like a faucet.

I was just spouting off yesterday.  I need to do it occasionally, so the damn doesn't burst, etc., but I feel better today.  Well, okay, anyway.  J is at my parents' house and that helps, but mostly I just want to finish having to slice deep into my gut and reveal the black memories that dwell therein to my therapist in order for him to add it all up, all the pieces that will help him best determine what kind of pills I can pop that will bandage up the wound I had to slice open in order for him to make that determination and OY.  Well, alright, to be fair, because I'd already sliced it open when we moved, but it was a messy, imprecise cut, less cut and more rend, and this latest one was medically administered with a sterile knife, but after I leave a session of pulling out spaghetti intestines and the blood has spilled anew and I have to somehow shove it all quickly back in and run through the gray rain to my gray car on the gray road and keep it sealed for a week, for another session of poring over the grisly, tar-coated innards, well, I'm not entirely capable of keeping things sealed properly.  I was always that kid who picked at the scabs, pick pick pick, and yesterday, I had not allowed the bandage to adhere cleanly to the wide-openness directly beneath its immaculate surface, I had to peek along the edge.  Just to see, you know, whether it was still there or whatever, and then - hey!  Oh!  Right!  I was raped in high school, and also molested in the eighth grade, which, while I don't count it as my first kiss, it technically was, and then there was Alaska, and god.  I shiver over sharing these things, these scary details, because who wants to see the wreckage?  People want to read blogs to laugh, even at the goriest of news items, we want to see them and shiver darkly and then get a good punch line to lighten the load, and I have no punchline.  Instead, I'm angry, I'm pissed, PISSED at those FUCKERS who have made things so much goddamn harder for me, this life that is already not a simple trot through each day, even for those who have been lucky enough to escape molestation on any level (of whom I am convinced there are but few).  So, I'm angry.  And I share because - you wanna know why?  Because there shouldn't be a ban on talking about having been taken advantage of.  I was stripped of my power in those moments, and -- here's a funny (although not punchline-y, sorry) thing:  when I was a stripper, throughout the entire experience, I recall hearing people say things like, Oh, you know, women who are in the adult entertainment industry have all been molested or raped at some point.  And I was always like, huh.  Well, that makes me an anomaly, doesn't it.  Since I'd somehow managed to completely forget that I was molested *and* raped before I finished high school.  You know why?  I'm gonna tell you that, too!  Because I didn't relate to the textbook definition of molestation or rape.  I thought about those precise, defined specifics, and compared my versions to those, and went, oh, nope!  None a' that here!  And when I shared the stories brokenly to my friends, their blank looks and non-responses or the occasional "Oh." brought me up short, made me think I was over-sharing and frightening people and I should probably just stop telling those stories that frightened people and made them not want to hang out with me.  Shame on me for having told anyone, was all I could feel and think. 

Isn't that all terribly funny?  Funny-weird, I mean.  I know it's not funny.  I don't feel like laughing.  Rather, I feel -- like I don't want to have a daughter.  Because I'll be compelled to tell her what I went through, and though in a perfect, best-case scenario, my explanation is clear and clean and her reception is solid and logical, and she learns from my stories and is careful about where she goes and what she does, but -- dude.  The guys who molested me in the eighth grade?  Were in the middle of a party of kids who were not drunk or stoned or high on anything other than their own selfish agendas and thought the whole thing was funny anyway.  So do I ban my future daughter from attending social functions altogether?  Well, no, but I would hope she would know to push someone away and call attention loudly and clearly to the inappropriate behavior, strong enough and confident enough to know that the molester should be humiliated to attempt such a thing in the midst of a fucking party.

But would she be successful, even then?  What if it didn't matter - what if she were molested anyway? 

How could I live with myself, having not prevented such a thing, and having allowed this precious charge of mine to experience something that has fucked me up like a rake in a hurricane?

Ah.  This is all such a THING, this mess.

SEE why we have to talk about it?  The more it's out there, the more stories we share about our losses of power at different but still important moments in our lives, the more "textbook" definitions there will be available for people to learn from, to see as mirrors or useful comparisons, to watch out for as roadsigns, to draw strength from, to recognize their own experiences as having been something more than a private, shame-filled thing to closet and keep buried.

Let's talk about it.  Talk about it here.  Please.  Don't give it any more power, not just over yourself, but over the future would-be molesters.  Let's use our old pain as a weapon for our kids.

If you don't want to identify yourself, you don't have to.  Be anonymous.  Or email me your story and I'll post it sans name.

This is one way to keep our kids safe.  You see, I'm aware that this could happen to my son, too, whether I ever have a daughter.  I don't want it for him, either.

Comments

[Nancy]

I've never written this before, anywhere out loud beyond the private pages of my handwritten journal.

But it was like a light clicked on in my head just now with what you wrote. You're right -- how can I give this episode, this past thing, the power it has over me? By keeping it quiet, that's what I'm doing.

