Survivors Can Thrive!

*********TRIGGER WARNING: USE EXTREME CAUTION ON THE FOLLOWING!********

I just couldn't believe the hurt I felt. Most of the hurt felt like it was coming from my mother, more than my father. The feelings finally came when I decided to take what Dr. Ross had said more seriously. He had said two very important things: He had referred to me as a "seductress." He also said that, as a child, I was in an impossible bind.

Be careful. Major triggers ahead! This will be more triggering than what I've said so far. And there's lots of swearing, sorry. I've got to stay in my anger here or I won't be able to do this. Use extreme caution!

When I allowed myself to truly look at the truth buried in these two statements, and get in touch with how I felt about it, I realized so many things I have been dealing with for my entire life. The first--and biggest thing--I had to admit was the truth of the rapes. I have only retrieved and begun to process one complete memory of my father raping me. I denied this fact for years. It was hard enough to remember the numerous acts of oral abuse. Rape just wasn't something I could wrap my brain around or face and feel.

After I couldn't deny it anymore, I minimized it. I convinced myself that maybe, somehow, it was a mistake. And then, I told myself, it probably only happened once.

You see, the memory I've retrieved is mostly an auditory and body memory. I can feel my mother holding my arms down. I can hear her saying some bullshit about how, if I didn't stop squirming, I could get hurt. I can feel my father rubbing himself between my legs. Then, what I can remember hearing is, "You idiot! She's bleeding!" I have some theories, but I don't know what happened next. I think what happened next may be related to the fact that my childhood pediatrician's office claims my medical records went "missing."

So, I had the memory of my mother holding my arms down while my father raped me, but I had minimized that as possibly being a "mistake" (he was "only" rubbing himself between my legs at first, after all) and then I started bleeding and, of course, it must have only happened the one time, right?

But, see there's been this partial memory hanging for a long time: I wake up to the sounds of my sister begging and sobbing. I look over to see her tied up with the bed sheet. I can see the tiny pink flowers of her sheet. That's what I focused on. I couldn't remember the rest.

My sister ended up being the one who first retrieved the rest. She was being routinely sodomized by our father. It was very painful for her. One night--this night--she can't take the pain any longer. She begins to sob into her pillow. She can't remain quiet. Our father hears her and becomes annoyed, then enraged. She's such a pain in the ass with her sniveling and now he can't finish. He ties her up. He hog-ties her with her own top sheet off her bed. He tells her that if she moves--the way he has the sheet tied around her neck--she will strangle herself and it will be her own damn fault. He tells her she must watch what is going to happen next or he will kill her.

What happens next is that he goes over to my bed. He rolls me over ever so gently. I guess, up until this time, I'm pretending to still be asleep. I'm now on my back and I glance over to see my sister tied up. My father is talking very soothing, quiet and sweetly to me. He says I'm a good girl and I love my Daddy, don't I? I nod my head and smile weakly. He rapes me vaginally. (I am never sodomized and my sister is never raped. He has specialties for us both and he doesn't mix them.) While he's raping me, he keeps looking over at my hog-tied sister. He keeps saying sweet things to me and making sure my sister gets the message. "This is how you love your Daddy," says the monster psycho creep. "I love her. She's a good girl."

Holy crap! I didn't remember that bastard ever telling me he loved me. He never told me I was a good girl or did anything right! This is the only time he tells me--while he's raping me???!!!!!

Shit! This is it! This is the mystery solved! I was the one. I was the one who was the goober reject twin. I was convinced my sister was the preferred twin. I was the extra copy who could so easily be thrown away. I had to be careful the monster didn't kill me. He would become so enraged if he found me hiding. He'd pull me out from under my bed by my ankles. He'd yank me out of the closet by my hair. He would yell, "You're going to learn to take your turn! You're going to learn to like it!" It would be so easy for him to throw me--the pain in the ass and "piece of shit" trash--away on the garbage heap because I was just a throw-away extra copy. Even if he killed me and threw me away he'd still have my sister. He'd still have his beloved, preferred twin anyway.

Then, recently, my sister told me she thought I was the preferred twin!! What???!!! What the hell was she talking about???!! What is this crazy bullshit??!! Was she just parroting back what I had said? How could this possibly be? This is crazy! This doesn't make any sense!

