My story part one
I am going to have to tell some of my story here in order to explain my problem. Here is yet another preface, I have been sexually assaulted, raped and molested more times than I have ever counted. Over the years more things come back into my memory and it worries me. I have been in loving good relationships but something was always wrong. It is clear now that the something is me. First, I will try to list the assaults, rape and abuse in order to the best of my ability. This might change because I cannot always remember everything at one time. That is extremely frustrating for me. :hissyfit:/>/>/>/>
Next I will attempt to explain my intimacy issues and my difficulty with emotions in general, in hopes that anyone with experience navigating these things will shed some light. I may post this in the forum when I am done but for now, it is here.
:scared:/>/>/>/> :deep breath:
Here comes the story:
I have absolutely no memory of any CSA before the age of 11 but I do have a feeling that something wasn't right somewhere along the line because of my knowledge of sex as far back as I can remember. I know that at age 4 I saw a girl (foster teen with serious problems) and her boyfriend that were living in my room/home have sex nearly every night, but I don't know how long that lasted. I tried to pretend to be asleep and not look. I can't be sure how much I actually saw but I know at least one time the boyfriend yelled or laughed at me. The only memories I have of this is seeing them under a blanket, thinking they looked like a turkey (missionary position) and later taking off my dolls clothes. I think I just wanted to know what was going on. I know I shouldn't have been exposed to this but my parents had no idea the girl was sneaking this guy into our home. I also don't think it is anything all that abnormal. Kids sometimes see things they shouldn't. It explains why I knew so much though.
The girl did not stay with us very long and unfortunately (I think) she was murdered a few years later. I overheard someone talking about it but I was never supposed to know. I was 6 at the time. I was attached to her, the girl... and because she had so many problems and did not stay as my "sister" I think my parents hoped I would forget about her. I did not but I only remember her first name. I tried to ask about her later on as an adult but my parents are aging and I am not even sure that they remember what happened to her. I was only told that she had trouble with a horrible "druggie" boyfriend and she did not want their help. That was the last they heard from her. />/>/>/> Okay then.
I tried looking for information in newspaper archives, to no avail.
Everywhere we lived for awhile it seemed tragedy surrounded us. There was a multiple murder upstairs in one place. An angry arsonist set fire to another place we lived. All the while my family had my abusive biological father and my step-dads alcoholic ex harassing us. That's why we kept moving. My childhood was wrought with fear. Inside our small family, we were happy and I thank the stars every day that my parents are strong good people... and for their struggle to keep me safe. I don't even have words for how overwhelmed I am at their courage.
This is not to say that these things did not take their toll on them and me. They did. I will have to save the family history for another time. It wasn't easy but we are still a family.
The first sexual harassment I remember was when I was about 9-10 years old. There were a few things happening at one time. The boys at my grammar school started making comments about my "ass". It happened all day in class and in the halls and I remember getting pinched and grabbed while I was in line or in the halls. I could never prove who it was even though I knew who made the comments. There was one boy that was a couple years older in the class because he was held back and I think he was the reason these boys started this. I assumed it was normal.
The girls in my grade started to suddenly hate me and always wanted to fight me and I became more and more nervous and insecure. They told me that I dressed like a 'slut' and that I was a 'bitch'. Now, I don't know how much of this these kids could really comprehend but it was devastating because my best friend had moved away that year and having moved around so much I didn't have the life long connections the other kids had.
Again, I believed all of this was normal and I had to toughen up. I told my parents about the girl and my mom gave me the typical response. She said they had no idea what they were saying and that I should stand up for myself and let them know I was't just going to take it. Basically that 'kids can be mean" and they were just jealous that I was smart and pretty. I never told them about the boys but the had received a few 'cute' notes and calls at my home from boys (nothing sexual) and I responded to all of them with a blush and 'EWWW BOYS!'. I don't think they were concerned.
I stood up to those girls and I challenged them one at a time to go ahead and fight me. I won those fights by 9 year old default. They all backed down.
Eventually I found a new best friend and buried myself in the library, school and drawing and those kids all faded away. During this time of isolation there was a man, a janitor at my grade school that was trying to engage me in jokes and conversations while I was at school and it made me uncomfortable. He saw myself and my one friend sneak behind our school after hours to try smoking. He would make these creepy comments whenever he saw me (never to my friend though?!?), if he thought nobody could hear him. "Ooooooh, you shouldn't smoke", "I saaaww yoooouu" and coughing really loud. I think he was trying to use 'telling on me' to get me to come near him. I remember finally calling him a creep or a weirdo and saying "Go ahead, tell on me! It's normal to try smoking once! My parents know that and so do teachers! Leave us alone!" He left us alone after that. Maybe I am wrong and I am persecuting a nice man that just wanted to keep a kid from smoking. I'll never know. I do know that this is the kind of person I was growing to be. Confident. Careful. Unashamed.