A man tried to rape me when I was 16. A man who pretended he was 21 when he was actually 26.

What haunts me now is that he was preying on the two of us he knew who looked like we were 12, 13 years old developmentally. That he was in a position of influence with other young girls.

I'm still not brave enough to link to my blog, but you know how to find me.

Thanks for this opportunity. ((hugs))

[Anonymous now but maybe not later]

I stayed with The Girl Beater for four miserable years. I finally was able to admit that he raped me (oh wow that looks scary in black and white but it's really not anymore) even though at the time I thought he couldn't have raped me since we were in a relationship at the time and raping is something that happens in dark alleys with scary mean strangers. And then with that admission I began healing. Huh.

[Anonymous]

When I was 13, I had consensual sex with my boyfriend at the time. He was 18. I thought I was in love, but I was a child. I was just a baby. Twenty years later, I have just recently begun to feel angry about how he took advantage of my youth and my heart. I only feel this anger because now I have kids and I realize just how young 13 is, no matter how "mature" you are. I also get angry about how my parents sort of looked the other way when it happened.

How did they know? Because when I was actually date raped by a good friend that same year they really wanted to know that it wasn't my *first* sexual encounter. And somehow, that made them feel better.

[MammaLoves]

There was a popular boy in high school. And he had a girlfriend. But he offered me a ride home, but he stopped in a parking lot first. And I let him kiss me. But it went too far. I tried to stop him--sort of--but I felt like I brought it on myself because I knew he had a girlfriend and I got in the car. I wanted him to like me.

So I just laid back and pretended it wasn't happening.

It took years for me to recognize it for what it was. And yet, it's still so difficult to write the word.

I just wanted him to like me so much. I'm almost more pissed at myself and the situation that put me in that mindset.

Deb--you're brave to share and you're right to get it out.

[slouching mom]

Well, I blogged about this, but I've spent years thinking what happened to me at a college party was nothing much -- a guy in my dorm came up behind (a fairly drunk) me, and I was wearing a skirt, and he stuck his finger up me.

According to a definition I recently read, that qualifies as assault. I was surprised as hell.

Mostly because I spent years blaming myself for not reacting, because I was basically frozen with terror and never called him on the disgusting thing that he did, not at that moment, and not later.

[Mrs. Chicky]

Oh, babe. You've been through some sh*t in your life. Not fair.

History does not always repeat itself. Just because it happened to you does not mean it will happen to any future offspring of yours. Remember that, 'cause we should be pregnancy buddies. ;)

Take care of you, hon.

[motherbumper]

I'll be back later... I just got to sort it out. You deserve something wonderful for making this outlet. God I love you girl.

[Cory]

I've been reading your blog for awhile now, I don't have a blog of my own. I know...... I really know what you are feeling. My grandfather molested me when I was 5. I did not remember this encounter until I was in my late teens. My mother and I were watching a show about rape. She asked me if my grandfather ever touched me. I just blankly stared as the memories started to hit me at that moment. She said she thought so and we were never around him alone after that night when I was 5. The memories, it all came at once.....flooding my brain with too many details, way too many details to deal with in such a rush. Until that moment, I never realized I was molested. How could I forget. How could I not remember? I think your brain works that way, only allows you to know what you are capable of handling.

Oh, I understand....I understand all too clearly now how it can control your whole life, your whole being. Mess up so many relationships leaving you wondering why it just doesn't come as easy to you as others. I have a son who is 4 and a daughter who is 2. I hope I can protect them enough. I couldn't predict what I would do if I ever found out either of my children were violated like that. I just couldn't. Talk, Talk, Talk. The more I talked about it, the more it became the past. I'm 40 now so it has been many years since these memories came back. I use to cry so much over this, I haven't shed any tears writing this. You can get through this, you can.

[anonymous]

my mother was molested by her biological father from the age of 6mos to 12 yrs old. this has profoundly impacted not only her own life, but my life as well - in more ways than I have words to express here.

as for me, i often wonder: can a child be molested by another child? If so, I've been molested several times by cousins and a neighbor. they were children - usually not much older than me, but they still pressured me to do things that made me uncomfortable and I was unable to stand up for myself. now, I think back and realize that they must have been molested by an adult at some point to have acted that way.

It's a scary world out there. I think all this stuff is way more common than we realize so it's good to talk about it.

[Anonymous]

My mother in law was molested by her father from 8 years of age until she was 26. 26????? Hello? And here's the thing: she was married at 19 and had her 3rd child by 26. Hello??? Worst yet, she still hangs out with her parents and all her sisters fawn over this man and sit on his lap and baby him. He's 83 now. It makes me puke. He completely mind-fucked them and I think she's batshit crazy. They want to spend holidays with us and with my little girl and I say "NOPE."

