I'm writing this for two reasons. One is in hopes of being able to reach someone - someone who may be hurting.
The other is because I have been "stuck", unable to heal all these years. I am tired of feeling this way. I have a counselor, I attend group therapy, my boyfriend is loving and ALWAYS there for me, and I am DETERMINED to move past this pain. Just talking about it allows me to know it was real and it also gives me a sense of control/strength in that I am able to talk about it now. If there is anyone who would like to talk - about ANYTHING - please don't hesitate to message me. I am open to any questions, as well.
God Bless you all in this journey.
When I was a little girl, no older than 9 or 10, I was molested by my brother. I was so little I didn't know what all the touching meant; all I knew at that time was it was something we didn't talk about. I have a hard time remembering so many details because I have tried to bury and deny it for years, but it hurts more when you do that so I won't do it any more. I remember he used to make me suck his penis and he used to ejaculate all over my stomach. The smell of sperm terrifies me to this day but for some reason God gave me a poor sense of smell now, so that helps. Eventually he got tired of molestation and he decided it was time for penetration. That was something I always was frightened of, naturally so. He manipulated me, gave little threats, and was very persistent until I was like most sexual abuse victims - hopeless and helpless.
I remember quite vividly the first time he raped me. It was a hot summer day, we had a sprinkler put under the trampoline in the backyard. He sneaked a bottle of Vaseline into the backyard, told me to stand up against the rail of the trampoline, and I watched as he stood in front of me and took a gob of Vaseline and smeared it over his thick penis. He told me to move my bathing suit aside, he placed it right where the opening was, held it there for an instant, and then he thrust as fast and as hard as he could. I lurched forward in so much pain I couldn't scream even though my mouth was wide open. I remember feeling the crunch as my hymen ruptured, and my senses were so heightened out of terror that a certain type of crunching noise is now my current flashback. I remember smelling the wet grass while the hot Bakersfield sun beat down on it, birds chirping. I felt like my life had ended on that day, and I knew at that moment I would be very miserable for a very long time. He thrust in and out a couple times, he asked me if it hurt and I said it did. So he pulled it out, said, "That's good enough for now" and I started walking inside. My mom was in the kitchen, and I walked past her without notice. My dad was in the living room, I walked past him without notice. I went to the bathroom, took off my bathing suit, and tried to pee but it burned so bad and there was blood. I didn't cry because if I cried, my parents would know what was happening and then I would be in trouble. My brother would hurt me and it would somehow be my fault that this was all happening. The next few days, my crotch hurt and burned, but I carried on like any "normal" kid would do and none of my little friends had a clue that my world was shattering. Soon I didn't have any friends because I was slowly dying inside, I was angry, and I couldn't show it to anyone.
I don't remember the next time he did it, or the time after that... only certain events that were more traumatic than others. It would happen every single day except Sundays (in most cases) because the whole family was home and he just wasn't that sneaky. Dad would leave for work on his motorcycle and mom would climb in the shower, and I remember she was always in that bedroom for 30 minutes each morning almost like clockwork. That's when the terror would come out and that is what I endured.
Eventually vaginal penetration wasn't good enough for my brother, though. He had heard from one of his friends about anal sex, how it felt much better because it was tighter. So he came home with that news to experiment. My parents had these rubber gloves that my brother stole and he placed one over his penis, more gobs of Vaseline, and he got ready to sodomize me. I remember lying there on my stomach, on the floor, next to his closet, my eyes clenched shut, my butt cheeks clenched together, and I don't know why he just stood over me, but it took what seemed like hours. As soon as I stopped tightening my cheeks because they were too tired to tighten any more, he was on top of me, he put his penis right by the hole, and once again, thrust... Only this time a little slower but that didn't help. I had never felt such pain in my life. Every time I pooped for about a week, there was blood and pain and tears that were miraculously held back.
I don't know why exactly it stopped, but it stopped when I was around 13 or 14. I thank God that I did not get pregnant and that he allowed me to start my period much later than most girls. I have flashbacks every single day, little red Toyota trucks make me nervous, licking sounds (from animals) enrage and terrify me and if they don't stop soon, I get very close to tearing up any room I am in Tasmanian Devil style. The smell of sperm freaks me out. I want to punch anyone who stands behind me, walks behind me, and grabs me from behind or at all. Being around men makes me nervous. I cannot visit the side of town my parents' house is on without almost rocking back and forth and hiding behind my hair. I have triggers all over the place and there are many things I cannot do now, and I usually find it difficult to just talk to people since my mind is elsewhere trying to find relief.
