Beware of exploitation (part 2)

I didn’t want to go anywhere after that, but I went out the next day with my mom and sisters to a wedding shower for a good friend of ours. I almost called my mom to ask if I could miss out on the shower. I decided to go, but wasn't myself during it. I had already blamed myself and couldn't tell my family what had happened. Mom asked if I was okay and I said I was tired from all the schoolwork (I had been in school for a few months and was having trouble understanding the material and finishing all the work). All weekend, I was tired and crying.  I wanted to tell someone but I was too ashamed.  I finally told my caregiver Ann that the handi-bus driver kissed me, but I didn’t tell her the entire story.

I thought I could put it behind me and move on, but when I got on a bus again, it all came back to me. I was scared to take the bus alone. I was supposed to go to school and study because I’d failed an exam last Friday. I had to wait at least four days before I could try it again, but I could not even open a book during the weekend. Every morning, my facilitator and I started our day with a coffee break. I managed to get on the bus and meet her for coffee before I broke down into tears. I explained what had happened and she insisted we call our coordinator.

At school, I was feeling very ashamed of myself. My facilitator encouraged me to tell someone else: someone who I was comfortable talking to and who could support me during this time. Our coordinator agreed to come meet us at the school.  My mind kept going back and forth between keeping quiet or telling someone.  My coordinator insisted on phoning my mother and Access Calgary about what had happened.  I still kept blaming myself and had a hard time agreeing to her idea. Even if I said no, it was already too late. She had to call my mother; it was her job.

That night, Susan called me and asked if she could come over. I didn't feel like seeing anyone or talking so I said no. My mom had called her to say what had happened and she was already on her way.  My sister and I spent that evening writing down what really happened before I forgot.  I asked her not to tell mom all the details, but she said, “Too late Shawna, she already knows.”