I recently recommended this website to a friend who asked how he could learn more about what had happened to me and how best to help me. I didn't know if he truly realized what some adults were capable of doing to children. I believe people who grow up without being harmed in this way, even those who are compassionate, wonderful people, usually have no concept of what atrocities children endure in this world. Although I do trust him, I didn't want to alienate him by telling him the details of what happened to me, for fear I would overwhelm him, or that he would think differently of me, and all the other worries I'm sure most of us share in relationships. After reading through some of these stories, he said he was better able to understand what I was going through. That the more he learned, the more he wanted to help me recover. Because of that, I decided to share my story. If even one person can relate, the pain of sharing will be well worth it. For those of you who are friends or partners of survivors, and who are reading these stories, thank you. Thank you for caring that much. Here is my story...
When I was around 7 or 8 (it is still hard for me to accept that I don't even remember exactly how old I was- it seems as though that would be something anyone would remember), my brother took me to the doctor's office for a check-up of some sort. It was the only time in my life I remember my mom not being able to take me herself- but that day she had to work. So my brother ended up taking me instead.
When the two of us went into his office, the doctor told my brother that he didn't really need to be in the room, and that he could just wait outside. I'm sure my brother thought that was somewhat strange, but he must have disregarded the uneasy feeling, because he left. As soon as the door was shut and locked I felt that something was wrong. The doctor didn't waste any time. He told me to take my clothes off. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't have any idea what was happening, or how to respond. I was so confused. So I took off my shirt, because I thought maybe that was what he meant. I remember folding it and putting it on the chair. As soon as I had done that, he said, "No, ALL of your clothes." It was at that point that my heart dropped and I felt completely trapped. It didn't even cross my mind to fight a grown man, especially a doctor of all people. So I took off everything else, folded them, and put them on the chair, on top of my shirt. And I just stood there. I felt completely helpless. The only reason I mention folding my clothes is because it is one of the most vivid memories I have of the incident. Strange what the mind chooses to remember.
After that, he told me to get on the table, which I did. He immediately
pinned me down and began prying my legs apart with his shoulder and his
free hand. I remember him saying, in a low, disgusting voice, "wider"
over and over again as I tried to resist and keep my legs together. The
word makes me literally nauseous to this day. And then he raped me.
There was a window next to the table, and I think I just floated right
out of it. I don’t remember anything after that- just looking out that
window. Not hysterical, not even crying-- just staring blankly and
lifelessly out of the window. I don’t remember getting dressed again, or
leaving. I think that day I was left completely empty.
I think it has affected me in so many of the same ways that I have
read about here that I don’t need to greatly elaborate on this point. I do
have an absolutely paralyzing fear of authority figures, which as a
recent college graduate, poses an interesting problem. I can’t bring
myself to go to interviews. That is not something you can explain to friends
and family who don’t know. And I can’t bring myself to go see a doctor
when I’m sick, which leads to its own array of problems. I also can’t
go see a counselor, because the whole atmosphere makes me feel like I am
suffocating. The smell, the offices, the layout, even the clipboards
that you fill out information on - those are my triggers. I almost wish it
had happened anywhere else, anywhere else in the world, because the one
place that could help me is the one place I cannot go, no matter how
hard I try. It really is sick.
I am finally starting to reach out to other people, and that is how I
am able to be writing this now. For those of you who have never told
anyone, please, please, tell someone. It may seem impossible, as though
the world will end if you share this (that feeling, I know all too well),
but the world will keep on turning. I promise. Getting this out to
someone brings a relief I cannot even describe. Sometimes you need to act
on faith, and just take that step into the darkness. There is light on
the other side. Don’t shut yourself off to the world because you do have
something to offer. I read once, "If you are not there to shine your
light, who knows how many travelers will lose their way in the darkness?"
Don’t give up.
Jen
If you were to ask my mother to desicrbe our family she would say we are a typical upper middle class Presbyterian family. There are three brothers and two sisters. All of us have had at least one divorce. One brother is "nuts" and on Lithium when he's willing and lives on the construction sites he works on as an electrician in NYC. He was a genius when he was young, with an IQ off the roof. My other brother was a "heavy drinker" - he made too much money to be considered an alcoholic. He was told he was going to die if he continued drinking, so he stopped, but he ended up having a stroke so severe that he can no longer communicate, and his right side is comletely paralyzed - no sign of improvement for over four years. My third brother had a nervous breakdown, and moved to the opposite coast. He has bouts of manic depression episodes. My sister is another one of those heavy drinkers. As for me, I started running away and attempting suicide when I was thirteen, left a mental institution A.M.A., got married at 16. Yet, my mother insists that all families have problems. NOT!!
