This article is the final in a series of Incest related topics. It is the first time I have spoken out regarding the relationship I had with my mother.
My mind recoils and my stomach lurches. I don’t want to remember childhood sexual assault by my mother’s hand.
My brain stops. All functioning inert. Years piled with emotional abuse have taken its toll. My mother broke my spirit apart.
My gait is a half hearted attempt to walk with its limitations. The physical abuse is evident as each step is taken. I don’t want the flooding of memories to reveal this is not from an accident but again my mother’s doing.
My heart breaks and tears slide down my cheeks. I don’t want to remember abandonment by my mother.
Through it all, I ask myself (ves) yet, once again, “What would my life look like today, would I even be alive, had I not stood up to my mother, twenty-one years ago last month, and said, “I’m leaving.”
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This article is the second in a third part series on Incest. Sibling Incest is a lesser talked about crime and many times as I have experienced, is classified as something all kids do, calling itself Childhood Sexual Contact. What do we do when it goes beyond that…
As an RA survivor, I tend to gloss over the other form of sexual abuse—incest and even a lesser mentioned crime, sibling sexual assault. This month the DS shatters this taboo.
“It is estimated that approximately 15% of all people report some kind of sexual activity with a sibling in childhood.” (http://www.pandys.org/articles/siblingsexualabuse.pdf)
I know sibling incest is not always taken seriously. Among the comments I have heard are: “they were just playing doctor, it was just a little touching, she asked for it.” I agree there is sibling touching that occurs in the family with children, but where do we draw the line? At what acts? At what ages? Is a brother at the ages of 10-18 accountable for his actions beyond the line of childhood sexual contact?
Yes if:
- it goes from giggling between the differences in boy’s and girl’s bodies, as seen as young children, to one of them enjoying the pleasure of the other’s fear, shame and humiliation.
- he threatenens you about telling anyone,
- he finds places outside the home to perform acts where the danger of being found is minimal,
- he’s gone beyond touching to intercourse,
- he ridicules you in front of other family members insinuating ‘he hates your guts’ and doesn’t want to be near you as a cover. If disclosed the statement “Of course Jamie did not assault his sister. He can barely stand to be in the same room with her.”
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This article was first written after my dad’s death and I have enhanced it now to accommodate my feelings years later. It is the first in a series of three articles written on incest.
Thank you for being the best Dad ever.
- As I entered life, you could not suppress your happiness over the tiny bundle in your arms—your first and only daughter in a house that already contained two boys.
- As I matured into a toddler, you held me with your strong calloused hands as I took my first precarious steps.
- As I began kindergarten, we both faced our fears—me, for the insecurity of something new—something beyond your presence, strength and love. And for you, recognizing even then your little girl was growing up.As I grew to full time school age, you taught me how to make friends, to give and take and the gift of learning.
- As I entered puberty, you watched me move from child to budding woman and bestowed upon me the respect and responsibility it entailed.
- As I matured into a teenager, you taught me about boys and dating.
- As I started high school, you taught me to drive, having the patience for an overzealous student. You watched me start my first job, and as I stumbled through this new beginning, you taught me the value of a dollar and tutored me in finances.
- When I graduated, you were the first on your feet applauding the loudest.
- As I matured and left your house to make a place in the world for myself, I had all the life skills you had taught me and our bond became even stronger.
- As I matured in life, I gave you your first grandchild and your tears of joy were heard throughout the hospital.
- And as you matured, Dad, into your last days, we just sat with each other; no words needed—it had all been said before.
I wish this was true, Dad.
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The rationalization of a bond with animals and the abuse they suffered until I was free to care for them
Is there a magical age when we know something is wrong and knowing this, we take the appropriate action to make it right? A wrong that grips our heart—a feeling of revulsion sending signals to our brain saying: ‘This is wrong. This is so very wrong.’
Myself and my alters felt this sense during the years of continued abuse at the ages of five, ten and fifteen and all those in between that sexual assault activities were wrong. Why else the cloak of secrecy and punishment if we talked. There are alters whose sole job is to ensure silence and the inflicted pain is very real. It was ongoing into my adult years of therapy; the ‘no talk to outsiders rule,’ incorporated into the minds of all. We would not be believed, would go to jail or would be institutionalized; losing our families and surely death would follow. In essence, they said: ‘You can’t stop us; you can’t make this wrong a right.’
So, can I use this rationalization when at the age of twenty-three a bond I had with my new puppy, a pure bred collie, sent feelings of disgust as I witnessed my brother practicing bestiality—oral sex for his gratification. Not once. Many times. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was not right. I did nothing. By my own brother’s actions it turned my love of a pet into something sick and disgusting, leaving me years later an activist for pets and their role in our lives. I didn’t just one day arrive at this point. Survivors are different from others who were not subjected to childhood assault involving animals. Others are free to love any animal that crosses their path. Survivors on the other hand, need therapy to free them to love an animal. We need therapy! How perverse is that? Until I could release the feelings from watching the horrors done to animals and my own forced Read the rest of this entry »
How Denial plays a part in your healing journey, to be followed by honesty.
As I continue my campaign against Ritual abuse and childhood sexual assault from a survivor’s perspective, my research has led me through previous, almost forgotten old sets of journals. I have come across entries that scream ‘honesty,’ only to be followed with ‘that couldn’t have happened.’ How could anyone possibly make up the secrets hidden in those diaries or more importantly, why would I want to?
Who hasn’t heard a parent tell their child: ‘Don’t lie? Don’t tell a fib?’ At age five, I was taught to lie. As my father incestuously assaulted Julie, one of my child alters, he was relentless in stopping her from exposing his hideous playtime of what was really happening in that cold basement on the hard concrete floor. ‘Why,’ she asked, ‘do I have to not tell?’ His answer: ‘Mommy wouldn’t believe you and if she did I would go to jail, you would never see me, and the family would be torn apart.’ Naturally, a five-year-old would lie to keep her daddy out of jail.
Twenty-five years later, during a face to face confrontation, I asked my dad: ‘What happened between us when I was a kid?’ His reply: ‘It was only touching. It was no big deal.’ But it was a big deal, and I carry that with me, every time I touch on a new memory, an old feeling, or when my whole existence seems like no big deal.
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