That same year my abusive biological father suddenly showed up on my walk to school and called my name. He was not supposed to know where we were. I didn't know what he looked like because I had not seen him since I was 2, but I ran. I told my teachers. I lied about what he looked like to protect him but they got it out of me. I knew he was my father. He was dangerous. I did the right thing. My parents taught me well. That was very hard for me because even though I knew he wasn't a good person I wanted very much to know who he was. I had nightmares about him all the time where he was always chasing us. I had night terrors and froze in the dark unable to scream. I don't know all the details of what he did to us but I know it was really bad, and we survived. I love my mother so much. I can't imagine the strength she must have had in those days to get us away. The law was not very good at the time. I never once told her I was curious about him. She didn't tell me any details until I was an adult, just that he was not good and I had to stay away from him and his family if they ever showed up. I was to run away and tell someone as fast as I could. Again, she did the right thing.
I went on to middle school and because I already had some emotional problems I had an issue in one class. I was in accelerated learning and I had a small disability with handwriting (noticed when I was 7 and apparently related to my emotional development) which was eventually solved with a typewriter. I was so busy trying to work on this that I had little time for other kids and that was fine with me. It did a number on my self esteem however. I always thought of myself as smart and now I was falling behind!
I know this is getting long but all of this is relevant to why and how I got to where I am now. Remember, these are all things that I accepted as normal even though I was taught that they were not.
So we moved away again. Far away. My parents cut contacts that might be dangerous. I lied about where we were moving if I was pressed. We had a lovely home built and when we went to pick it out I was never so excited. My mother and I were just gleeful the whole time together and our little family had the overwhelming joy that people feel when the bad stuff is going to be behind them forever. It was like a dream that finally we could settle and live like normal people.
At first I made a few friends quickly in the neighborhood but school was not as easy. I was moved back into a Grammer School because the town did not have a middle school and I was taking a bus for the first time. The children my age at this school seemed much less mature than where I was living previously and I struggled to make friends. Within the first week some silly girl branded me as "smelly" because I told her I got up late and wasn't used to a bus so I couldn't take my daily shower. I was 11. How many 11 year old kids take morning showers? I didn't smell. She was just one of those kids that instigates. Kids. They are cruel. And thus I was confined to the kids in my neighborhood. School work was much easier for me in the new town and I made friends with the unpopular and smart kids and tried desperately to change my wardrobe to a less trendy (probably more age appropriate)teddy-bear and bow style. I wanted to fit in. I had to. This was our new life. I was going to be like every suburban kid in movies and on tv! As you can see adolescence had set in along with all the bells and whistles. />/>/>
In a few short months summer came and my few 'new' friends found out that I was not popular and dropped me. I spent as much time as I could hoping to find more of the new kids in my neighborhood and secure their friendship before they heard all about what the other kids thought of me. I figured that lots of them would come form different places and they would see all this for what it was and take my side. I was determined!
It did not take long for me to make some friends and most of them were boys and we did lots of fun things in the beginning of that summer. All of it innocent and fun. Then it started. Slowly. One boy grabbed my bottom and snickered. Then the next. They would harass me and then laugh it off. They would tell me I was being sensitive or that it was no big deal if I got angry. At first it wasn't that bad.
Then they started grabbing my breasts quickly to see if they could get away with it. They called it getting a "squeezie". I get sick thinking about that now. It escalated quickly into one boy holding my arms while another one fondled me or lifted my shirt. They would take turns. I would fight, kick but not cry. I wanted to be tough. I was going to make them stop by standing up for myself. These were my friends. Right? Its a game?
It was confusing and I hated it. I started trying to avoid them but they would lure me out with things like stealing my bicycle or saying things to get me to react and stop to be near them. I do not know why but I kept falling for it. Everytime. I never told my parents what was really going on, just that I hated the kids and they hated me. I wanted to go back to my old town. They chalked it up to regular 'new kid' stuff and tried to be supportive.
These boys started to come in bigger 'gangs' and if they caught me or got into my house(they figured out that I was home alone because my parents worked) they would attack me chase me, threaten my pets. They would try to hold me down and get my clothes off and take turns groping and touching me. They would try to get fingers inside me, sometimes they did. They would "make deals" where they would leave my house, leave me alone or give me something back if I would 'let' them do things for '10 seconds' or a minute. I always fought and I often hurt them back. The roster of neighborhood boys would change depending on who was 'out' that day but there seemed to be 2 leaders.
One time they told me that they would 'leave me alone and go' if I would have sex with one of them. He was a younger boy. The 'virgin' and I went into a room and tried to, even though we had no idea what to do, I think that there was actual penetration for about 30 seconds. We were both bullied into that room, we were scared. It was awful. That boy became so mean to me and told so many lies about me to protect himself, because in that room I told him we could lie. We could not do it. We should tell. I know he was scared but he just did it anyway. I couldn't leave that room and have them go away unless he told them I did it and so I did. We were both 11 years old. The boys on the other side of the door were aged 11-14. I'm glad there was a door, but I think the kid would have been too embarrassed if their wasn't. I had no say in this.
