off as if that part of my life did not exist, and the at home me who never said a word about anything being wrong but continually zoned out in depression, battled through the post-trauma I was already suffering, and crying myself to sleep because on top of a screwed up menstrual cycle that was not being easily remedied by birth control pills, my life completely sucked.
My Brother
When this instructor saw that I was actively avoiding him and keeping myself closed off from him, he was furious. His wrath came against me in the form of his sister, and then he decided the best avenue was to allow me to watch him destroy my siblings. He first began with my brother. My brother is three years younger than me, and at the time, he was extremely immature and rather annoying. He was a typical boy who loved to play and pretend. He had been diagnosed with any ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) and Autism.
So martial arts class was as much about discipline for my brother as it was for the rest of us. My father believed that my brother needed an outlet to help him control his spur-of-the-moment outbursts and to help him be more attentive. Because my brother was extremely energetic and did not seemingly know how to calm himself down, martial arts classes were supposed to have been a good outlet for him. Yet, overtime, all this particular class did for him was stir up his anger and increase the rage that eventually became an issue in martial arts class. Not surprisingly, the instructor saw these issues about my brother and willingly used my brother’s issues against him.
My brother was seen as a hot head with a hard head. Like me, my brother frequently shouted out injustice, but unlike me, he was more prone to blurt things out in an often careless mode. He never thought about how he said things or whose feelings would be hurt. He just said what he said and went on with life. A few times, my brother had called out the instructor as being unfair, bossy, and mean. These behavioral responses from my brother greatly agitated the instructor. So the instructor felt obliged to teach my brother some very painful lessons through martial arts.
To solve what the instructor believed were my brother’s issues, the instructor frequently paired my brother with opponents that the instructor thought my brother would back down from in sparring matches. However, to everyone’s surprise, my brother was a beast. He was a little guy for his age, but he packed serious strength. Yet, because my brother was immature, and the instructor knew this, my brother often took on more than he could chew. So, when the instructor could not match my brother with someone who could win against him, the instructor would pair my brother with his own son, or he would more often fight my brother himself.
When the instructor sparred against my brother, who at this point was about 10 or 11 years old, the instructor literally went in for the kill. He would beat my brother so badly that he would make my brother cry. In the process, I would cry too. My sister would also appear teary-eyed as well. The instructor seemed to gain satisfaction from making my brother cry. He literally seemed to live for my brother’s tears.
A few times, I would scream out for the instructor to stop, but the instructor said that my brother needed to learn the challenging lesson of self-discipline. At times, when the instructor would have my brother in some type of hold, he would eye the room searching for me, and then he would gleam the most devilish smile towards me as if to say, “I’ve got him. Now what?”
These sparring matches only seemed to fuel my brother’s anger, but I felt my brother had a right to his anger and indignation against the instructor. The instructor’s actions were wrong. He sparred against my brother with his own ulterior motives, and those motives had nothing to do with my brother and more to do with me. My brother was only a means to an end for this instructor.
When I made complaints to my parents that the instructor was hurting my brother, they figured it was simply sparring that my brother needed to learn from. They had no idea of the instructor’s sadistic game. They had no idea that the instructor was using my brother to get at me. They had no idea that the instructor wanted to force me to give into his sexual demands.
Even my brother thought that the instructor had it out for him and did not understand the reason. My brother had actually liked the instructor until this point. My brother and the instructor’s son were actually friends, but everything changed because of this instructor’s savage and unbridled lust for a child.
Interestingly, I gained an ally in my brother because of this entire ordeal. On our daily walks to (and sometimes from) the martial arts studio, my brother and me would talk and strategize about how to circumvent the instructor’s plans against us. Even my brother noticed how the instructor singled me out with embarrassing call outs as if to make fun of me, but at that time, I never felt that I could share with either of my siblings what was really happening to me behind the scenes. They would not have understood, and I felt that I needed to protect them.
My Sister
My youngest sister was the only one who would not join in on the rants. Instead, she spoke highly and fondly of the instructor. She was deeply enamored with him and thought he could do no wrong. She had little knowledge that he had set his sights on her as a target to get back at me. When I saw the instructor go for my sister, I always quietly intervened. I stepped up and would stand guard and look the instructor in his eyes. I would always position myself as a defensive lineman to intercept anything he might try to do to her.
A few times, he called my sister outside in the foyer with him and would shut the door. I would immediately walk out and intercept. I was always on guard. I let him silently know that nothing was happening to her on my watch. He had another thing coming if he thought that would be the case. Oddly, my sister was innocent and lacked the wherewithal to truly comprehend what was going on with this instructor.
It was around this time that I began to formulate the thought that this had not been this instructor’s first time making young girls his targets and objects of his disgusting desires. It was bad enough that I was 13 when he began his abuses against me, but my sister was 8 or 9! I was not having it. So any time, and I do mean every time, that he called out my sister, I went out too, even when he would forbid me to do so.
The last occurrence that I followed my sister out, he threatened me when she went into the restroom. He told me that if I did not start back meeting with him, then he was going to seriously make sure my brother was severely hurt in a tournament and that my sister would be hurt too but in a much different way. I remember feeling the tremble of fear inside of me as he spoke. Somewhere within me, all of my selves stood at attention, and I knew that “we” collectively had to do what we had to do.
I told him, “If you so much as lay a finger on my siblings, I’ll see you dead. You won’t touch them again!” I whispered this to him, but he laughed and then turned and walked away from me uttering, “I’m sure you’ll see to it, and you’ll do what I tell you.” There was a certain level of understanding that I had within me that knew that I was no match for this man, and I did not know what to do.
My Parents
When I thought about telling my parents what had been occurring, the instructor some how got to them first. He had my parents so hooked on him and his lying character that they believed his every word. He made sure to stop by our family home for visits periodically – particularly if my siblings and me missed a session. My parents would even invite him over for a meal. He would sit smugly within our home smiling as if he had really accomplished a huge endeavor. I hated seeing his entire face. He disgusted me.
The instructor had groomed my parents into liking him, but the fact that they already had past history with him and his family made his attacks against me work for the better. He used every piece of arsenal he had to make sure my parents remained inside of his pocket. For instance, my father was financially indebted to him because he was behind on payments for studio classes. My mother and grandmother both thought of him fondly. This instructor seemingly could do no wrong and had made himself out to be the good guy when he was nothing but bad to the core … to his rotten, ugly older bones.
I was sick … literally sick when the instructor would visit my family’s home to the point that I would always excuse myself and go stand in the closet of my room and inwardly talk to my other selves about what to do. My life was a mess, and my anxiety was sky high. I was in complete shambles, and I needed and desperately wanted this instructor out of my life. I could never tell my parents about him because I already knew they would not believe me. I had already suffered through a multitude of times being painted as a liar about some very serious issues of which I was always telling the truth. So, I had already determined that my parents would not hear me.
I knew the routine, and my parents were never on my side. I will never forget the night that I silently cried myself to sleep asking God to take this bitter cup from me. I hated my life. Could it get any worse? Unfortunately for me, it was about to become much worse.
Stay tuned for the next post of The Instructor.
My Voice Unchained 