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I apologize in advance for how long winded I'm sure this post will be - I'm not great at writing Cliffs Notes. :-)
Up until about a year ago, most of my childhood was a black hole...I had a few pieces of it here and there, but hardly ever thought about it. When it did cross my mind, it was only a flash and then...gone.
The dark spaces...the gaps...have gotten smaller, very quickly. I think I was triggered by reconnecting with my half-sister and extended family after years of being estranged.
I lived in over ten different houses while I was growing up, which seemed to jumble up my memories before. But since I've been having more come back (and have had the strength to actually think about my childhood), it's made it much easier to know how old I was in any given memory.
I don't remember everything, but I will tell my story to the best of my recollection.
I'm 37 years old, the youngest of four children. My half-brother and half-sister are twelve and eleven years older than me respectively, so they both had moved out by the time I was seven.
My sister is nearly three years older than me - however, she suffered brain damage when she was around a year old, and as a result suffers from profound mental retardation as well as poorly controlled epilepsy. She has the mental capacity of roughly a two year old.
I went into therapy about 8 months ago on the advice of my cardiologist. I was being treated for my heart rate, which was constantly over 110+ bpm, even while sleeping.
It's been like that for my entire adult life, but it had gotten to the point of making me lose consciousness due to my blood pressure bottoming out. It's now being managed by medication (and therapy, in my opinion).
I knew my parents were weird and abusive, but never thought it had really affected me. I was actually a little proud to be "tough stock", if you know what I mean. Small but mighty.
My parents had total control over me during my childhood. They were very religious - using scripture to intimidate and justify their actions. I was abused physically, mentally, spiritually and sexually. It wasn't a cult - my dad had wanted very badly to start his own church, but people just didn't like him much. So we read the Bible out loud every single night, two chapters, ten verses at a time; and on Sundays he would have a sermon prepared and would preach just to us. "Where two or three are gathered together...there am I in the midst."
Questions were not tolerated, nor were opinions...especially because not only was I a child, I was a girl. I was rarely spoken to other than in sermon or being directed to do something.
We used to get "whoopins" with an actual razor strop that used to belong to my grandfather, that was passed on to my dad. I don't recall how old I was when I got my first one - but I was seventeen when I got my last one. Rarely was I ever hit with a hand unless it was on my ass. To the best of knowledge the only time I was "beaten up" with fists was just a couple weeks before I was put out of the house. Pushed, shoved, yanked...and whooped.
The physical violence became less as I became older and more compliant.
When I was seven my half-sister moved out of the house, and my disabled sister's care became my responsibility. This included feeding, bathing, medications and even getting her on and off the school bus each day. I slept with her. If she wet herself during a seizure, I had to change her.
I was to wear modest apparel at all times, and was very conscious of my body, even as a young girl. My blouses were buttoned to the top. Sometimes I could wear jeans, sometimes it was culottes - the rules fluctuated quite a bit, so it was difficult to stay out of trouble. Sometimes we had a tv, sometimes not. Things would relax a little, then it would be lock down.
My aunt still tells the story of how she finally talked my parents in to letting her take me bowling (one of the best days of my life, incidentally). I was barely seventeen years old. I dressed to go, but when I came out, he didn't approve of my blouse so he sent me back to change. I had to change six times before I was deemed appropriate enough to leave.
My aunt pulled out of the driveway, and the first thing she did was lean over, grab the top of my blouse (which was buttoned at the throat) and pop the button loose. She cranked on the radio, and while lighting her cigarette said loudly: "Jesus chr**t! Can you even breathe in that f***ing thing?". I was so scared and thrilled at the same time I couldn't even speak. Best day ever.
Anyway, back to the point: Everything was always changing...the rules...the house. But my parents were always in control.
I was a good student in elementary school, and was in the "Gifted and Talented" program. I was tested a few times (and I remember some Duke University thing), and in the 6th grade I was testing at a 12th grade level on a couple categories, post-high school on the rest. My parents were not happy when the school called them about the results.
Once I completed the 7th grade, I was completely pulled out of school on the premise that I was to be home schooled. From the age of twelve until the age of fifteen my mom says my dad tutored me, which I remember nothing of. I tested back into public school halfway through my sophomore year, after nearly three full years of isolation.
Those are still very dark years; big gaps. I'm ok with that for the time being. What I do remember was working at a sawmill, moving a lot, taking care of my sister. My sister and I continued to be locked in our room for several hours at a time when I wasn't working (this had been happening since I was a very young child).
It was during this time my half-sister confronted my dad about him molesting her. I was fourteen - she had called and I was hiding in a hallway, eavesdropping. I had overheard mom telling dad that my half-sister was about to call, and that she had requested to talk alone...so be sure to answer the phone at the exact same time so she wouldn't know he was listening in.
