My story... again
This isn’t the first time I’ve written this. Years have clarified many of my memories and thoughts about everything that happened when I was a kid. A recent re-location has sparked the embers that continue to burn inside me. I’ve recently returned to where I began… to the same old house, the bedroom I grew up in. The old ghosts are still here. They attach themselves to my footsteps like Peter Pan’s shadow, they’re attached to my memories (asleep and awake). Walking in the same steps that my childhood feet knew so well… seeing (some) of the places where my nightmares still dwell. That’s partly why I’ve returned to MS… the rest is that I’m still looking for some kind of peace in my recovery, and the help and support I’ve gotten here in the past has not been forgotten.
I’m going to break this down differently this time I think. The first time I wrote my history down, I spewed out raw unadulterated venom… every gory detail. It was soul wrenching. I wanted to scour away every last remnant of what I endured, but… we know that isn’t how it works, right?
Here it goes: I am a child sexual abuse survivor, I am an incest survivor, I am a rape survivor, I am a physical abuse survivor, I am an emotional abuse survivor. This was at the hands of members of my family. This was at the hands of older children. This was at the hands of trusted spiritual leaders.
I’ll start with my dad: He was a drunk when I was a little kid. He did stop though when I was around 9 or so. When he drank he got pretty hands on with me… or with a leather belt, wooden shoe brush handle… but his fists were the worst of it. He was smart not to hit where it could be seen. He ran out on us many times… searching for something? Iv’e never asked. He’s 83 now. Years ago I decided to let him off the hook. I forgave him, but I made sure to let him know that I was not forgiving any mistreatment I’d endured at his hands. I simply forgave him as a man when he finally acknowledged what his father had done to me. Maybe I began to wonder what his upbringing was like?
I’m 3 years old. My babysitter’s son and I were playing in his bedroom. He began chasing me around and around his bed and finally caught me. He wanted to show me something. My pants were pulled down and I was laid down on his bed. I remember his head board was covered in funny stickers that spelled out his name. I remember more… He was 8. He is someone else I have chosen to forgive. Hindsight tells me that he was acting-out something that had been done to him. Like my dad, I don’t forgive what was done and how I feel about it, rather I forgave him as a person who had been hurt too.
My grandparents lived directly next door. I always loved that our combined backyards felt so huge. I was close to my grandma, but my grandpa was kinda distant, but he was a constant… always around… always watching us kids. When my mom went back to work when I was 3 or 4, I would often be carried next door wrapped in a blanket and placed on the living room sofa in the early mornings. This was his instant access to me. To this very day I can’t visualize his face. I know vaguely what he looked like, but I more fully aware of what his underwear looked like… and what he looked like from the waist down. My most vivid memory is of how small I felt sitting on his bed… my feet dangling over the edge miles away from the floor. Him I do NOT forgive.
With my dad being emotionally cut off to me or hitting me or whatever, I looked elsewhere for that kind of nurture… some kind of closeness or caring figure. I was now 9 years old. “C” was not unknown to me. In fact my mom sometimes would babysit him and his sisters. He was 5 years older than me. He was the coolest guy on the planet… could do no wrong… my fearless leader. He treated me with kindness and patience and what felt like genuine…care? Love? I don’t know what to call it except it was exactly what I had been looking for. Someone was paying attention to ME! “C” was the leader of our neighborhood “club”. My initiation was a group masturbation in my bedroom. He told me what to expect and showed me how. This soon happened again but it was just he and I alone. “Don’t tell the other guys”… “This is our secret”… He touched me, “Doesn’t that feel good?” I touched him. It escalated from there. The first time we had oral sex is also the first time he punched me. I was hurt and confused and wondering what I did wrong to make him so mad at me? That had to be my fault, right? The first time he raped (anal) me I was 11.
When I turned 12 I tried to change my fortunes by attending church with a same-age friend. I thought at least if wasn’t there (around the neighborhood) then “C” wouldn’t be able to hurt me. The best part of hanging out with my friend was joining the Youth Group. We did all kinds of things… arts and crafts, hiking, trips to museums… it was cool. I liked the youth director. “B” was in his mid 30’s and headed up all of the activities along with his wife. When he said that a weekend long retreat was planned I was excited! A whole weekend away? Are you kidding me? The weekend finally arrived and the youth group headed out. My friend and I were running around being wild and crazy 12 year olds. It was a lot of fun. That first night “B” came into the small room we had chosen to sleep in. He said that someone was snoring so loudly that he needed to get away from that. He crawled into the bed between us. No alarms went off and I feel asleep. Late that night I was awoken at the touch of hand slipping into my pajamas. A knot of fear and dread locked me into silence. At some point I did look and saw that his other hand was busy with my friend. This continued over the following months at the meeting room in the church, and at his home. I stopped going to church. It was no different than home. I lost my friend. He became someone I’d avoid in the hallways at school. “B” is NOT forgiven.
Turning 13 changed a lot of things. “C” was still hurting me physically and sexually on a very frequent basis. When he started dating a girl from high school I thought maybe that change things. One day we werer riding around town and “C” was talking about everything he wanted to do with his new girlfriend… instead he ended up doing it all to me. Nearing my 14th birthday I finally decided it had to stop. I had nothing left to give to him. After having sex with me in the “club house” one afternoon I told him to stop.. I couldn’t do it anymore. He became enraged. I actually feared for my life that day… but I stuck to my guns. When I turned to leave he shot up behind me and twisted my arm behind my back. I was crying and begging him to stop. He said I’d better not even think of telling anyone. He was calling me faggot and saying I’d wanted it… then there was a loud pop as my arm cracked. He broke my arm. He told me to get out. “C” is NOT forgiven.