I was the ugly, goober twin, after all. I was the reject, the social zero that nobody liked. I was the one who got to be mortified at school hearing things like, "Don't tell Marj where we're going. We don't want her to come with." My sister never went through that. That was me. They wanted to be friends with her. My sister always had lots of friends. She always had lots of boyfriends, too. I was the one who sat home while she went to the prom. It certainly wasn't the other way around. What the hell could she possibly be talking about?!

Oh, Jesus! This is it! She thought I was preferred because he raped me?! How twisted! Little did she know, that, even though he said those sweet things to me while he raped me, I was still convinced that I was the bad one. Why? How did this happen? How did I come to this conclusion?

It's my mother. My shaming, evil mother is the missing piece. I didn't get it. I didn't piece it together until Dr. Ross used that word. That word, "seductress." At first, I just dismissed it. What the hell did he know? What was he talking about, anyway? I was a tiny girl under the age of eight!!! I couldn't seduce anybody. WTF??!!

But that's how it went down, isn't it? Shit! This is excruciating! I can't believe I didn't piece this together before! Yes! This makes total sense now. If my sister was going to be sodomized and she couldn't handle it, then he'd come over to my bed anyway. So he can get his damn rocks off and finish!

After my sister had written this account in her book, I asked her, "Did it look like I was in a lot of pain?" I asked her, "Did he finish? Was he satisfied?" No, it didn't look like--at that time anyway--I was in a lot of pain. Aaahhh! It happened more than once! It was routine, at least for a while! Apparently, I got used to it, eventually at least. And yes, after all the time he spent hurting my sister, he finally was satisfied with me. He finished. Things calmed down. Nobody ended up being killed. He finishes with me, then goes over to my sister and unties her. We are both allowed to go back to sleep. How do two little girls ever sleep after that???!!!! But, that's the crap we had to endure to ever be left alone and get any sleep and try to live our lives.

Shit! It just hurts too bad! Those poor tortured little girls! No wonder I forgot it all. It just hurts too bad! And I haven't even got to the part (the beloved feelings) about the shameful, evil, twisted part my mother played in this--in me being the "seductress."

Breathe. I've got to keep breathing. I keep taking breaks to calm and comfort myself. But, this is so hard. I just want to quit this bullshit and binge on chocolate and go back to bed.

So, okay. Even though satisfying my father would set me up for the double bind of feeling guilty being the "seductress," and my sister would come to be jealous of me and hate me for being the "preferred" twin who didn't have to endure as much physical pain, we are allowed to "get it over with" and get some sleep.

But, then there's the next missing piece: my mother. Okay, first of all I have to tell you that my mother is the type of "good Christian" woman who believes the only type of sex that is okay is between a married man and woman who are trying to have children. And it must be done in the "missionary position," of course. I know with utmost certainty that my mother never had anal or oral sex with my father. Ever. Period. So, I can ascertain that when my father was doing those types of nasty things to his daughters, she was okay with it. It got her off the hook, right?

I'm not just guessing at these things, I have "sex talks" with my mother to back up my theory. And I'm not talking about getting motherly advice here. My mother sought advice from me! Pretty twisted, but true. You see, when I was in college, my mother remarried. She was horrified to find out that, after the nuptials, this man wanted to have sex with her. She was appalled. She said she didn't want to touch "it." She said she was appalled that he wanted her to put her mouth on it! Ah! A fate worse than death! Needless to say, their marriage did not last long.

I have had another vague memory for a long time. The visual details are sketchy at best. I am lying on the little bath rug on the bathroom floor. My mother is doing something to me "down there." I have remembered the excruciating details of the auditory part of this memory for a long time. My mother is telling me that I am a bad, dirty, evil girl and I need to be cleansed. Then she goes on to give me her version of what I'll have to do in order to gain God's forgiveness and not burn in hell forever.

After I finally put this together that, eventually, my father is raping me on a regular basis, I put this memory detail into the whole, huge, horrid puzzle as well. I don't know why I never wondered before. My sister and I have always remembered the routine. Before bed, we would "assume the position." We would jump up on our twin beds with our legs in the air. My mother would smear Vaseline on us. We've both asked her about this as adults and got lies. We were not being diapered. We were no longer in our cribs. We were girls, not babies.

This was hard enough to deal with. The bathroom incident is even harder. Why were we in there alone? Why did she say those things to me? What was she doing to me? (I don't want to remember. I'm not gonna go there.)