That was what I went through as a child, now this is what I faced a little more recently. When I moved out of my parents' house, it was because my relationship with my father had deteriorated to such a level that he had a mental breakdown, almost shoved me out of his way, then screamed at me to get out. I had started spending long hours in my room, reading dozens of books, and dissociating without knowing that my childhood abuse was the reason why I was depressed and why it was so hard to function. I didn't even know I was depressed. I drove to San Luis Obispo, slept on a bench for a bit, drove around, walked around, but I felt like a ghost. A few days later my dad said to move back in, but I said no. Hell no. I stayed at a friend's house for a while and that's where I met my current boyfriend - he was the drummer in their band. I was struck by him not just for his golden brown eyes and cute curly hair, but because he was one of the kindest, wisest people I had ever met, not to mention he was a huge goofball and I loved it. I was going to go in the military, but thankfully my aunt talked me out of it and told me to move down to Thousand Oaks. So plans changed, my boyfriend and I had just started dating when we found out that I would be moving down south a week later. He would take the bus down to Ventura usually on weekends or I would drive back to Bakersfield and see him when I got lonely until he eventually moved down to Ventura.
While I was living with my aunt, the big house creeped me out at night. I dispersed weapons all throughout my room. A bow and arrow set from Indonesia was spread in all four corners of the room, a punch knife was on the floor on the side of the bed I slept on, and a pocket knife was on my night stand. Eventually I couldn't sleep well, I woke up screaming once. My aunt had no idea what had happened to me as a child and she had no idea why, but I moved in with my boyfriend because he knew what had happened. When I was sleeping next to him, I could finally sleep without feeling scared.
Eventually I talked to my dad a little through email and it came out what had happened. I told my parents that I would send them an email about what had happened to me, but I prepared them for it saying "it's going to be really ugly and it will hurt you a lot, so brace yourselves." I got a call from my brother while I was at work. He wanted to know if he could delete the email then tell my parents himself about what he had done, but I said no, he can tell them what happened and they could read my email. One of the first things he said was, "Wow... This is going to ruin my engineering career." My parents were really sympathetic at first. Eventually my dad told me that it was partially my fault because I did not tell them sooner.
Then it got worse. Just recently, my father sent this venomous email basically saying that I was an accomplice in my rape because I did not tell my parents what was going on. He said "I could understand if it had happened once, twice is stretching it. But you let it go on for years without telling us, so that is why you are just as much at fault as your brother." Now I am an accomplice. Great. I've come to realize my father is a frighteningly prideful stubborn man. All of my life whenever there was a chance he was wrong, he was too stubborn and too prideful to think it through and apologize, so he would turn the blame around on his family so that a lot of things were our fault. I could give some examples but that doesn't matter. What does matter is that what should have been my strongest support system turned out to be the one that hurt me the most. My mother blindly follows his lead, and even though my dad is quite the convincing authority figure, she should know better. My father is plain stupid. After all his years as a police officer, I am certain that while he was arresting a man, he never told the man's daughter that it was her fault for being raped simply because she didn't call the cops. The man will not use logic to come to a conclusion if it is a painful one. I have struggled with so much bitter hatred for the man and realize I have never loved him as my father.
That story is fairly easy to get through at this moment, but all the other details and horror stories in the middle of these main events all build up and make my life different. I'm working on trying not to be a recluse in my home, and while it's hard for me to talk to people at school (I just started going again), I still make myself do it when I can. Sexual abuse victims all share a common bond, and it feels good to go to group therapy and talk with a bunch of ladies who don't judge me for how I behave and they don't make assumptions. They know.
Living in denial of something so huge is much more painful over the years than allowing the pain to rise to the surface so it can be dealt with. If you have been a victim of sexual abuse or any kind of abuse, FIND HELP NOW. You don't have to talk about it until you are ready to, but just going to a place that will help you is a huge first step that will change your life for the better. Remember you are beautiful, your soul is a treasure beyond all treasures, there are those who love you and will support you, you can love and be loved in return, and there IS hope. We survived something that huge, so that means you're a strong person already. If you haven't found help yet, I strongly encourage you to do this, and I even pray for you even though I don't know your name. Send me a message if you need help getting started - I would love to talk to every single one of you.