My best friend was raped in high school. My sister was raped. My other best friend in high school was molested by her father. My sister in law was raped at 5 by a babysitter. Another friend was raped by a guy taking her home from a party.

I sometimes think that not having had this happen, *I* am the anomaly. It's a fucked up world.

I'm so proud of you for bringing this out. So proud.

[anne nahm]

I once told a therapist I was scared to let anything out to look at - it is like being gutted and seeing yourself spill out in some horrific and unfamiliar way.

The therapist said to me, "imagine you are a bottle of wine. All these years, you have known how to keep your cork in. You will not forget how to do that if you need to. See this 'opening up' as a cork that you can put back in at your will, so that what is inside you can breathe."

Sometimes someone can rephrase something 100 times before it hits you right. What this therapist said made me feel more in control than I had before, with my guts all spilling out.

Take care. I am glad you are feeling better today.

[Anonymous this time]

I got date raped. We had had a relationship in the past but were long broken up. He came over to my parents house when they weren't home and I said no but not enough. So I couldn't think of that as rape for a long time because I should have done things differently. But now I am pissed off because getting raped by someone you know sucks just as much as by a stranger, because now you can't even trust people you DO know.

The thing that helped me was to learn to defend myself in an Impact class. You learn to kick serious ass, street fighting style. It was so empowering to learn to be strong and yell and fight back.

[Heather]

Debbie-
I'm so proud of you for writing this. I'm fortunate enough to say that nothing like this ever happened to me. A group of men tried to lure me and a friend into their car while we were outside playing (we were in elementary school). We started screaming, ran away and were fine. I shudder to think what could have happened though.

Love you, sweetie. Take care of yourself.

[Sandra]

I am not as brave as you. As courageous as you. I am not ready to form the words that you have shared. I am not strong enough to plug the damn once the flood starts. But I understand this on so many levels.

I think about the safety of my son. Every. Single. Day.

My step son was also raped by the father of one of his friends when he was supposed to be at his moms. I get physically ill and filled with rage just thinking about it.

I wish I knew the magic answer on how to protect my son. I have asked alot of folks. Read too much. And still don't have the answer.

But I am sending all my love to you my friend. Thank you for sharing this. Thank you.
xoxo

[dodo]

you do have a punchline. you are the punchline. you're awesome and brave and powerful.

[Mrs. Chicken]

my mother was raped, repeatedly, by her sister's husband beginning when she was 13 years old.

I found out by accident when I was 12. It was a secret I kept for many, many years, until my mother and I confronted it head on.

This man is still in our lives, and while I cannot understand it, my mother was the victim, not I, and so I have to respect this choice of hers. I, however, keep myself apart from him and at all costs protect my own daughter by not spending any time with him at all.

It is everywhere. And my knowing about it made me aware. And therefore, stronger in some ways, and yet weaker for knowing my mother was hurt so badly.

Thank you for saying these hard things. And for saying them so very, very beautifully.

[Gwen]

See the good you're doing, Deb? Telling your story so that others can feel okay about telling theirs?

I spent most of 7th grade being groped and prodded and grabbed in the halls and in art class by anonymous boys, but I figured that was just how heathen Americans were. I'll have to remember to warn my daughters about that, since I don't have Jesus telling me it's really just all okay.

[Mignon]

I left a comment with my story. It was really long, and I don't have the energy to do it again. Oh well. The writing of it was good enough.

[Andrea]

Me, too. After prom party at a friend's college boyfriend's house. I know, weird that they had an after prom party when they were in college, but they partied every weekend so it wasn't all that special anyway.

Too much underage drinking and then I needed to lay down with a trash can close to my head. I should have just worn a t-shirt that said "VULNERABLE, YOURS FOR THE TAKING!" The guy was a football star, one that couldn't be touched, and he helped me find a place to lay down under the pretense of making sure I'd be okay. To everyone else, their football hero was being "a good guy" taking on the duty of looking after that poor drunk high school girl.

I didn't say anything to anyone for a year. My mother cried but said they couldn't send me to therapy becuase it wasn't covered under insurance. I felt let down, betrayed all over again. My sister went looking for Football Hero, but she never found him. Years later, when I was up front with the man who would become my husband about what had happened to me at 16, he grilled me, as if the damage done was my fault. I nearly broke up with him then, until I asked him how he'd feel if it was his sister instead of me. He cried, apologized for his doubt, apologized for the football star, and assured me that he would make sure I was never violated again, and he has loved me and shown me respect and renewed my faith that it was one bad night, one bad moment, and in time, with his help, and therapy when I could afford it for myself, I've healed.

But I fear. Especially for my kids. I am really scared about this baby in my belly being a girl, but I know gender doesn't matter. I can only do my best to keep my kids safe and if, God forbid, something does happen to one of them, I can make sure we have the best, most kick-ass insurance ever to get them help. And I can love them no matter what so they know they aren't damaged. The molesters and rapists of the world are the damaged ones.

