Charlotte
Maybe it was being the youngest? Maybe it was growing up with a workaholic father and a narcissistic mother? Maybe it was having siblings who didn’t want to spend time with me? Are these the aspects of my childhood that painted a target on my head? I will never know who or what planted the needy seed within my six-year-old heart, but it was there. My aunt saw the tiny seedling desperate for love and attention, and she decided to help tend my garden.
Of course, I am painting the picture as bright and happy because that is how it began for me. My heart sang songs of joy that an adult would take so much interest in me. We chatted about crafts because I was a creator. My mother tells stories about the piles of artwork and crafts that she tossed into the garbage because I made so much it caused a storage problem. Before I knew it, my aunt was making pom-pom bears and potholders with me. She showered my plant with the attention is so desperately craved. This is how she slowing began to poison my soul.
The moment she realized my defenses were down and the trust bond was strong enough. She pounced. It was a family gathering. The floor was covered in children playing surrounded by chairs of adults jabbering on about the world. My aunt was not talking to anyone. She sat alone watching the children. I felt so special when she asked me to sit in her lap. It was like Charlie finding the golden ticket. Only my golden ticket came with a price. I remember thinking how cool it was to be sitting in the circle of adults. As I watched my siblings and cousins playing, it happened. Her hand slowing snaked into my flowered panties to find a cavern I didn’t even know I had. My heart stopped as I felt her fingers probing me. She must have felt my response because she whispered into my ear that it was okay. When she was finished with me, she patted me on the bottom and sent me back to the floor, but somehow I no longer belonged there.
I would love to say that this is where it all stopped, and she had her fill. Unfortunately, I can’t. My aunt lured me into her room many times with crafts and the promise to fulfill my yearning for attention. The crafts would not last long before my aunt would begin to explore my caverns further with her own body and/or foreign objects. When she forced me to explore her body, the “ick” feeling that I had been ignoring was screaming. There was no ignoring it anymore.
My new mission became slipping out of her grip that felt like a vice. My aunt knew that something had changed. I would jump through childhood hoops to avoid any moment that might mean I would find myself alone with her. Eventually, she stopped trying, but she continued to call me her “special girl” and give me inappropriately tight hugs whenever possible.
Was it puberty? Was it my exploration with masturbation? Was it my blooming interest in both sexes? Who knows what aspects of my life illuminated the past, but when I was 13 years old, the memories of what happened that I had brushed off for so long surfaced. I said to myself for the first time that I was sexually abused.
I told a few of my closest friends. Some of them shared their own stories with me, but no one really “got me”. I was the ignored statistic. The female sexually abused by a female. The media likes to pretend that men are the only perpetrators, but that is such a lie. As I was blossoming into a woman, I struggled with defining what womanhood meant because the woman I had been closest to in my life was a monster. How could I hate her and not hate myself? I felt so alone. It took years for me to realize that womanhood is defined by your heart.
My soul moves me to share my story today, so other girls, women, boys and men are not the forgotten statistic. You are not alone! I also want parents to read this and know that women can be abusers, too.
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Thank you for visiting Violence UnSilenced, a speak-out platform for survivors of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and sexual abuse. If you are a survivor and it is safe to do so, we encourage you to share your story here. If you are not a survivor but you want to support those who are, please click around this site and find out more about what you can do.
Anonymous
I can’t remember a time when he was nice to me. It was always more than a big brother picking on a little sister. I had that with my oldest brother. I knew what that felt like. It didn’t hurt and leave physical and emotional reminders.
He would look at me with pure hatred in his eyes. You’re so ugly. You’re so fat. You are stupid, why do you even do that?
I was told these things on a daily basis. Told how stupid I was, ugly, fat, how no one would ever love me. Told that the only thing I would be good for is my big mouth pleasing one of his friends. It scared me.
I am 13 and on the phone with a friend. We are giggling and making plans for meeting up with boys later in the day. He storms in and tells me to get off the phone, he needs it. I tell him to wait a minute. The mere act of me telling him to wait sets him off. Before I know it, the phone is ripped from the wall and thrown at my face.
We are driving home from school. His license has been suspended (again) so I am driving. He is mad that I am driving. He sees my Led Zepplin tape and asks where I got it. I sense I am on thin ice here, he is going to blow at any moment. I tell him my friend gave it to me. He sneers at me, throws the tape out the window of the moving car and tells me to stop being such a Poser.
Our parents are out of town for a week and it is just the two of us in the house. Our youngest brother has been sent to stay with some friends. I wish I had been too. Or that my parents would have taken me with them.
He throws a party and I lock myself in my bedroom. The doorknob rattles and a couple tries to come in. They are drunk and most likely high. I tell them to leave and they do. I breathe a sigh of relief and turn my music up higher. I need to go to the bathroom but don’t want to leave. I go to my parent’s room to use theirs. I walk in and there he is, on top of his girlfriend, having sex. It is the first time I see it and is an image burned into my 15 year old brain. I stumble over my words and run to my room in fear. I know that I will pay for that innocent mistake.
My brother was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Telling me daily I was worthless, ugly, dumb, not worth the air I breathe. I lived in fear of him. For as long as I can remember, I have lived in fear of the repercussions of telling my story.
My Mother knew. Her guilt did not allow her to do anything about it. She turned her eye so as not to see what he was doing to me. It was the family secret and still is. No one but he and I knew the abuse he doled out on a daily basis.