The point is that, after the rapes, my mother saw me differently. I am absolutely sure that I, indeed, became the "seductress" in her mind. I became the competition.

This, also, is not something I'm grasping at out of the blue. My mother has known about my father molesting girls at his high school pretty much forever. She was always open about this. She always referred to those "incidents" as "affairs." She called them "affairs!" She referred to it as my father's "philandering." Those were minors! They were being molested! I didn't think much of it when my parents first got divorced and my mother raged about this. To me--only eight or nine years old--those girls were like adults. I didn't think anything about my mother's choice of words. But it's obvious to me now: My mother blamed those girls. She saw them as seducing sluts having affairs with her husband!

And, guess what? She saw me the same way! That's why I was the bad, dirty, evil girl who had to be cleansed. I had seduced her husband! I had taken her husband away from her! No wonder she hated me so much!

******************************Trigger Warning End**********************************

So, I was convinced I was bad...and my own mother confirmed it.

This also explains why my sister and I have such differing memories and feelings about becoming Christians. My sister remembers it as a warm, wonderful time of her life. I could never figure out why this wasn't the case for me. In my case, I saw becoming a Christian and getting the baptismal dunk as frightening (I was nearly drown in the bathtub many times), but a necessary step to take. I had to be cleansed. This was my only hope for salvation.

This explains everything. God, what a bind I was in! After I had this realization--this final piecing together of all the parts of the twisted puzzle--I kept finding myself saying out loud: Oh! That's why! No wonder! That's why I did this and that's why I did that. No wonder I felt like this. No wonder I always thought that.

And I perpetuated my own bind. I've always been afraid of being thin and beautiful. I thought it was because I didn't want the extra attention from men. I've always thought this was the threat and the danger. Maybe it was part of it. What I really think I couldn't handle was having more women hating me, like my mother. I never wanted to be a threat to any woman, like my mother saw me. Another "aha!" and "Oh that's why" moment.

And then, the feelings came. Huge waves of feelings, that had been stuck and denied for decades, came crashing down on me. By the next morning, I was trying to get ready to go into the outpatient trauma facility and I was in pain. I was hurting so bad, in physical pain.

I decided it would be helpful for my healing to be assertive and ask for what I needed there in Dallas. I decided to go into the program early that day. I caught the facilitator as she entered the building. I told her I was hurting so bad and needed to ask the group for support. I decided that this could be powerful for me. The group was 99.9% women. I could come right out and ask--did these women see me as a threat? Could I ask them for what I needed to hear? I wanted to ask them to tell me that it wasn't my fault. I didn't deserve it. I'm not a bad person.

I started to form my request. I started to reveal my huge realization and how it lead to all these never-felt-before feelings. I had to choose my words carefully. They have a strict rule there about not going into any graphic abuse details. I was going to say simply, "My father only did certain 'things' to me and other certain 'things' to my sister." But, I guess this wasn't good enough. The facilitator stopped me. She completely shut me down. I guess she didn't trust that I was going to stay vague.

I got very upset. I felt very invalidated and shut down. I expressed my feelings and how hard it was for me. I told them my request and how much it meant to me to hear the words I needed to hear. I at least got that part out. The rest of the group got angry. They said they wanted to hear what I had to share. They suggested the facilitator leave the room (this couldn't happen, of course, and I understood that).

Guess what ended up happening? In the meantime, another woman in the group started to sob. She could relate to how I felt and it was upsetting for her, too. She had been through some similar CSA to mine.

Do you know--can you even guess--what happened next? The facilitator left me hanging like a bloody slab of meat. She totally switched over to the other woman who was sobbing. She left me high and dry and...gave the other woman exactly what I had asked for!! She pulled her chair in real close. She got a very compassionate look on her face and gave the other woman lots of eye contact. Then she said--almost word for word--what I had asked for that I needed: It wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve it. You're not a bad person! The other woman got what I had asked for and never received!

I was crushed! But, I pulled myself together and managed to have a pretty positive experience down there, overall. Now, I've lost my therapist here. I have nobody else to talk to about this but you guys. If you've stayed with it this far, my thanks are endless to you. You have no idea how much it means to me. Because, after what happened down there and after losing my therapist, I don't know what else to do. I've been stuck with this my whole life. I just can't be stuck with it anymore. It will kill me.

# posted by Marj aka Thriver @ Monday, November 06, 2006