I must have severed my past from my life soon after my 16th birthday. I am now 45, happily married with two children. As my daughter turned 11 and into her 12th year, I began to cry, often, uncontrollably, just about anywhere. I had no idea why. Also, I am 80 pounds overweight. I thought it was because I quit smoking when I found out I was pregnant with my first child. I was desperate to lose this weight, went through years of diets - no dice. My doctor who is also a dietician suggested therapy - I replied, "I have a great job, a great husband, wonderful kids. I'm happy!" Then I came across a book two months ago. about Food not being Love. It was written by a woman who had been abused. This became an incantation to the past. I remembered my brother having intercourse with me. I called my doctor and got a therapist.
It also turns out that our father was a violent man - I had been slapped, hard,knock you around hard if you know what I mean, several memorable times. Also, he had taken the belt to me on several occassions. The damaging thing about all this was not the beating, but the justification the family gave to these actions in our mind - Dad was from a midwest farm and you "strapped" your kids when they were bad. This kept Dad in his Perfect Father role. He died when I was 16. I remember my brother, the one who had sex with me, and I hated Dad. But when I was older, I had this idea in my head that it was all my doing, all my fault.
My actions after the sex experiences, combined with the physical abuse were classic. At the age of 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15, men were after me. My sister's brother-in-law brought me to a hotel when I was 11 or 12. Friends of my parents had their twin 17 year old sons stay at the house when I was 12, and guess what? At that time, I was really clueless. After that all these men.... and I was just a child.
Then came the suicide attempt at 13 bottles full of aspirin and Coricidan. My father was furious at me as he drove me to the hospital nut house. Then I started running away. They put me in one of the most notorious state nut houses - huge wards with mentally disturbed adults, and me. A woman woke me up in the middle of the night to feel her pregnant belly because she thought her baby had died. I got out of there, and came home, and got sent away to a private shcool. They had a summer trip to Europe, which I took, and ran away from the group - we had been staying in a college dorm and a group of the boys introduced me to brandy. In a drunken stupor I ended up with one of the boys, but not until they had all had a grab at my body. I was 15. A knock came on the boys door and someone told me I was going to back to the U.S. the next day. In the pre-dawn hours, I snuck out of the room, got my money from my room, climbed out a two story window and ran. I was in Europe alon! e for 3 months. There I had sex frequently, was forced to give two men fellatio, and then they literally threw me out of the car. I came home in the fall, and was sent to another private shcoool. On the third day there, I had sex with a boy who later told me he had a girlfriend back home. This time my suicide attempt was in earnest. They had to pump my stomach. I was sent to a fairly fancy nuthouse where I met my first husband. We ran away from the nuthouse, and when we came back we got married.
Through it all, I feel my father's vibes were screaming "JUST GO AWAY!!" My mother had wanted 5 kids, he had wanted only 3 - she "tricked" him by not using birth control. Great trick, huh?
So, here we have me with my two parent icons in my mind, two upstanding righteous Presbyterians from the midwest. The explanation of why I went "crazy" all those years was chemical imbalance and drug use. I blamed myself for all that happened. I have no memory of emotion attached to any of the sexual episodes. None. For 30 years the guilt of my misbehavior made my relationship with my mother one of utter worship by me, and she was the worshipped one. I would never question her advice, and always do what she told me to do, and told everyone how perfect a Christian and woman she was.
Memories have just started to explode in my mind like mines. I was
furious that I had been decieved and my childhood had been usurped.
Everyone in the family let the "perfect father" story hold up all these
years. I forced a phone conversation between my mother, my sister, and me,
so that my mother couldn't deny anything.
"Were you hit?" I interrogated my sister.
"Yes." came her reply. Then she laughed "Dad was kind of strict".
"No! He was not strict, he was violent!"
"I didn't know!" cried my mother.
"You never knew after five kids, that your kids were being hit?" I
asked.
"I'm not one of those type of women." Yeah, and we're not one of those
types of families.
The memories are so bad I have to keep my eyes open now when I have sex with my husband to "stay in the moment". I call out his name, a mantra to keep me in this arms.
So here I am, 80 pounds, and 35 years of baggage on my body. Yeah,
right. Thanks Mom for being there.
i apoligize now for spelling and grammer mistakes, i want to type without stopping.
I really can't say if this really happened to me or not, i have been having repressed memories about incidents for a couple months now. I don't know why i would have these memories if it never happened but you never know. I think i was molested by my brother.he is 5 years older than me and all these incidents happened before i was 7. I remember him taking pictures of me in my underwear and us playing these sick little games. i don't feel like going into detail. I was only like 5 or 6 i didn't know this was wrong and he was my older brother i trusted him.
a few years later when i was in second grade i was "going out" with a kid named nik. one day in extended care he exposed himself to me and had me do the same. since my brother did things like this before i thought nothing of it then.
I can't tell my parents now i dont know if it ever happened and they wouldn't believe me, my brother is in college now and i am trying to get on with my life i just want to forget the whole thing but i cant. i cant look at him the same way anymore. I can't even look at guys the same anymore. i get sick to my stomach and start to cry. thanks for listening.