She called, and I could tell that she was asking questions about my sister and I. My mom was talking, and then my dad said loudly, "So if you've got something to say, then say it". After a few quick moments, he then said, "You're a damn dirty liar. YOU came on to ME.". At this point I ran back to our room. Soon my mom came in and yelled at me: "Is dad touching you?". I said no, she left and locked the door. Several hours later she came back and we never spoke of it again.
As far as sexual abuse goes, my memories are mercifully limited.
I was first molested when I was around three years old. I only remember a brief flash of the first incident - which I told my mom about when I was five. She told me that it must have been my uncle (she still says it to this day). She even wrote about it in my baby book, writing "Very smart. Remembers things from 2 years ago.".
In the second memory I am somewhere between three and four years old, and as I had a flashback on it, I remember it very, very clearly. My dad exposed himself to me, I didn't know what to do, I did the wrong thing and hurt him. He threw me out of his study, dislocating my shoulder in the process. I never received medical treatment.
So far those are the only two memories I have of sexual abuse. However, I have many recurring nightmares about having pictures taken of me, of other girls posing for pictures, some younger and some a little older...maybe 10-12 years old. In my dreams sometimes there is a woman telling me it is okay when I'm embarrassed, and at other times it's another girl who is talking to me. Sometimes there are other grown ups watching.
These dreams about sexual incidents don't happen often, but when they do it is incredibly stressful and humiliating. Most of my dreams are about other abusive memories, or of trying to get away.
Bad dreams have become nightmares, and the burden of remembering has, at times, become almost too much to bear. But it's the flashbacks that are the worst.
The flashbacks are indescribable. When they first hit, I feel the emotion, but I don't get the memory. So I'm feeling terrified/humiliated and I don't even know why. Then a few hours later the memories come...usually I end up in the corner of the closet, and I begin to write. I remember the sounds, the smells, the most ridiculous and unimportant details.
Reliving things like my dad pulling out one of my molars with a pair of pliers because of a cavity (14 yrs) - being locked in our room for so long I peed my pants, and having my panties rubbed in my face if I took them off - putting Desitin on the red bumps caused by my wet clothes, and being embarrassed because I thought it made me smell like a baby (6 yrs)...
When it's over I feel...violated. Traumatized. Utterly humiliated. Stunned...surreal, like shell shock. The numb without the numbness.
The flashbacks used to be every few weeks, but now it's every few days, and I'm so tired.
I try to recover as quickly as I can...I have two teenage daughters and a husband, so I really try to keep my downtime at a minimum. I usually have a good game face. But sometimes the aftermath is overwhelming.
I ache in ways that I cannot begin to describe or even understand. I'm trying so hard, but I'm so very tired...and so unbelievably sad.
Up until about a year ago, most of my childhood was a black hole...I had a few pieces of it here and there, but hardly ever thought about it. When it did cross my mind, it was only a flash and then...gone.
The dark spaces...the gaps...have gotten smaller, very quickly. I think I was triggered by reconnecting with my half-sister and extended family after years of being estranged.
I lived in over ten different houses while I was growing up, which seemed to jumble up my memories before. But since I've been having more come back (and have had the strength to actually think about my childhood), it's made it much easier to know how old I was in any given memory.
I don't remember everything, but I will tell my story to the best of my recollection.
I'm 37 years old, the youngest of four children. My half-brother and half-sister are twelve and eleven years older than me respectively, so they both had moved out by the time I was seven.
My sister is nearly three years older than me - however, she suffered brain damage when she was around a year old, and as a result suffers from profound mental retardation as well as poorly controlled epilepsy. She has the mental capacity of roughly a two year old.
I went into therapy about 8 months ago on the advice of my cardiologist. I was being treated for my heart rate, which was constantly over 110+ bpm, even while sleeping.
It's been like that for my entire adult life, but it had gotten to the point of making me lose consciousness due to my blood pressure bottoming out. It's now being managed by medication (and therapy, in my opinion).
I knew my parents were weird and abusive, but never thought it had really affected me. I was actually a little proud to be "tough stock", if you know what I mean. Small but mighty.
My parents had total control over me during my childhood. They were very religious - using scripture to intimidate and justify their actions. I was abused physically, mentally, spiritually and sexually. It wasn't a cult - my dad had wanted very badly to start his own church, but people just didn't like him much. So we read the Bible out loud every single night, two chapters, ten verses at a time; and on Sundays he would have a sermon prepared and would preach just to us. "Where two or three are gathered together...there am I in the midst."
Questions were not tolerated, nor were opinions...especially because not only was I a child, I was a girl. I was rarely spoken to other than in sermon or being directed to do something.
We used to get "whoopins" with an actual razor strop that used to belong to my grandfather, that was passed on to my dad. I don't recall how old I was when I got my first one - but I was seventeen when I got my last one. Rarely was I ever hit with a hand unless it was on my ass. To the best of knowledge the only time I was "beaten up" with fists was just a couple weeks before I was put out of the house. Pushed, shoved, yanked...and whooped.
The physical violence became less as I became older and more compliant.
