My Story: A Child Incest Disaster

The question that comes to mind is how do you narrate a series of events you don’t recall? That is what I live with on a daily basis. The frustration brings me to the brink of insanity at times. All I want to do is remember. I know itsounds strange…but, I have complex PTSD that was brought on by a combination of childhood sexual abuse and emotional abuse from my second husband. One of the symptoms that is driving me crazy–supposedly caused by the ptsd–is strange sensory problems. For example, I hate the taste and texture of toothpaste. I don’t like people standing behind me. I gag if I try to eat certain textures of foods like pudding, marshmallows, cool whip, etc…I hate the sound of vacuums and exhaust fans. I don’t like loud noises. Bright lights bother me. Certain textures of clothes irritate my skin. This is just a sample of my problems.

They are so bad I have applied for disability. I am agoraphobic. I can not possibly work. It is driving me crazy to not remember what happened because my counselor said that each of my sensory issues is specifically tied to an event that happened to me as a child. If we figure out what event it is she says we can reprogram my mind to think a different way in regards to the event so that the sensory issue will lessen or disappear. That is my story, and that is my goal. I have spent my whole life feeling like I am lost. I don’t know who I am or what has happened to led me to this point in my life. I am lost…and not found. I desperately want to find the little girl that is lost inside of me. I am tired of being lost. I want to be found.

I used to ask myself if I was a magnet for pedophiles when I was younger. I really thought I was so bad that I had some kind of magnetism built into me so that pedophiles automatically knew–“Look, there! She is the one who needs to be punished today.” I had been molested and/or raped by three different men before I reached age 12. I didn’t know anything different. It was all normal to me despite the growing hatred that was building inside of me. It may have been normal, but I knew it was wrong. And I knew how dirty it made me feel.

I can not really remember how old I was when my dad started molesting me. We can only guess based on my mom’s work history and the damage that was done to my body. When I was examined by a doctor at 12 years old, the doctor told my mom that I had so much scar tissue I may never be able to have children. He said I had to have been extremely young when he penetrated me for the first time. He also said it had been done on numerous occasions to cause the damage it did. Well, I do have one biological child. I had him when I was 34 years old. I never once in all those years used any form of contraceptive.

Another reason why I know he started very young is because my mom let me go to Savannah, Ga. with a friendof hers for a couple of days when I was about 5 years old. I was so excited about going because they were going to take me to the beach and over the bride so I could watch the whales jump up out of the big water. At least that is how I thought of it at such a tender age. I don’t remember my mom’s friend’s name, but I remember her brother’s name. The reason why is because he turned what should have been an exciting trip for me into a shameful event. He convinced me that it would be fun to let him lick my private parts. He said it would feel good and that I would like it. While it may have felt good physically, I knew that it was wrong so it made me feel dirty. Still, it wasn’t a shocking thing for me. I was used to it. It was not the first time I had experienced oral sex. I don’t remember a specific incident before this one, but I just know that I was used to it. It’s just a feeling, you know. I also remember that the young man’s younger sister had made comments about having sex with her brother; I didn’t think it was all that unusual except for the part that she said he would pee in her. I thought that was gross. I was too young to know that she was talking about him having an orgasm. I think she was too young to know the difference.

I have always had this weird feeling about animal abuse but I don’t have any memories of anything like that. Like I said, I have very little memory of what happened to me. But I remember doing things when I was a child that involved animals and I had to have learned it from somewhere. I don’t think I could have come up with that on my own. I feel weird admitting things like this, but I feel like I have to be open with what I do remember if I am to open the door for new memories.

A few months before my dad was finally caught there was another incident in which I was molested and almost raped by someone I knew. This guy was out on work release for a similar offense when he hurt me. One morning a bunch of my friends were over and they were all asleep in various places from the living room floor to my bed. I had slept on the living room floor the previous night, but I had gotten up early that morning and moved to my mom’s bed. I don’t remember where my mom was. While I was sleeping I started feeling someone touch me in places they shouldn’t but I was scared to move when I woke. He touched my breasts. He had touched them before. He had even dared my friends to take their shirts off for him. He touched my vagina. It felt weird to me because he was saying some dirty things I had never head a man say before. He kept pushing his penis into my backside. It was hard. He started pulling at my shorts until he had them down about half way. Then I felt his bare penis pushing into my butt. It was hot. I don’t know why I remember such a strange thing, but I do. Anyway, it hurt. It scared me so bad that I jumped up out of the bed before he even realized I was awake. I pulled up my clothes as fast as I could and I ran out of the house. I didn’t ask my mom if I could leave. I didn’t tell her where Iwas going. Nothing….I just ran as fast as I could. I went across the street. I told a friend of mine what had happened. I got in trouble for leaving without asking for permission, but I still didn’t tell my mom what had happened. I was too scared. She heard it through the grapevine anyway. My friend told her foster mom. My mom was friends with the foster’s mom sister. So, when the foster mom told her sister what she had heard, of course it all got back to my mom. Then I had to go to court. That was one of the most terrifying and embarrassing things that has ever happened to me. To have to get up there in front of everyone and tell them what he had done to me. I still have fears of cops and courts.

My dad was terrified the whole time the court process was going on. My mom just couldn’t understand why he was so scared. He couldn’t be in the courtroom while I testified so he had no control over what I said. He was terrified I was going to tell on him, too. I don’t know why I didn’t. Except that I was scared he would kill my mom. Thinking back on all the things that happened at the time…my dad had to know what that man was doing to me. I wonder if they didn’t get together and swap stories about their fun times with me. What a joke, huh?

Because my dad would make me take off my panties and sit on the couch with my legs spread wide open so he could stare at me. What could be so enticing about a pubescent girl’s vagina? When he got tired of that he would make me stand on the arms of his chair while he touched me and licked my vagina. Even at that young of an age I was capable of achieving an orgasm by oral sex. He knew it, too. And he said that because it felt so good to me that I was the one who was bad–not him. I remember one time when he made me lay down on the floor and he got on top of me. He must have put his penis in my vagina, but I didn’t feel anything. At this point I must have disassociated. I felt like I was watching from outside my body. It was weird.

I didn’t have a very good childhood. I experienced these things on a daily basis. How bad it got I am not sure, but I know it wasn’t good. I only have about three or four memories of what happened to me…not much at all. More than I ever wanted, though.