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.
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