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A key word that you will see:

Fragmentation: a mental process where a person becomes intensely emotionally focused on one aspect of themselves, such as “I am angry” or “no one loves me,” to the point where all thoughts, feelings and behavior demonstrate this emotional state, in which, the person does not or is unable to take into account the reality of their environment, others or themselves and their resources. This is a term that my therapist and I use and is on the continuum of dissociation.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ The Beginning

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***  (Graphic Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

When my step-father began living with us, he started to molest me. At first, he used to purposely leave their bedroom door open [when I opened my bedroom door I looked directly into their room].  I would see him sitting at the end of his bed masturbating. At the beginning, he made me touch him until he ejaculated which scared me and he would say, “see what a mess you made”.

Then, my step-father started to force my head down, and tell me to open my mouth and put it (his penis) in my mouth as he ejaculated into my mouth. He would hold my head there until I swallowed which he demanded I did. I felt so nauseated as I do while writing this. [Currently, the idea of oral sex or my face coming toward my husband's penis triggers flashback and really freaks me out.  Sometimes, I feel nauseated thinking about it or when I smell something similar.]

When my-stepfather bathed me, he would put his fingers into my vagina and sometimes would come into my room and do the same at night or after my mother left for work. By this time, I was so terrified of him that I would do anything he told me to and not tell anyone and definitely did not cry and tried not to make a sound. [Remember the death threats.]

I wish I could say that it ended at that, but my step-father only grew more violent and sadistic, at times almost verges on torture. [my therapist says it was torture.] There was an incident when he wanted to play Monopoly, but I didn’t. I wanted to play with my Barbie’s. He began to scream at me and called me spoiled and that I need to do what he tells me to do. He pushed me to the ground and pulled my pants and underwear off and shoved one of my Barbie’s feet first into my vagina and then removed it and shoved the second one in…it felt like he was intentionally trying to hurt me and like he shoved it in as far as he could while turning it. I felt like I was going to pass out it hurt so much.

I also remember the green carpet and my trying to dig my nails into it because it hurt so much. I remember the feel of the shallow pattern on my hand. Then, later on my face, I could feel the carpet. Then, he had forced me on my stomach and began beating me with his belt. I wanted to die…felt like he was going to kill me. When my mother came home, she immediately began yelling and hitting and slapping me. I was assaulted and raped by my step-father with my Barbies and then assaulted by my mother. [To this day, I absolutely hate Monopoly and I am triggered.]

I remember being in bed at the duplex and was inserting my Barbie into my vagina. Also, used to push ice into my vagina or anus, but it wasn’t to soothe me as it was so cold that it actually hurt, but I made myself hold it in while holding onto a pillow or blanket, sometimes biting into it. I don’t know why I used to do this.

I think, I know why…When my step-father and his father used to lock me in the garage with them, sometimes, they would insert a Big Stick popsicle into my vagina or anus, turning it occasionally. It hurt so much because it was wider and longer than the other popsicles and his father seemed to shove it in as hard as he could. I always thought of him as gentler than my step-father, but the things that he did in the garage was just as aggressive and could cause the same degree of excruciating pain.

My step-father's father would always insert and my step-father would hold me down pinning my upper body to the concrete floor, which made it seem even colder. And, always that look in his eyes. I had to lay on the concrete floor on my stomach or back completely nude, so not to soil my clothing…so, I was told. It was so cold or hurt so much that sometimes, I felt as if I were going to pass out.

Sometimes, ants started to crawl on me, the puddle and the popsicle, so I was feeling really creepy and was afraid that they would get inside of me. I had to stay still and not touch anything; otherwise, my step-father said that after he was done doing what he wanted to me that since I disobeyed him that he would give me a spanking. This meant with his belt or a ping-pong paddle and that he would hit until I bled. I had to leave the popsicle in until it completely melted…sometimes they would then leave me alone and let me lay there, but always eyeing me and periodically coming back to push it in further and to turn it. Turning it caused more pain as it made it feel colder. But, sometimes they would touch me all over my body, rubbing me. Sometimes, either one or both would straddle me and make me put their penis into my mouth and swallow when they ejaculated. [Today, when we have problems with ants, I can't handle it.  I have to leave the room and my husband takes care of it...I have such vivid flashbacks still.  My therapist said that I need to deal with my rage in order for them to stop.]