When I was seven my half-sister moved out of the house, and my disabled sister's care became my responsibility. This included feeding, bathing, medications and even getting her on and off the school bus each day. I slept with her. If she wet herself during a seizure, I had to change her.
I was to wear modest apparel at all times, and was very conscious of my body, even as a young girl. My blouses were buttoned to the top. Sometimes I could wear jeans, sometimes it was culottes - the rules fluctuated quite a bit, so it was difficult to stay out of trouble. Sometimes we had a tv, sometimes not. Things would relax a little, then it would be lock down.
My aunt still tells the story of how she finally talked my parents in to letting her take me bowling (one of the best days of my life, incidentally). I was barely seventeen years old. I dressed to go, but when I came out, he didn't approve of my blouse so he sent me back to change. I had to change six times before I was deemed appropriate enough to leave.
My aunt pulled out of the driveway, and the first thing she did was lean over, grab the top of my blouse (which was buttoned at the throat) and pop the button loose. She cranked on the radio, and while lighting her cigarette said loudly: "Jesus chr**t! Can you even breathe in that f***ing thing?". I was so scared and thrilled at the same time I couldn't even speak. Best day ever.
Anyway, back to the point: Everything was always changing...the rules...the house. But my parents were always in control.
I was a good student in elementary school, and was in the "Gifted and Talented" program. I was tested a few times (and I remember some Duke University thing), and in the 6th grade I was testing at a 12th grade level on a couple categories, post-high school on the rest. My parents were not happy when the school called them about the results.
Once I completed the 7th grade, I was completely pulled out of school on the premise that I was to be home schooled. From the age of twelve until the age of fifteen my mom says my dad tutored me, which I remember nothing of. I tested back into public school halfway through my sophomore year, after nearly three full years of isolation.
Those are still very dark years; big gaps. I'm ok with that for the time being. What I do remember was working at a sawmill, moving a lot, taking care of my sister. My sister and I continued to be locked in our room for several hours at a time when I wasn't working (this had been happening since I was a very young child).
It was during this time my half-sister confronted my dad about him molesting her. I was fourteen - she had called and I was hiding in a hallway, eavesdropping. I had overheard mom telling dad that my half-sister was about to call, and that she had requested to talk alone...so be sure to answer the phone at the exact same time so she wouldn't know he was listening in.
She called, and I could tell that she was asking questions about my sister and I. My mom was talking, and then my dad said loudly, "So if you've got something to say, then say it". After a few quick moments, he then said, "You're a damn dirty liar. YOU came on to ME.". At this point I ran back to our room. Soon my mom came in and yelled at me: "Is dad touching you?". I said no, she left and locked the door. Several hours later she came back and we never spoke of it again.
As far as sexual abuse goes, my memories are mercifully limited.
I was first molested when I was around three years old. I only remember a brief flash of the first incident - which I told my mom about when I was five. She told me that it must have been my uncle (she still says it to this day). She even wrote about it in my baby book, writing "Very smart. Remembers things from 2 years ago.".
In the second memory I am somewhere between three and four years old, and as I had a flashback on it, I remember it very, very clearly. My dad exposed himself to me, I didn't know what to do, I did the wrong thing and hurt him. He threw me out of his study, dislocating my shoulder in the process. I never received medical treatment.
So far those are the only two memories I have of sexual abuse. However, I have many recurring nightmares about having pictures taken of me, of other girls posing for pictures, some younger and some a little older...maybe 10-12 years old. In my dreams sometimes there is a woman telling me it is okay when I'm embarrassed, and at other times it's another girl who is talking to me. Sometimes there are other grown ups watching.
These dreams about sexual incidents don't happen often, but when they do it is incredibly stressful and humiliating. Most of my dreams are about other abusive memories, or of trying to get away.
Bad dreams have become nightmares, and the burden of remembering has, at times, become almost too much to bear. But it's the flashbacks that are the worst.
The flashbacks are indescribable. When they first hit, I feel the emotion, but I don't get the memory. So I'm feeling terrified/humiliated and I don't even know why. Then a few hours later the memories come...usually I end up in the corner of the closet, and I begin to write. I remember the sounds, the smells, the most ridiculous and unimportant details.
Reliving things like my dad pulling out one of my molars with a pair of pliers because of a cavity (14 yrs) - being locked in our room for so long I peed my pants, and having my panties rubbed in my face if I took them off - putting Desitin on the red bumps caused by my wet clothes, and being embarrassed because I thought it made me smell like a baby (6 yrs)...
When it's over I feel...violated. Traumatized. Utterly humiliated. Stunned...surreal, like shell shock. The numb without the numbness.
The flashbacks used to be every few weeks, but now it's every few days, and I'm so tired.
I try to recover as quickly as I can...I have two teenage daughters and a husband, so I really try to keep my downtime at a minimum. I usually have a good game face. But sometimes the aftermath is overwhelming.
I ache in ways that I cannot begin to describe or even understand. I'm trying so hard, but I'm so very tired...and so unbelievably sad.
