Saturday, May 3, 2014

Ripples

For obvious reasons there are not many people in my family that I can say I am truly close to. I find it diffict to bond  with family who know but refuse to address the issues of sexual abuse that has gone on in our family for years. 

Judgemental, yes,  maybe even hypocritical considering that I have closed off that part of my life for so long. In reality those people who have shoved this giant pile of poo under life's rug and ignored the stinch of abuse and trauma are doing pretty much what I have been doing my whole life; putting it aside to survive.  The affects of Their own abuse is like ripples on water, it spread from them to us and could have easily kept flowing to our children. 

I also know that some of the women in our family seem to think that silence is protection. For them maybe but for me silence is stiffeling and silence leads to visious cycles of abuse. 

The one difference is that myself and one other family member that I know of ha e , when needed, stepped outside of our own pain for brief moments in order to protect the chdren in our family that we see being put anywhere near the path of sexuall abuse that we walked our childhood. Did we save them all or prevent any harm to them? No, but we saved and protected the ones we were capable of. even if those children never truly understand it we have put our darkest secrets out there in order to protect them. That for me is something we should be proud of.

I often struggle to comprehend how the mothers of the little girls in my family failed to protect us. I have only recently realized that they to were abused as well.... physically, mentally and sexually, I knew this but never looked at it as the reason they were unwilling or unable to protect us. they too were locking away their secrets and pretending to not know that the men they  chose as fathers to their children, their brothers and fathers were bastards and sexual preditors. I obviously can not excuse their actions but I can for the first time really begin to understand and accept the fear that lead to their choices.

In a rare moment here I have to give my mother credit, which she has earned very little of in my adult life. For all the things she has done wrong, she did move me away from most of the preditors. 

In the last few weeks I have been very open about my past. It has not been easy for me but it has been very therapeutic for me. Our marriage counselor questioned my need to write a public blog, but at the end of the session did say that transparency leads to healing, closure and freedom. I have noticed that in my exposing my past someone I care deeply for has found a strength to share their similar secrets with me. 

The emotions involved with sharing of these hurtful things can be very mixed up. On one hand being trusted with this personal information is an honor.  I also find comfort in knowing that my own emotions and insecurity is normal and justified. I have always had a special bond with this person, we could go months or years without speaking and pick up like it was yesterday. I was damn near 30 before I really ( and unexpectedly ) had a friendship like that with onyone else. 

On another hand this person has a similar story as mine. Our stories are simar because some of our preditors are the same people  and knowing that, the details hit very close to home and stir up a lot of my own memories.

Just this morning reading just a few details of her story and I was spiralling right back to my own familar history. It completely changed the direction of a blog I was intended to write tonight.

This morning I am filled with memories of the lesser invasive yet uneasy moments that the men in my father's family imposed on the little girls around them. 

I am talking about men having young girls give their errections a squeeze, fully clothed, yet still tramatic  all the same. 
Moments when these men make little girls set in their lap, again fully clothed, but with errections pressing into the girl's bottom and a way to uncomfortable hug that last way to long. Most often ending to quickly for the preditor because there are people around. It is almost like they needed a moment of inappropriate contact to excite them enough to tide them over until the next opportunity to fully molest a child. Mabe the rush of knowing they could get caught excites them as well. What ever the reasons these men seemed to lurk in our lives, popping up in the middle of what ever we were doing, to get a little grope and feel as often as possible.

Two such events stand out the most in my mind. This is what I remember… it was a rock house, there was a dark basement or room that no one used, I feel sure it was a basement. A lot of our family was there. My uncle, I know for sure he was my uncle, my father's brother, but not one of the uncles that were in our daily life, this was an uncle that I was not around very often. This stranger of an uncle and the uncle that fondled me at the pond, they had me in this dark basement. I knew who they were but they seemed to prefer to do their deeds in near darkness. They discussed me, would I tell, how much did I know ect. Why do preditors do this? Why discuss you like you can't see and hear them? Like your a trinket to look at and play with but not a person with a mind, emotions and life? Probably because you are nothing more than their sick version of a porn magazine.

In the end the two men decided to start by exposing themselves. Why they got a thrill out of a first grader looking at their manhood is beyond me. This was the first time I understood an errection, not that I knew what it was called or used for, but I understood the idea.

I don't know what happened beyond my viewing of the stranger uncle'e errection.  This is one of the memories that have haunted me for my entire life. What happened, did someone stop them, did I do something to make them stop, did they finish what they started and I just blocked it out and can't remember? I did a lot of mental spinning and singing during thise years of my life.

The other memory was in Arkansas, my father and uncle, the same uncke who took me fishing and was in the basement had came to Arkansas to live for a short while. My dad ( lets clarify father = biological   Dad = step father ) My dad had offered my father and uncle some cash work, some how I ended up riding in the back of my dad's truck with my uncle. He insisted that it was dangerous for me to ride in my usual seat over the wheel and forced me to sit on his lap. He spent the whole ride pressing my bottom into his errection and fondeling my no existant breast. 
I was so uncomfortable and upset that I became physically ill when I got out of the truck.

I have never dealt with any of the abuse in any way, except to become physically ill and throw up and to do a lot of mental singing and spinning. I often wonder how much I don't remember due to all the mental spinning I did.....