First it was my own, trusted dad, then my church elder By Angie Rodgers, 36, from Ayrshire
As Dad rang the doorbell, I stared at the ground.
Please don’t know me, I prayed silently. It was 1991 and
I was 10. My family were Jehovah’s Witnesses.
Each weekend, my dad Ian, then 30, would take me door-to-door, trying to recruit new members, convert them to ‘the truth’.
Mortified, I kept my head down, dreading a kid from school answering the door.
I was already being bullied.
‘Bible basher,’ kids called me.
I wasn’t allowed friends outside the religion, or to participate in school activities.
We didn’t celebrate birthdays or Christmas. It was a lonely, miserable childhood.
Evenings were packed with book study, family worship or meetings at our local Kingdom Hall – Jehovah’s Witnesses’ houses of worship.
Then, one night, when I was 11, life got so much worse.
I woke up, and Dad was on top of me, touching me. His hands were up my nightie, groping my private places.
What’s happening? I panicked.
In shock, I froze, too terrified to speak.
After, Dad left without a word.
My head swam with questions.
Was this normal?
It didn’t feel right.
But Dad was a devout man – and, as strict as he was, I trusted him.
So I didn’t say a word, even when it happened again.
Then, one day, I had gastric flu, was throwing up. Dad looked after me while Mum went to the Kingdom Hall. Scooping me up off the couch, Dad carried me upstairs.
I thought he’d tuck me into bed, but instead he took me to his bedroom and molested me as my fever raged.
I was sobbing, so frightened.
Please come home and save me, Mum, I prayed. But she never did.
‘If you tell anyone, I’ll rip you apart,’ Dad snarled after.
I was terrified of him.
この記事は Chat の August 17 2017 版に掲載されています。
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この記事は Chat の August 17 2017 版に掲載されています。
7 日間の Magzter GOLD 無料トライアルを開始して、何千もの厳選されたプレミアム ストーリー、9,000 以上の雑誌や新聞にアクセスしてください。
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