I lied to my mom and said I’d fallen while climbing a tree. She bought it. I didn’t tell.
There it is… again. I’m not sure how I feel at the moment. I pretty much go on auto-pilot when I do this some of this stuff anymore, Ya know?
I’m going to break this down differently this time I think. The first time I wrote my history down, I spewed out raw unadulterated venom… every gory detail. It was soul wrenching. I wanted to scour away every last remnant of what I endured, but… we know that isn’t how it works, right?
Here it goes: I am a child sexual abuse survivor, I am an incest survivor, I am a rape survivor, I am a physical abuse survivor, I am an emotional abuse survivor. This was at the hands of members of my family. This was at the hands of older children. This was at the hands of trusted spiritual leaders.
I’ll start with my dad: He was a drunk when I was a little kid. He did stop though when I was around 9 or so. When he drank he got pretty hands on with me… or with a leather belt, wooden shoe brush handle… but his fists were the worst of it. He was smart not to hit where it could be seen. He ran out on us many times… searching for something? Iv’e never asked. He’s 83 now. Years ago I decided to let him off the hook. I forgave him, but I made sure to let him know that I was not forgiving any mistreatment I’d endured at his hands. I simply forgave him as a man when he finally acknowledged what his father had done to me. Maybe I began to wonder what his upbringing was like?
I’m 3 years old. My babysitter’s son and I were playing in his bedroom. He began chasing me around and around his bed and finally caught me. He wanted to show me something. My pants were pulled down and I was laid down on his bed. I remember his head board was covered in funny stickers that spelled out his name. I remember more… He was 8. He is someone else I have chosen to forgive. Hindsight tells me that he was acting-out something that had been done to him. Like my dad, I don’t forgive what was done and how I feel about it, rather I forgave him as a person who had been hurt too.
My grandparents lived directly next door. I always loved that our combined backyards felt so huge. I was close to my grandma, but my grandpa was kinda distant, but he was a constant… always around… always watching us kids. When my mom went back to work when I was 3 or 4, I would often be carried next door wrapped in a blanket and placed on the living room sofa in the early mornings. This was his instant access to me. To this very day I can’t visualize his face. I know vaguely what he looked like, but I more fully aware of what his underwear looked like… and what he looked like from the waist down. My most vivid memory is of how small I felt sitting on his bed… my feet dangling over the edge miles away from the floor. Him I do NOT forgive.
With my dad being emotionally cut off to me or hitting me or whatever, I looked elsewhere for that kind of nurture… some kind of closeness or caring figure. I was now 9 years old. “C” was not unknown to me. In fact my mom sometimes would babysit him and his sisters. He was 5 years older than me. He was the coolest guy on the planet… could do no wrong… my fearless leader. He treated me with kindness and patience and what felt like genuine…care? Love? I don’t know what to call it except it was exactly what I had been looking for. Someone was paying attention to ME! “C” was the leader of our neighborhood “club”. My initiation was a group masturbation in my bedroom. He told me what to expect and showed me how. This soon happened again but it was just he and I alone. “Don’t tell the other guys”… “This is our secret”… He touched me, “Doesn’t that feel good?” I touched him. It escalated from there. The first time we had oral sex is also the first time he punched me. I was hurt and confused and wondering what I did wrong to make him so mad at me? That had to be my fault, right? The first time he raped (anal) me I was 11.
When I turned 12 I tried to change my fortunes by attending church with a same-age friend. I thought at least if wasn’t there (around the neighborhood) then “C” wouldn’t be able to hurt me. The best part of hanging out with my friend was joining the Youth Group. We did all kinds of things… arts and crafts, hiking, trips to museums… it was cool. I liked the youth director. “B” was in his mid 30’s and headed up all of the activities along with his wife. When he said that a weekend long retreat was planned I was excited! A whole weekend away? Are you kidding me? The weekend finally arrived and the youth group headed out. My friend and I were running around being wild and crazy 12 year olds. It was a lot of fun. That first night “B” came into the small room we had chosen to sleep in. He said that someone was snoring so loudly that he needed to get away from that. He crawled into the bed between us. No alarms went off and I feel asleep. Late that night I was awoken at the touch of hand slipping into my pajamas. A knot of fear and dread locked me into silence. At some point I did look and saw that his other hand was busy with my friend. This continued over the following months at the meeting room in the church, and at his home. I stopped going to church. It was no different than home. I lost my friend. He became someone I’d avoid in the hallways at school. “B” is NOT forgiven.
Turning 13 changed a lot of things. “C” was still hurting me physically and sexually on a very frequent basis. When he started dating a girl from high school I thought maybe that change things. One day we werer riding around town and “C” was talking about everything he wanted to do with his new girlfriend… instead he ended up doing it all to me. Nearing my 14th birthday I finally decided it had to stop. I had nothing left to give to him. After having sex with me in the “club house” one afternoon I told him to stop.. I couldn’t do it anymore. He became enraged. I actually feared for my life that day… but I stuck to my guns. When I turned to leave he shot up behind me and twisted my arm behind my back. I was crying and begging him to stop. He said I’d better not even think of telling anyone. He was calling me faggot and saying I’d wanted it… then there was a loud pop as my arm cracked. He broke my arm. He told me to get out. “C” is NOT forgiven.
I lied to my mom and said I’d fallen while climbing a tree. She bought it. I didn’t tell.
There it is… again. I’m not sure how I feel at the moment. I pretty much go on auto-pilot when I do this some of this stuff anymore, Ya know?
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