I noticed that all the girls I met very quickly would stop doing things with me and that I got a strange reaction from their parents sometimes. As an adult I found out that a neighbors parent lied about me, because of their son (the young kid). More isolation.
They spread lies about me and I was called a 'slut' and a 'whore'. I stopped leaving the house. I hated myself.
If they caught up with me at anytime, often I was only groped or partially stripped and held down but sometimes they would try to have sex with me or put their fingers inside me. They were so young that mostly this failed but it did happen. I don't know how many times. I still can't remember all of it. This went on until well into the next school year. For some reason I was still nice to these boys even though I was scared of them. I think because nobody else liked me at all. The girls in school were threatening me again and nobody but those boys spoke to me. Sometimes, very rarely it was as if we were all still just friends playing in the summer.
I tried to make a 'boyfriend' out of one of them so I could protect myself and it worked to some degree. I had my first kiss with that boy. He stopped the other boys from touching me. He was sweet and nice and mostly it was like any silly childhood relationship but he was a little aggressive about sex for a 12 year old. He tried to have sex with me once but he was too young to know what to do. He ended up humping my leg like a dog until he came. I 'broke up' with him the next day. I had what I needed. I plotted my revenge to tell every person who called me a slut that this boy, (lets call him Billy)had a tiny penis and he humped my leg. I thought it was a brilliant move on my part. I took control of it all. I made a fool of him! Sure, I was a slut. I was more sexually mature than everyone and I knew for a fact that Billy had a tiny penis and didn't know how to use it. I humiliated him and I felt a million times better. Kid logic. It works, at the time.
I then did my best to act older and more mature to get some older 'boyfriends' that would further protect me. I met a really sweet shy boy in the grade above me, that all these neighborhood boys called a 'geek' and had a normal, innocent relationship. Kip. We will call him Kip. Kip and I would talk on the phone until all hours. I loved him because he was my savior and he was not ever going to hurt me. We kissed a little and I could never even try to do more than that. He knew the things the other boys said about me but didn't believe it and never pressured me at all. At the time I never told him why, I didn't know myself yet. For that time I got to be a regular kid again. Things were already set in motion that I am still untangling. A duality that I struggle with even now over 25 years later.
The other boys continued to act like jackasses with their jeering and horrible comments but they didn't touch me anymore. Billy and the other 'leader' Al (we will call that one Al) asked me to talk to them one day. Al was the oldest of the group of boys. He was 13 almost 14 at this time. I was scared to do it but Kip was in class with Al and he asked Kip to ask me if I would talk to them, alone. Heh. Sounds so much like Junior High School.
Anyway, I made Kip promise that he would be right outside and that if I didn't come out to come get me. He had no idea of the extent to which these boys had hurt me but I know he knew something wasn't right. He liked Al.He didn't understand what I was afraid of. So we went to Billy's house. Kip stayed outside and timed us. Billy and Al told me that they knew why I was ruining Billy's reputation. They agreed that they deserved it if not more for what they did to me. They admitted to lying about me but it was silly since all of us in that room already knew they were lying. I was pretty cold about the whole thing until Al laughed and he said "You got him (Billy) good and I'm next. I know it. I'm sorry and I like Kip, hes my friend and I hope you both really love each other. If you tell him, I deserve it if he hates me." (This is a paraphrase, some of the words are right but I'm not sure exactly how it went) Then Al went outside with Kip to tell him to give us another couple minutes. I was watching the clock.
Billy started crying. He begged me to stop spreading the story and he told me how much he really liked me and still wanted to be friends. You can't imagine how confusing this was at the time. I was angry, but I had brought this kid to tears. I caved. Wasn't all of this just normal kid stuff. Yeah. It must be.
I got close to Billy and his family. Billy and his family were there for me in some of the hardest times of my life. I blocked what happened out of my mind. Billy became like my big brother, my protector. I was his confidant, relationship counselor and tutor. His family was like my own sometimes. We had a close friendship for many many years afterward. I still cannot reconcile this inside myself. Nothing makes it okay. We were all kids. I torture myself over this. How could I get close to someone who was part of that? I hate them all so much. Was he just keeping me close to keep me from telling? To see if my memory ever came back? I don't know.
After this stage in my life things went very wrong. This is chapter one and all I can do right now.
A 9 year old cannot be a slut.
A 12 year old is not a whore.
I was raped, molested, groped and humiliated more times than I think I will ever be able to remember.
I thought it was normal.
I am still jumpy.
I can't be confined.
I only started being able to be held for a length of time 4 years ago.
I have spun wildly from dangerous sexual situations, need to control to helpless and unable to be intimate all of my life. I have only had some control a little at a time over the last 10 years, more specifically the last 4.
This was only the beginning. This is going to take a long time.
The recent news has a picture of that poor girl being held by the arms and legs. I can't describe how terrified it makes me feel. I can hear those boys hollering and laughing in my head.
I need a break now.