June 15, 2006

 

Blog Carnival Child Sexual Abuse Survivor Story--Mine

I got the finalization instructions for posting our blog Carnival Against Child Abuse from Blog Carnival today. I'm going to be able to put in a new permalink for all the carnival links, so now I feel free to put up some other, newer posts. We're going to have at least 20 posts up for the first edition of our Carnival Against Child Abuse on Monday. I noticed as I was going through the submissions, however, that we only had a couple of survivor stories, while we have seven or eight each for "Healing & Therapy" and "Advocacy and Awareness." Yay for us; we're healing and raising awareness! Very important achievements.

I know it's hard to share the details of your personal survivor story. I'm finding it difficult myself, so I believe I will just share a couple of abuse accounts that I already have up on my dot com website,
www.survivorscanthrive.com.

Please be careful! **TRIGGER WARNING for the FOLLOWING**

If you have DID, or some other type of dissociative disorder as I do (or PTSD), I recommend you read these accounts only while under the guidance of a trained mental health professional.

The Pink Towel

My twin sister and I had just finished taking our bedtime baths. I'm sitting on my bed, carefully smoothing down the pink towel that will protect my pillow from my wet hair during the night. But, there is no one to protect me from the night's inevitable sexual abuse.

I turn to see who has just entered the room. It's my father and he's already unzipped his trousers. He grabs me by the shoulders, turning me toward him and guiding my mouth over his penis. As my father begins to thrust, I close my eyes and my body vanishes. Only my ears remain; they are calmly listening to my sister and mother continuing the bedtime routine in the bathroom just across the hall. Mommy turns on the water in the bathroom sink. Sister brushes her teeth.

By the time my twin spits out the toothpaste, our father is finished. It has been quiet and "uneventful," this routine act of bedtime oral abuse. Tonight I have complied quietly and Daddy is happy. Only a small drop of semen has escaped from my mouth. My father smiles and wipes the little trickle from my cheek. He offers me his finger and I automatically, dutifully, lick it clean. It takes just a moment more for Daddy to slip the towel from my pillow, wipe himself off, zip up his pants and exit the room.

A split second later, my mother glides into the room like June Cleaver. Her cheerful, sing-song voice jolts me out of my dissociated stupor. "What did you do with your towel?" Mommy chides. She doesn't wait for an answer. "C'mon, hurry up and brush your teeth for bed." Unfortunately, my mother follows me into the bathroom. I brush my teeth with a sharp eye on the white porcelain of the sink. I hope I that I can be quick if I spit out a dark, curly hair, so I can flush it down the sink before Mommy sees.

"Please," I pray inside my head. "Don't let Mommy find out what I did with Daddy tonight. Please, God, don't let Mommy tell me what a bad, dirty, evil girl I am."

Copyright 2005 by Marj McCabe. All Rights Reserved.

A Fear of Plastic Shower Curtains

"I'm cold, Daddy," I whine. I'm standing, naked, on the little throw rug in the middle of the bathroom floor. "Come on in, then," says the voice behind the shower curtain. "The water's warm," my father informs.

I hate being cold. Cold equals fear. Showers mean fear, too. What should I do? I dread having to join my father in the shower, but I know I must delay no longer. If I don't hurry, Daddy will get mad, or at least jump out of the shower and twist my cold, hard little nipples.

I move forward and gingerly pull back the shower curtain as if it's made out of rotting flesh. As I step into the tub, my eyes dart around. Everything in here scares me: the smell of the plastic shower curtain liner; the feel of the cold, hard porcelain bathtub and metal plumbing fixtures; and most of all, the sight of my naked father, with his dripping wet penis and icky, matted pubic hair. I know he wants oral sex; I especially hate it in the shower. Daddy always stays right under the shower head. Between the water in my nose and his penis in my mouth, I'm always afraid I'm going to smother.

As soon as Daddy directs my head under the coursing water and toward his privates, I start to flail. My hair gets wet immediately, streaming into my eyes. Daddy pulls too hard and my nose plunges into the wet, sticky mass of hair around his penis. I start to panic and blindly grab for support to ensure my footing and help me get away. Even in my terror, I can remember how painful it can be to hit my head, arm or knee on the faucet, so I stay clear of that obstacle. But, the tub is slick and I'm going down. I remember this pain as well--red, stinging knees battered against the tub. I grope for the shower curtain to pull myself back up to standing. I hear a couple of the curtain's fasteners snap and fly off.

Up to this point, I've no idea what my father's reaction is to my panic. He has probably been simply regarding me with mild amusement. He is often amused by my terror. This time--I guess it is because I've damaged the shower curtain--Daddy is enraged. He grabs me by the throat and pulls me up to his face. His eyes are hot and bulging. "You think that's going to save you?" he demands. "You think this is safe, do you?" He drops me back down to the porcelain and snatches a handful of plastic curtain.

Daddy yanks me up by the throat again and thrusts my little body between the waterproof curtain liner and the outside fabric of the shower curtain. He takes a hand and pushes the plastic against my face. The water provides a seal and the waterproof fabric stays in place. I don't dare attempt to remove it. "There. How do you like that?" my father goads. He gathers the air-tight material close around my neck for further effect.

I do not respond or react in any way to his question; I don't even hear him anymore. Through the translucent fabric, my eyes fix on the bathroom window. A voice in my mind tells me, "Go to the light." And I am gone.

Copyright 2005 by Marj McCabe. All Rights Reserved.





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Comments:
I'm so sorry. I know how much this hurts. ((hug)) You a brave women and were a brave little girl. God Bless you.
 
God bless you too, Wanda. Thanks for being the first to look at my personal survivor story and comment here. I know it's not easy stuff to read. Thanks for the hug, too!
 
Amazing what some fathers think they have a right to do to children. I am so glad you survived and I am so glad you are thriving now!
 
Thank you, April! Some days I feel I'm thriving better than others, but I'm definitely NOT a victim anymore! Uh Huh!
 
Marj you are an incredible person. Thank you for giving of yourself to lift my spirit higher...
 
I am a twin too. I did not tell my twin what was going on until I was much older. It started at age three. I thank God for my sister as I do not think I could have survived without her. Even now in my 50's it is her I turn to with my feelings. People who think that children will forget about what happened to them are not living in the real world. My advise is to get your child help no matter what the cost. They may survive but the scares are always there. S
 
hello, i really don't know how to start this, well my sister is 10 years younger than me and she is 31 now. she just told me that our brother had molested her when she was 5 till she was 10. i want to confront him so badly but she made me promise not to tell anyone. she thinks that this will just go away. tell me how she can see him and smile and act like nothing happened? i have so much rage that i'm scared of myself.
 
anette: thanks for visiting and leaving your comment. I understand your rage, confusion and concern for your sister. I'm no expert, but I've worked with some for years. Perhaps, since your sister's abuse went on for so long and started at such an early age, she has PTSD or is dissociating and that's how she can put on a happy front. She may also see your brother as a victim himself. It's very sticky when the perpetrator is also a child. I can tell you this: both of you may desire therapy to talk this out, but your sister won't be able to deal with abuse memories until she is ready, as painful as waiting is.
 
It is hard to believe that the world has such people, the world no child should go through something like this is going to bring in big trouble when he grows up mental disorders, including strange sexual disorders and not just for the kids, I congratulate you for being a survivor and have the strength to share your story hopefully people read this to stop once and for all the violence of all types in children
 
Imitrex: Thank you for leaving your comment and for your hopes for a better world for our children.
 
I think we should pay more attention to these people who harm our children because they are not to blame for anything that happens in this world
 
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