I am 34 and am still ashamed that I let it happen. Ashamed that I let it continue. Ashamed that I have let it have such an impact on my life.
He is now married with three daughters. My heart aches for those girls. I fear what he is doing to them. I fear that he is tearing them down the way he did me. I fear that they will never know how wonderful and special they are. I fear that he will destroy them the way he tried to destroy me.
I fear that no one will be there to tell those girls that they are wonderful, special, perfect, sweet, smart, and worth so much more than they will ever know.
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Anonymous
Paper
Can you take the lava
Carried in my stomach for years
I don’t want it anymore
Lava that I swallowed in his truck
because I didn’t know what else to do
Lava I tasted after he threw up
and came back to kiss me again
I didn’t know I could say no
Daddy’s enemas in the living room
Uncle playing licky licky
Daddy playing licky licky
Big coffee cow tongue on my face and laughter
Me screaming stop I hate you
Mommy’s pathetic stop…
300lb husband holding down little girl
in living room floor blocking tv
No daddy I don’t want to show you
how I kiss my boyfriend
I don’t want to kiss you
how I kiss my boyfriend
Don’t talk about me with a boyfriend
Mommy’s pathetic stop don’t tease her
Did you know that uncle’s in prison now?
He played licky licky with
one too many little girls
huh?
Wonder if the other inmates know he’s
in for child molestation
& that he used to be
a prison guard
Wonder if he’s getting his own
licky licky
Mommy eyes closed
Fingers in ears
Head shaking
la la la la
la la la la
I can’t hear you…
But that was past
I don’t carry it now
Paper does
And when it burns
again the paper listens
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Richard
It has been two years since I first wrote my story for Violence UnSilenced. I was 44-years-old and speaking out for the first time about sexual abuse that began when I was nine.
Quite frankly, 35 years was 35 years too long to be dealing with such trauma. Still, finding my voice was a vital step in the recovery process. It came near the end of my recovery, after years of love and support from my wife. It came after repeated cycles of anger and healing and discovery. It came after I discussed with my mom her and my father’s inability to protect me from the abuse they suspected was happening but about which they did nothing. It came after I was able to forgive myself, my parents, and ultimately my deceased abuser. I didn’t know what to expect after I spoke out. What I experienced was total emotional numbness. My tank was empty. I was not only emotionally empty from the effort of finally putting to rest the abuse of my childhood; I had absolutely no idea of what I was supposed to do next. Not one clue. So, I did nothing. The intervening time has been spent learning how to live life without a crisis. When all you know is pain, pain is normal. I’ve had to adjust to a new and healthier normal.
Today I am sharing my voice once again to encourage men to add their voices to the chorus of abuse victims who are speaking up, speaking out, and ending the control abusers hold over their victims. I want to encourage women everywhere to support and encourage the men in their lives who experience the pain of sexual abuse to address these issues. They’re all around us.
It seems we cannot turn on the news without finding another story about sexual assault. Jerry Sandusky of Penn State stands accused of pedophilia, as does Bernie Fine at Syracuse University and Hollywood child actor agent Martin Weiss. It has become so prevalent that a relative recently broke three decades of silence on the subject of our shared experience to call me and ask how I felt about Penn State. We agreed that the answer was simple. Nationally, we’re having the wrong conversation.
Instead of talking about the individual pedophiles, reporting their court cases, and discussing how their actions affect our public institutions, we should be educating the country on how and why pedophiles operate, how to recognize the warning signs of all sexual abuse, and why it is critical for adults to take action when the sexual abuse of children is known or suspected. We should be educating people about the warning signs of sexual abuse against all children, girls and boys, and detailing the damage that is done when adults look the other way. The dialogue should be about the selective outrage of Penn State college students who took to the streets to protest the firing of a football coach, but had nothing to say when it was learned that school administrators turned a blind eye to the sexual abuse of young boys on campus. That should have triggered a protest. It is time to publicly ask why Corey Haim committed suicide, and ask ourselves why we continue to support a Hollywood industry where, according to actress Allison Arngrim, the sexual abuse of children is an open secret. A claim such as that simply must be investigated openly and honestly. It is time to ask ourselves where our values lie.
Usually, men are sexually assaulted when they were children or young teens. The affects of sexual assault on them are nearly indistinguishable from those of women. They experience the same misplaced guilt, shame, anger, fear, betrayal, self-loathing and loss that women experience as a result of sexual assault. Left untreated, it can lead to the same self-destructive behavior that appears in many of the testimonies found here on VU.
Fear and shame keep men silent: the fear of ridicule, and the fear of being labeled a potential predator due to the myth that all victims grow up to become perpetrators. Fear and shame also prevent responsible adults from stepping in and stopping sexual abuse when they see it. As we all know, silence is an abuser’s best friend. When adults remain silent, sexual predators thrive.
Men and women, speaking up together, can increase the awareness of all sexual assaults. Men and women, united, can educate our country. We can show our neighbors why looking the other way is as damaging as the pain caused by sexual predators. Together, victims of both sexes can raise awareness to a new level. With as much love and Grace as possible, we desperately need men to join the dialogue.
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Richard’s original Violence UnSilenced post appeared here on April 8, 2010. It is currently estimated that one in six boys is a victim of sexual abuse; for more, visit 1in6.org.
Thank you for visiting Violence UnSilenced, a speak-out platform for survivors of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and sexual abuse. If you are a survivor and it is safe to do so, we encourage you to share your story here. If you are not a survivor but you want to support those who are, please click around this site and find out more about what you can do.
