That is a complicated question. Ken, that is an impressive chapter on this topic. Well written and thorough. It will help in my own ongoing efforts to stop beating myself up.
I was 8yo and my brother was 10yo. My dad's brother had been harping that us boys needed to be raised by a man and my mother was a bad parent (an older sibling had drowned in a pool and my drunk, divorced dad had just died). We didn't know him but were taken by him for a 3 week summer visit to his farm in the mountains. On that trip, he took us off the highway down some country roads to "pee". We three guys whipped em out and did our business, he raped my brother. After we got back in the truck, he informed me it was my turn on the next stop. When it was my turn, I screamed and cried. He told me to shut up, I wouldn't. He smothered and choked me to quiet me. My 8yo mind comprehended I was passing out and going to die, then he peed in my butt and stopped. I had no frame of reference for what he was doing to us. Later, a highway patrolman pulled us over since my uncle was falling asleep at the wheel. During the stop, the trooper shined his flashlight directly on me and said, "Son, you don't look too good, are you OK?" OK, everyone chime in here with, idiot SAY SOMETHING. I remember my uncle's eyes (only facial feature I can ever recall) boring into me. I remember thinking, what do I tell him, what was it he did, he peed in me, Mom put him in charge shes gonna be mad if I get him in trouble, hes gonna kill us all... "I'm fine sir, just tired."
For the next weeks, my uncle nearly killed both of us several times and I decided it was better to please my uncle than anger him. I became quite good at blow jobs real quick because if I did it well, he wouldn't shove it in and I found calm moments for actually initiating the other because he would be actually gentle if I did and that would hurt less. He would also be nurturing if we were "good" and I wanted a dad REALLY bad. My brother remained defiant in the abuse and called me a little faggot because "you like it". My uncle killed animals on the farm who befriended us, even making us participate in the killing. He also played russian roullette by putting a bullet in a revolver, spinning it and pointing it at our heads as he abused us and would pull the trigger if we made any noise.
Our mother eventually joined us and snuck out the back door with us in the middle of the night. She knew he was abusive but thought it was just beatings. She didn't ask and we didn't tell. We all kind of agreed that if we just didn't think about it, it would go away. I literally remembered the trip there and the return but nothing of what really happened until 34 years later. Even then I kept it inside for a week or two until my wife discovered I was obsessively looking up information on child rape, kidnapping, child porn, etc. and thought I was a perp. I had also went from hypersexual to unable to perform. This led to a doctor visit, a second disclosure which thankfully the doc made me see the need for therapy. Unfortunately, my uncle died 15 years ago and will never be punished. When he died at 64yo, there were underage boys living in the home under his care. A relative told me recently that he collected them like stray cats. I pray to God nobody died because of my not saying anything. My brother killed himself at 40 after the parents of a 7yo girl found out he had sex with her.
Basically, pure unadulterated fear. I kick myself to this day for what he continued to do. Sorry for the triggering post, this is one issue that is very painful for me to deal with.
The ironic thing is in college as a social work major, I became aware that very prominant signs indicated significant and violent CSA but counseling could never reveal it. The only memory I could pull up at the time was a little boy, age undetermined curled up in a ball in a lot of pain and wanting someone to love him real bad. I now know that was an 8yo boy curled up on the floor of a pickup truck.
Edited by catfish86 (12/02/09 04:50 PM)
God grant me
The Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The Courage to change the things I can,
And the Wisdom to know the difference.