You're so right about talking taking away the power. I just don't have the courage to put this story out there on my site the way you do here. You are a brave soul, and I am in awe of you. I love you, Debbie. I do.

[mamatulip]

I am watching a friend go through hell right now because of the years of abuse that she suffered at the hands of an older male family member. And I say that she's going through hell "right now" but it's been years in the making. Years. And even though she has become much more vocal about her experience, her past, she is still ashamed.

We need to talk about this. We don't need to be ashamed. Thank you for this.

[Ruth Dynamite]

I'm so proud of you.

Let it out, girlfriend. Free yourself.

[kittenpie]

You know, Jenny from Mama drama just wrote about abuse and being molested recently, too, telling her own story and calling for others to start talking about it. Because the more light we shine on it, the less girls feel alone, the more people can heal, and maybe we can even make it so that some boys/men who might consider it not a big deal will hear the voices and realize that it is. It is a big deal. It's violence and assault. It's anger and hate. It's disgusting and it's a crime.

And good for you , db. Good for you for taking it on in your own life and healing and for taking it on in the blogosphere, encouraging others to add their voices. Hugs, lady.

[LawyerMama]

Debbie - I was assaulted in college. By a guy I trusted and that I thought was my friend. I'm still really uncomfortable if I'm left alone in a room with a man I don't know and sometimes even those I do know, but don't know well.

Good for you for speaking up. You're giving those memories and those people less power every time you do. You're amazing. Don't ever, EVER forget that.

[Lea]

Not molestation, but....

I was raped and beaten senseless by a just-sprung, crackhead freako who broke into my house and waited in the bedroom closet until I came home at 3 A.M. from a date.

That was late January 2000, but it's still with me, of course. I've tried to channel it a couple of ways. One: Because I survived the rape, I know I can do ANYTHING, survive ANYTHING. I am tough. That's powered me through more tough things: unmedicated childbirth, tough road races, crappy days in general. He's in prison. Meanwhile, my life is awesome.

Second, I'm not religious, but I've crafted my own peculiar definition of forgiveness. Not sure it would pass any of the official religious tests, and it definitely doesn't mean he's off the hook. (smile) But it has let me let go of most of those daydreams in which the tables are turned and I f&c* him up good with, say, my kitchen knives, or the fire poker. You know the type?

Like Nancy above, I don't want to link to my blog. I agree we should talk about it, and I always thought I'd write a lot about my experiences one day—maybe in an essay collection or something—but I recently realized I'm not sure I want my daughter ever to know. That will depend on her personality and other things...she's only three, so I've got years to figure it out.

Oh, and my date from that night is now my totally supportive husband, someone I can talk with about even the craziest shit. In lighter moments, he's like, "See, I told you you should have gone home with me that night, but you were trying to be all proper." And we can actually have a good laugh over the irony of all that.

Good luck as you continue piecing everything together. I understand your rage and sense of injustice. On the frustrating days, the memories come back, and you do get so pissed that you've had to bear so much. It's like, why do things have to be so hard? Why can't the path just be a little easier?

Like the blog a lot—I'll be back.

- L

[Afraid to share a name just yet]

Hi, I was searching for more information and found your post.

I was molested by my grandfather. It started when my older brother was in the hospital dying from leukemia so if I did show any signs they were all attributed to the chaos and loss in the family. I never told my family about the molestation but I started refusing to go to my grandparents' house when I was sixteen and it kind of dawned on me that my grandfather was fondling my breasts when he hugged me - right in front of the whole family! - and no one ever saw what was happening. I felt like if I couldn't be safe out in the open in front of everybody I couldn't be safe at all in any way.

That decade of abuse taught me bad things about boundaries and now at age 40 I'm struggling to learn what boundaries are and how to have them. The neighbor boy convinced me to give him oral sex when I was twelve and he was sixteen. I just went along with it like it was nothing. I grew up to be a stripper and then a prostitute. I was raped by a friend of a friend one night when I was drunk and passed out on my own couch. My roommate told me later that it wasn't really rape. The police told me not to bother reporting it because I worked in a strip bar so I wasn't credible.

I have a loving husband now and we've been together for nine years but I'm going through a lack of sexual interest. I don't want to have sex but I don't know how to tell him that or to say no so I bring out the 'whore skills' and make myself go through with it so I won't hurt him. It's all part of what I've been taught my whole life: that my body doesn't belong to me and that it's more important not to hurt or insult others by saying no than it is to protect myself from more hurt and more baggage. I don't know how to change. I don't even know if I can change at this age. I would be so happy to just never have sex again for the rest of my life.

Not a very positive story, I guess. But at least I'm taking the first steps toward understanding and toward speaking out. Who knows where it will go from here.