The Silvas Who Destroyed A Childhood

 

***trigger*** sexual assault & domestic abuse

I’m putting this on record. I’ve stopped carrying shame for what happened to me; the shame belongs to them, not me.

My early life was marked by profound tragedy. I survived an abusive, narcissistic “adoptive” parent, legally taken from my biological mother, while the other parent ignored the harm being done to me by his wife.

Doug Silva molested me when I was 9 or 10 years old. It's a fuzzy memory, but I am naming it. After I told Viola Silva what her son Doug did to me, she not only allowed her son Doug Silva to get away with molesting me, but she also blamed me for it by calling me a whore and a slut—I was 9 or 10 years old. 

 

  Afterward, to her, I was forever that whore, slut, and pathological liar to everyone she told about how horrible a child I was. She also used to tell people that I was the spawn of the devil and a psychotic child that she regretted ever adopting. They didn't legally adopt me. I'll get to that part later.

 

* I believe their other son, Brad Silva became a lawyer to protect them all. 

I read Viola Silva's obitchuary and it made it sound like she was a kind old lady - she wasn't. Not when I was trapped in her house. 

The earliest memory I can remember is Bob Silva driving drunk, arguing with Viola Silva, and Viola Silva shaming him until Bob Silva drove the car into a ditch on the way home from his then-job at Fort Washington Golf & Country Club. I barely remember Viola Silva ripping me from the backseat and practically throwing me to the ground as she continued to yell and angrily cry at Bob Silva. 

Viola Silva used to chase me into the bathroom, where I would lock myself in by pulling out the drawer to block the door from opening and staying there until Bob Silva got home IF he wasn't drunk, which was rare. I spent more than a few nights sleeping on the bathroom countertop, piling all the towels into the sinks for a pillow. Once she had that door fixed, I started hiding in closets (irony.) 🏳️‍🌈

Bob Silva was always too drunk to do anything, let alone help me, and he definitely never protected me. 

When I was going to St. Anthony's School. All the kids had to learn Irish dancing as well as line dancing. I became pretty good at Irish dancing, and the teacher wanted me to attend the state competition championships. But according to Violet Silva, not only was I too ugly to be a dancer, but it would embarrass her because she said we are Portuguese, not Irish. ...and yes, I have discriminatory records at St. Anthony's School, Kratt School, and Bullard High.Pretty normal for kids who are being abused at home and not getting the help they need. 

I spent multiple Christmas holidays in the hospital because she had to have a pine tree, not a fake tree, even though she knew I was deathly allergic to pine. I've never really celebrated Christmas because of it.

I have so many memories of Viola Silva calling me horrific slurs before I was 16. I ran away so many times. I remember running away in middle school and hiding out at a friend's house until their parents discovered me and called the police or called them. I remember a Mexican family willing to take me in and care for me, but Viola refused to let the [slurs] have me.I remember daydreaming of celebrities rescuing me and taking me with them. I remember Viola Silva slapping me and grabbing my wrist to listen to her (scream at me), and I remember telling school counselors and being ignored. 

When I was about 16 and had my first crush, he date raped me in the reservoir behind the house.  I came home from it wanting nothing more than to hide in my room. I guess I smelled of grass and maleness? Or maybe just because I was walking into the house at night. She immediately started to call me the slut and whore names again and followed me to my room until I went inside and piled a bunch of stuff behind it so she couldn't get in. The next day I saw my no longer crush, who date raped me, holding hands with someone I thought was a close friend. They both looked at me and started laughing. I literally ran into traffic and was saved by someone who would become my first boyfriend and first abuser.

The abuse from Viola Silva got worse after that. She used to call Juan R. every Mexican slur she knew. Told me multiple times, "Why didn't I just marry [slur]?" The abuse became so bad around that year's Christmas that I ended up at St. Agnes Hospital for a couple (maybe 3) nights due to my severe asthma and allergy to pine and from emotional abuse. At the hospital, I didn't report it to CPS.That wouldn't look good for the professional golfer at the esteemed golf club. So it was just a seasonal asthma attack on record. When Bob Silva brought me home, he left yet again for the same bar he would always go to on Blackstone Avenue—no longer there, and I don't remember the name. Viola Silva screamed at me until I was literally numb and just sat on the ugly yellow couch in my room, letting her. When she finally left, I went to take a shower, and I had a genuine breakdown. I barely remember it, just flashes of memories. I remember trying to shave my legs, and what I saw was worms coming out of my skin from trying to shave. I remember feeling trapped and banging on the glass shower door to get out of the box. I don't know how I made it to a phone. I barely remember calling Juan and sitting on my couch catatonic.I remember Juan coming to get me. Literally picking me up and leaving with me.

I honestly don't remember how long I was gone before I came out of the catatonic state I was in. I remember him taking me to different places where I could possibly stay. Everything is a blur until he took me to a motel on Blackstone Avenue and paid for a week. I never left the motel room until the police came to get me. 

