we lived in an upstairs apartment. It was a Saturday morning and my brother and I had crawled into our parents bed to watch cartoons. While we were busy getting settled into the bed and under the covers, my Mother got out and went into the kitchen to make us breakfast. My younger brother Jackie was thrilled to be watching cartoons. My Mom wasn’t thrilled the bed was so full. I can remember seeing Mom’s belly was big as she made her way out of bed. My stepfather, Jack patted the bed, indicating I was to move up close to him as soon as Mom was out the bedroom door. I had already learned it did no good to resist my parents. He grabbed my arm, pulling me up close to him. He reached under the blanket, fumbled for a minute with my pj’s, pulling them down to my knees. Then my panties. I was starting to freeze up, going rigid in my body against what was sure to happen next. So while my Mother was in the kitchen making pancakes, I was being anally raped by Jack. While he was forcing his penis into my rectum he also told me two things that have really have slowed down my healing. One was to” hold still” ( I had heard that one before). The other was “don’t you dare cry or your mother will find out what we have been doing and you will get the whipping of your life”. I held still even though it hurt and I wanted to get away from him. I wanted to cry.
What I remember most was how proud he felt that he had accomplished something, getting his penis into my body, and that he got away with it, all the while my Mother was in the other room and didn’t know a thing about it. He felt confident I would never tell. When my Mom yelled that breakfast was ready, he hurried up, pulled my panties and pj’s up and shoved me out of the bed. I felt guilty but I didn’t understand why. I remember how I wanted to cry but wouldn’t cause we could get caught. How it hurt my butt. How my stomach felt like it was dropping out of me. How much I wanted to just get away from him. But couldn’t.
Part of my healing is hindered by the things he said. Not to diminish the things that he did to my body. But when he told me to hold still, or on other occasions to not fight him, don’t move, or told me “how much I liked it”, “I wanted it” or “It feels good doesn’t it”, he set up false beliefs in both my conscious awareness and my subconscious where I stored all the horrible things. Those things he said at the times he was violating me, waited around for another opportunity to kick my ass. Especially if I am afraid and won’t admit it, or am overwhelmed, or hurting. They make things worse for me now too. They served as warnings then, to protect his perversions and now, they just keep on working even though its not the best for me. They formed a foundation for a damaged life, to keep me stuck in the past that just keeps on hurting.
Part of what I know about healing, other than how important it is to me, is what’s most powerful that needs my attention. Yes, its necessary to heal the physical pain. The emotions and thoughts are where my focus is now. I was told in the past (in an effort to save me from unnecessary pain, I am sure) that I didn’t need to tell anyone the details of what happened. But I know differently now. I have to not only bring up the memories, but also to relive the experiences, get all the details and most importantly feel the feelings I had at the time and express them and share them. Not that I want to hurt others with them but to expose the secrecy of the hurt when it happened. The hurt was not expressed, I lost so much when he violated me. It has to be mourned. The sadness of a lost childhood, the betrayal, the freezing and not being able to help myself when I need it, are all parts that want to be comforted, and laid to rest. What happened to me was done in privacy, there were no witnesses. Which keeps me bound up in shameful feelings. Bravely re-examining my past, allows me to examine those false beliefs he planted in me. To correct them by choosing something different.
I struggle with looking out for my own best interest. My everyday life is a forced trip down memory lane when ever I try something new, or when losses happen. But I have developed better emotional skills than I had in the past so I can make it through my ordinary life not being forced to be as helpless or powerless as I was when I was a child being sexually abused.