I just realized and feel really bad, but I liked it when they did other things because it was warmer…I hate myself for it and feel like my body betrayed me. There was always a sticky puddle and they would wash it up and hose me down with the garden hose. Needless to say I would “disappear,” so I didn’t feel the pain all the time and it helped me to stay still. Sometimes, it seemed like I could float above myself and watch it happen…really disconnected. I wanted to die. I felt humiliated, enraged, terror and excruciating pain. I was also afraid that my mother would find out and that I would get into trouble for doing such a bad things.

Sad thing is that Big Sticks were my favorite popsicle, so I would always get it from the ice cream truck. I liked the flavor and it had a different texture when eating it. I stopped getting those, but knew if they purchased one that they were not going to eat it…I just hoped that they would use it that day rather than waiting several days with my anxiety growing. Sometimes, they purchased one that I was unaware of, so I was taken off guard. I started getting Bomb Pops. Thank God, they didn’t start using that because that is even wider…hurts just thinking about it. It wasn’t as bad as some of the other stuff as it happened less frequently. I’ve never told anyone…I didn’t have enough to say. At least, I thought I didn’t, but as I begun talking and writing I remembered more details.) I really feel sick to my stomach and remember some of the physical pain and terror and wanting to die. [This was the first time I wrote it and the first time talking about it to my therapist.  With each flashback, it was if I was reliving all over again. My therapist said that it looked like that to him.]

Also, my dolls were physically abused, raped and suffocated. Also, in playing house with my friends, we would act out being beaten and locked in a closet. Sometimes, we would actually give each other real beatings with usually a piece of wood, belt, a switch or whatever was lying around or at the house we were at with no parents home. I’ve always been embarrassed to talk about this. [and still am...I wanted to delete this part.] Although, I do realize that children who are abused often reenact their abuse in play, which is what I used to do when I was alone. But, I still wonder if something was wrong with me and am extremely embarrassed to tell this to anyone.

I am becoming more anxious as I get into more of the details of my sexual abuse because there is much more. I hope that you will continue to "listen" even if you do not leave comments.


Anonymous said...

CC, I am nearly speechless. What you described in this post is horrible. Sickening, really. That someone can treat a child (or anyone for that matter) in such a cruel way churns my stomach. I am so sorry you had to endure this. I really hope you realize that it is NOT YOUR FAULT and that these men were just sick and sadistic. They have no excuse.

CC, I am sending you huge hugs.

Wishing you well,

Clueless said...


Thank you for your empathy. I am realizing it more that I couldn't have done anything and that if I tried...I'd very likely be killed.

Thank you for the hugs and for reading such a difficult post. I really appreciate your continued support.

take care,

Tracie Nall said...

I want to thank you for having the courage to share this on your blog.

What you shared at the very end really hit me....

When I first married my husband, he knew about the abuse, but not the details or any specifics. I was having flashbacks every night and stress and felt like my life was falling apart. I realized that we weren't going to make it if I wasn't able to talk to him and let him understand what was going on...so I told him something that I had never shared before.

When I was a kid, I had Barbies. I loved them more than anything. But my Barbies had a dark side. Other little girls dressed theirs up and they got married to Ken. Mine got raped by Ken, and beaten....and my Barbies were pretty sure that even though it hurt and they hated it, they probably did deserve it.

After I told him that, there was more understanding...but to this day, I have thought that I was the only person (even though rationally, I maybe should have realized that I wasn't) that acted out those things with my dolls.

I am so sorry that those men did that to you. You did not deserve it. I agree with your therapist, that it was torture.

Clueless said...

Tracie, Thank you so much for leaving your comment. I feel so good not to feel so alone. Thank you for sharing for it really touched my heart. I am so sorry for what you have been through and happy that you were able to talk with your husband.

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