There hasn't been a day that I don't remember. Not that I sit around and consciously think of what happened. But it is a part of my life. I very seldom think about the actual events anymore. It is more like an awareness that this happened to me. A fact. Just like eating and breathing, only not as pleasurable. It is what taught me pain, anger, shame, guilt, mistrust and fear. Even more-lessons in gratitude, love and strength. Though these lessons I did not learn until much later in life, certainly not while I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to be over. I could never pretend it wasn't happening. I could not remove myself from the reality of it. Maybe this is a good thing. Because if I had been able to escape reality then, would I have escaped reality forever? Now, I know that is not what I want, maybe I knew it then also.
How did it start? I don't know, I don't remember. I don't remember not knowing him as a part of our lives. I remember times when he wasn't around as much, and then times that he was around all too often. Somehow, he managed to gain my parents trust with me. They were very protective, very sheltering but not constricting. They didn't need to hold on to me because I never let myself go. I did not let myself lose control, or so I thought. Though sometimes I may have felt stifled and miserable, it wasn't because of what they did, it was because of what they didn't do. I didn't want them to know, and I wanted them to know.
Where do you start when you tell about this sort of thing? There is much to say about what happened. But even more to say about how it affected my life. Not just when it happened but the entirety of my life. It isn't something that happens and can be forgotten. It was a constant in my life, something regular and almost predictable. What happened? All of that has been heard so many times from so many victims and survivors (sad isn't it, that I feel so many people already know these sordid facts that I don't feel it necessary to spell out the actual events). I don't think most people, even the survivors, know the impact it has on every day living. I started to discover this in pieces, and when put together, I myself did not want to admit that I lost so much control of my life to this abuse. I would think the actual, physical crime against me would be enough, that that was my victimization. The harshest part of what he did to me. Not so. The crime didn't stop when the sexual abuse stopped. The victimization would go on. And in trying to keep control in my life I would become "control-less". There is so much more to me than the fact that I am a victim/survivor. I hate these words, "victim/survivor", it is not who I am. I have done more in my life than "be" abused, but often when someone finds out, that is what I am to them. I am a combination of all that has happened in my life, both good and bad. Like everyone else, the foundation of my character was laid piece by piece. And those pieces were constructed from the very best God has to offer, to the very worst that man has contrived.
There were times in my life that I am vividly aware of. Then there are the times that I struggle to remember what my life was like. I remember how I felt, the internal battles I waged. But I don't necessarily have an awareness of names and places and specifics. Not because I have blocked these events out of my life. But because I was not focused on my life. The daily struggle of going through the mundane specifics of living was often delegated to "automatic pilot". I did not give much thought to the basics of living and therefor did not register, often times, the events of my life. So while I operated on automatic I dealt with the feelings I was not prepared to deal with, as no one should ever be. Child or adult, this is not a test you can prepare for but spend an entire life learning from.
My story is my own. I speak for no other. I will start at a time when I was very conscious of the battles, very aware of my feelings, and am still learning from.
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