I Molested My CousinsWe still all see each other. For a while in high school, we were closer and even hung out once in a while, but never talked about it. Even when we were mad at each other, it was never brought up. I was never worried that it would be, not in the same way that you hold a secret back for the time when you can bring it out to hurt each other. I knew it was off limits.
My family came from the middle east in the late 70s and early 80s. My mother got married to a flamboyant drug loving playboy shortly after she had arrived. Soon after, while pregnant, her dream started crumbling around her. She was never the working type, and used me as a pawn to hurt my father. My fathers delve into drugs got worse and his life also started spiraling out of control. I moved around with my mother from apartment to apartment often spending time with her mother. Visitations with my father were spent on vegas binges where I would be in security paging my father till 4am when he would pick me up and punish me for leaving the hotel room. I was spanked and beaten with a wire coat hanger regularly to the point where I was called out of school to defend him to a plain clothed officer and a school aid.
I was an angry child. I took my anger out on anyone close to me. When I couldn't upset people, I was confused. I remember being welcomed into my friends house after I did my usual antics in front of his parents being loud and yelling. I spent the day in his room afraid to come out because I couldn't accept the welcome they were giving me.
In all of this chaos, family was constantly coming in from back home. They would stay with my grandmother, my mother and I while they were situated. I remember not being allowed to play with them like other people would be allowed to. It was probably evident that I needed help and special attention. While we all lived together, I remember molesting them at least once, a boy and a girl. We were all about the same age. I remember being molested by my father with the same vagueness.
My life until my 20s was chaotic. After a series of events, I moved in with my father and was arrested for drugs that were his. The details of the arrest were unimportant, rather that I chose to live with him was absolutely stupid. My depression caused me to stop eating to the point where I was losing large clumps of hair. I attempted suicide and was in a mental hospital for a month. I spent the next few years piecing my life back together with the confusion of an infant. My first few months in therapy were spent putting names on the feelings I was having. I have since gone back to school and graduated from college. After years of therapy, I am able to have regular relationships with people and I am working on personal goals for myself. I volunteer often and run a small non profit organization.
I don't know how they have dealt with it, if they have told each other or told anyone else. I doubt they have. I have never brought it up to anyone outside of a counseling office. It is about 24 years later and I rarely think about what I have done to them. I mostly think about what was done to me. In no way do I excuse my actions as a child, but I can see what caused me to act out that way. I am sorry for what I did, but feel like bringing it up now will make matters worse. We see each other for holidays and the like, and they call me for advice in the field I work in.
This is my apology to them. If they ever the events up, I hope I have the courage to apologize to them. Unfortunately, I can not take back what I have done.