The Fresno police told me that they were told an adult was keeping me hostage/against my will there. That's what Viola Silva told them. In truth, they called him up and threatened to charge him with being a child predator and kidnapping, making sure he would never work if he didn't tell her where I was.He had no choice but to give me up. He was a kid on the wrong side of the tracks trying to protect an abused girl from a genuine psychopath whose husband was well known with local celebrities and politicians because he was (in the past) the golf instructor at Fort Washington Golf and Country Club until he had to quit because of his drinking. 

I remember the abuse continued, and I ran away with my next boyfriend. I was so happy. I thought I'd finally gotten away to a completely different city. We were staying with a friend of his and his mom, who obviously had to tell his parents. His parents told mine, not understanding the damage they were doing to me. The mom of the friend we were staying with knew what was going on and what I'd been through. She offered to let me stay with her without my boyfriend. But remembering what Viola Silva did to Juan? I didn't want her to do that to her, a single mother. She didn't deserve it. I knew she would do something to harm her, so I said no, and I went back. One of my biggest regrets is not fighting for myself to stay there, hoping she would just let me be. Leave me alone and forget about me. 

The day I fought back physically

  I remember I was sitting outside Bullard High School with a kid and a couple of his friends, all of whom were Black. When Viola Silva picked me up, the moment I got into the car, she was screaming and yelling obscenities at me about how I could be so stupid to sit with those kids. I remember going into the kitchen to get something to eat, and she slammed the refrigerator door shut, almost hitting me with the door. I remember we screamed at each other and her trying to slap me, which happened often when we argued. I ran to the other side of the dining table. The dining table was an oblong heavy wood table, and when I went to the other side of it, she slammed that wood table into my stomach. She told me I deserve that for hanging out with [n****r] kids. I ran to the phone to call the police. I remember her grabbing my wrist so hard and twisting it and trying to grab me to her, and when that didn't work, she pinned me against the wall and counter, literally bending me back so hard the top half of my body was on the counter that separates the dining room from the kitchen. I remember snapping, pushing her away from me as hard as I could, and finally hitting her with my fist. I ran to the house down the street with a girl that I was friendly with. She and her mom took me to the hospital for my arm.

At the hospital, the police showed up. Viola Silva had called them, and of course the hospital called them as well. But the Fresno police, to this day, still have a very long history of corruption and didn't believe or just ignored that a woman who looked like a Kewpie doll could be abusive. It wasn't the first time the police had been called to the house over the abuse, and the Fresno police ignored it because Bob Silva was well known to anyone who golfed, and Viola Silva looked like a Kewpie doll who could cry on demand about how awful a child I was and how she had no control over me.

 The list of stories of abuse goes on and on and on. But what created a calm rage is why I decided to make this web page. Something I never understood until 2021 is that I learned Viola Silva and Bob Silva stole me from my biological mother. When I first found out, I thought they had only bought me from baby thieves. And that alone made me hate them. But in December 2023 I spoke to my biological mother in depth. She described what Viola Silva looked like. I showed her pictures of Viola Silva and she confirmed it was her that took me from my biological mother's arms, saying that she was with the church and would take me in to do all the paperwork. That it was too emotional for her and she didn't need to go inside. My biological mother was sick and she asked the church (St Anthony's) to take her child who was also sick until she could get an apartment and a job. She never saw me again.

When I last spoke to my biological mother, she isn’t well, mentally or emotionally. After everything that was done to her. What happened to her, what they did to her, is still an open scar. Without an investigator, I'll never get the truth. At this point in my life, it no longer matters.

Bob, Doug, and Brad Silva all had a part in destroying my childhood. Viola destroyed the foundation I should have had growing into an adult. I did things as a young adult and an adult that I regret. Viola Silva destroyed every follicle of self-worth and confidence in me. I did things because I had no value in myself, no confidence, believed in my core that I was garbage or came from garbage, and didn't deserve anything or anyone good in my life because of 16+ years of mental, emotional, and physical abuse. And I passed that emotional damage to others that I sincerely and genuinely regret. 

NOTE: I believe Doug Silva sexually abused another child at the same age I was when he molested me. I have no proof, and she won't say if she was or was not. But Doug Silva told me that she, at the age of 9 years old, tried to sexually seduce him. What 9-year-old child would ever even know what that means, let alone actually do it? 

At some point in my teen years, maybe 13 or 14? I remember finding legal documentation in the dresser bureau for Viola and Bob Silva. I always had suspicions about the truth of my being in that house. I was always looking for something. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I was looking for something. The legal documentation I found had the lawyer's name on it, and I remember calling and speaking to him. He refused to speak to me. He told me if I wanted to know anything, I should speak to Brad Silva. I wonder if that's why the abuse got physical. Did Brad Silva tell them that I contacted the lawyer they used?

