Healing Incest

Surviving Very Young Childhood Sexual Abuse/ Incest

Being a very young, pre-toddler and being sexually abused by my biological father, on a daily basis, more than not, the first big emotion word that springs to my mind is 

Trust.

Being my dad's victim and witnessing him molest other very young children, made me not trust anyone, especially fathers and parents.

Seeing the most vile of evils perpetrated on the most innocent of beings made me think that anyone, any other adult male, any other adult period, had the capacity to replicate this same crime upon me or any other children.

The world was an unsafe, highly dangerous place where a child's own parents were at the greatest risk of causing the most harm.

I learned to trust no one.

If my dad was evil, all dads had the potential to be evil, too.

I tried to never be alone in a closed door room with any other adult. The bad stuff, with my dad anyway, only happened when I was alone with him. If I could hear other people nearby, people coming closer or mom arriving home or brother in the hallway, there was more of a chance the assault would cease or never take place at that time.

Trust no one.

Always have someone else near if dad was home.

Beware of all fathers. None can be trusted.

These things I learned became childhood rules to survive by.

I have so much more to say

The First Person, Surviving Extreme Childhood Sexual Abuse, Incest

This past week, I asked the Inside, our Inner World, who was the first person/alter that was sexually abused?

I had the memories of being a toddler 2-3 years old, and my father giving me to his friends, one at a time, on Friday evening get togethers. 

I was also aware of dad sexually assaulting very very young children, toddlers, infants really, just didn't want to write it. We had seen him do this on multiple occasions. The writing was on the wall. Up till last week, we only guessed we were sexually abused as an infant. Now, we know for sure.

I know because I went Inside, asked the question and was told to "follow the crying". I walked and walked around corners and walls as I listened for the small yet vehement cries.

Opening a long lost door, of a room far far removed, I found a bassinet and Her, a very small, sad baby filled with frustration and unrelenting pain. She must have ended up hidden away there because she was inconsolable. We learned from our parents that crying children were put alone in rooms with the door shut until they stopped. Someone had put Her away because she wouldn't stop crying.

I went over and gently picked her up. It was as if every inch of her body was twisted and tightened in pain's unrelenting grasp. Her pink onesie was soaked with neglect and tears. It was too tight for the specific body area that hurt her most. I took off the pink one she and put her in a loose, soft, pink nightgown.

I held her close to me.

I know what my dad did by looking at her, at her face and where her body hurts. She gave me but one partial and brief memory of what dad routinely did to her. One snapshot says it all. I hold her so gently. She's been wounded so brutally. And she's so little.

She's the first gold star, the first person to be abused and assaulted. 

My dad, who was 22 when we were born, probably molested her daily, honestly, probably more than once daily. We were his first daughter. He wasn't living anywhere near family who would've, might have kept on eye on our well being. He was unchecked, unsupervised and had no self control. He could do whatever he wanted to his little baby daughter, and he did.

I'm still processing this new information. 

Her, is US, is Amy, is the sturdy, once mising corner piece upon which we are all built. Finding Her, is true golden, like a great treasure. Yeah, finding a weeks/months old infant who was horribly molested, cried inconsolable and was left alone in the dark for 58 years, yes, she is our Salvation, our Founder, our Namesake and we love her and will gently care for her. We take turns carrying her, holding her tenderly and close. We "tell" Her with words but more with nonverbal communication that She is safe and that dad is gone and that no one will ever touch, harm her like that again. We are sorry that she was left alone like that. We apologize, softly, over and over. We say all these things over and over so she will feel them and believe them. We mean it too. We love Her. She is Us. We will care for her till she doesn't want us to, when she can stand on her own. Might be a bit. She is so little.

So unusual to see what I must have looked like so small. I see her feet easiest of all. I cringe at her wounds. Her sad face makes me weep. But she is me and I am her. She can start getting better now. I think we'll be okay someday.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fully comprehend being sexually assaulted so frequently for so many years. Maybe I don't have to. Mostly, I need to get through today and then tomorrow. 

You can survive severe childhood sexual abuse.

A Difficult Fall

From Summer to Autimn, we fall. Depression typically strikes us deepest in the weeks of this seasonal transition. The last four years, since we have lived in Willamette, there was no downward mood shift. In a sense, due to annual repetition, we thought our Seasonal Depression was gone.

This year's transition has been rough. I hear more often how people wish they could hurry up and die of natural causes. Whenever they pray like that, I take it seriously. 

I asked Therapist if our depression was bad because we had more "new" grief to work through, as in Chinese Medicine, Autumn is the season of grief, or some such thing.

It was only this Summer that we discovered the memories of our grandmother hiring a specialist from Chicago to train 8 year old me to be a whore.

Therapist thought it might be possible.

I'm tired...