I first joined this group in 2005. I found it helpful in dealing with my issues. I lost touch with the group until my daughter was born this June. That event brought up a lot of new issues and I'm found my way back here.
Back in 2005, my therapist suggested I start keeping a journal, which I did. I never did have the courage to post my story here, and I still don't know if I could put it into prose. So, the below is an entry from my journal dated June 27, 2005. My abuser was a teenage boy. At the time of the events described below I was between 6 and 8.
Please remember that the below is really just stream of consciousness thoughts, so it may not read well.
"June 27, 2005
I don’t remember the first time in happened. That bothers me. I wonder what else I don’t remember, or what I’ve done to fill in the gaps. I don’t know how long it went on for. That also bothers me. I seem to only remember the truly traumatic stuff. Its hard to start writing about it in the narrative when anything I say will be in media res...
The new blue curtains mum made me. I think he was around when there were no curtains in the room at first and told me I should ask to get curtains. I think we hid in the corner, between the windows to hide what we were doing. Such a small space; small room. He was bigger than me. I feel like I was his possession… his lap dog, telling my mother I needed curtains or whatever..I actually feel bad I couldn’t please him, even though I tried. I wanted him to be my friend. He always said “don’t you want to be my friend? I can’t/won’t be your friend if you don’t…”
Regardless, I got the blue curtains, but they only covered half the windows, and that was no good for him. He wanted privacy. I remember feeling like I messed up, or had done something wrong by not having the right curtains. I think I was proud of the curtains, and he crushed that in me too.
Lying on the bed naked, me on the bottom. Our pants were always down, our shirts pulled up. I think he wanted me to sleep at his house… then, he said, we could “really have fun.”
I remember his penis. It had a dark purple head when he was hard. I asked him why it was that color and he told me it was “because it likes you.” I would put my little pinly finger inside of it. He would rub against me.
He would talk about wanting to have Brooke Shields chained to the wall above my bed so he could “rape her.” He talked about it all the time. I didn’t understand what he was talking about. I wanted a go-cart and he said I could have it if I could get him Brooke Shields. I didn’t get the joke.
For him. I remember asking people if they knew who Brooke Shields was. I needed to find her for him. I would do anything for him…
He liked making me cry. He pinched the head of my penis to make it hurt. He pinched it HARD. While he would pull and stretch my penis out. I would have tears in my eyes. He wouldn’t stop. It was a game, to see how much I could take. He would leave marks on me. I wonder why no one noticed.
He would squeeze my testicles – HARD – I would choke back the bile. Even now my privates hurt thinking about it. But his voice, his words were always nice. He would tell me “don’t you want to be my friend?” or “I won’t be your friend.”
He put things inside my penis. The red doctor’s thermometer from my play Dr’s kit. It was plastic and flat, but rounded at the end. He was mad it wouldn’t go further inside me. It hurt! It hurt so badly. I didn’t like it, but I wanted to be his friend, that’s what he told me. And that’s what friends were supposed to do. We were just playing a game, and I had to “win” by taking it further and further inside my penis. I “lost” the thermometer once. He was upset with me. “Where is the thermometer we use? You have to find it. Go find something else to use.” I went to mum’s room, but all I could find was a safety pin. The closed end looked like the end of the thermometer. There were other objects too. They were so big. I was very good and finding things for him.
I don’t know when the pee came into it. I do remember him once saying “If you ever have to pee when we’re playing like this, just tell me and you can go in my mouth.” I’m afraid he peed in me. I remember the bad taste I relate to him. I also peed in his mouth. I stood on my little bed and he knelt down in front of me and tilted his head back, opened his mouth and told me to go. I remember the look on his face.
“You can’t tell your mother about this, or we’ll get in trouble. You don’t want your friend to get in trouble do you? The I won’t play with you anymore.”
No. No. No.
We were doing all this other shit. What are the chances he didn’t put his penis in my mouth? I remember a sensation of gagging. His finger? His thumb? His penis?
There was a ritual. We had to lock the door, close the curtains. Then he would tell me about the special game we were going to play that day.
You know, I never really thought of it this way, but he was torturing me.
I want to vomit. I want to cry and scream and protect my little self from all this. I can’t. I wish I could die."
Edited by walkingsouth (07/13/09 03:22 AM)
Edit Reason: to add trigger warning