NOTE: When I requested a copy of my birth certificate from California, the records clerk looked at the paperwork and said something didn’t seem right. He questioned whether it was even a legal adoption. That was the moment that sent me down the rabbit hole. Some days, I regret it.

When I was very young, so young that the memory is hazy but unforgettable—I was in the living room watching TV when someone started pounding on the door. Angry, loud pounding. Viola Silva and Bob Sola turned off all the lights and told me to stay quiet. Viola grabbed me, put her arm around me, covered my mouth, and whispered for me not to make a sound. To this day, I wonder...Who was at the door?

Viola had two sisters and a brother, maybe more I never met. I only remember visiting one sister’s house for a holiday when I was little. After that, I never saw them again. Why? Did something happen? Did they know what Viola and Bob were doing? One sister and her kids came to our house only once and never returned. Why? And the brother, he lived for many years but never visited at all. Why?

I also remember meeting a family when I was about 10 or 11, supposedly relatives of Bob. They had two kids, one of them a girl named Romy. We only visited a handful of times before those visits abruptly stopped. Why? Did they know what was happening, that Doug Silva molested me, or that Viola and Bob manipulated me away from my biological mother?

There are so many unanswered questions about my childhood. Flashes of memory, scattered and incomplete, but persistent. I’ve asked Bob and Brad Silva directly. I’ve demanded answers. They refuse to tell me anything.

Between 2021 and December 2023, I dug deep into research, desperate to find proof, something solid I could use to hire an attorney and press charges against Bob and Viola, and against Brad for protecting them. But I never found the paperwork. Without a private investigator, access to hidden records is out of reach. I’m sure the proof exists, or existed, unless Brad destroyed it.

Have information or answers to some of these questions? Leave a comment or send a message

Who am I now?

I’ve connected with other children of narcissistic adoptive parents, survivors like me. Hearing their stories and sharing mine has shown me that I’m not alone. Many of us begin healing much later in life, I didn’t start until my late thirties.

Counseling helped me realize that I had hurt people because of the trauma I carried. Apologies weren’t enough; I needed to act differently, to make it right. I knew I wanted to create good in the world. That’s when I started volunteering and becoming an advocate. It doesn’t erase the past or undo the harm I caused, but it allows me to make a positive difference for others.

Where I Have Volunteered & Try To Make A Difference 

Homeless Advocacy

I share resources online for people facing homelessness and, when I can, attend protests and awareness events. I’ve helped protect the belongings of people living in tents, cars, or RVs from being seized during “cleanups.” I’ve served many street meals and had the privilege of meeting fascinating, kind, resilient people, some long-term homeless, some temporarily unhoused, all with stories worth hearing. Invisible People

Environmental Cleanups

I’ve joined group efforts and also gone out on my own. It breaks my heart to see pollution worsen year after year. Some of my favorite places, even new ones I discovered, have had continuous days of dangerously toxic air.

LGBTQ+ Pride & Transgender Equality

Yes, I sit under the rainbow, and I celebrate PRIDE at as many parades and festivals that I'm able to attend. I’ve volunteered at parades and festivals, doing everything from security to check-ins. When I'm able to, I attend equality awareness and protest events. 

Women’s Equality

I’ve marched, protested, and raised awareness. One of my proudest and favorite moments was co-organizing a Women’s March event in North Carolina.

Another favorite was the Los Angeles Costume Swap. I tried to start my own nonprofit. The first couple of years were successful, but I chose the wrong 501(c) to partner with. Still, I’m proud of what I accomplished: giving kids and parents, whether they came from homes like mine or from loving families, happy Halloween memories.

I’ve created unforgettable memories and made a difference through these causes, serving others, standing for justice, and fighting for change.

Much of this isn’t documented, though I do have a few photos. But I don’t care if none of it is remembered. I don’t need my obitchuary to list my mistakes, successes, failures or accomplishments. To some, I’m the villain; to others, I’m someone who helped. I never did any of it for recognition, for forgiveness, which I know I will never receive and I fully accept that, or to have it recorded after I’m gone.

What Viola, Bob, Doug, and Brad Silva did to me was horrific. They know it, and they know they got away with it. Even if they don’t openly carry the shame they should, if they ever read this, they’ll know one thing: I survived. I am stronger than them because I refused to let what they did completely destroy me. In just a few years, I’ve done more good and created more positive impact for others than I believe they ever have, or ever will, in their entire lives. And for that alone, they should know, you didn’t destroy me. You hurt me, but you didn’t destroy me.

That is who I have become, who I am, and who I have been for the past dozen+ years: a survivor, an advocate, an activist, a volunteer, and someone who turned pain into purpose. 

Resources

Some of the best people are broken. We were in the dark for so long that we appreciate and love everything that shines and we recognize what is truly beautiful. 

EMDR therapy

Adult Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse - RAINN

Adult Survivors of Child Abuse (ASCA)

Out of the Storm (OOTS)