A few nights ago, as I was falling asleep, I experienced a flashback, a quick moment wherein I felt something from years long past and forgotten. My left wrist felt as if it was being grabbed harshly and twisted in the wrong direction. It was my father strangling my wrist. He was angry, very angry. I could feel it in the wickedness of his grip. He sneered at me, with little bits of spit in the corners of his mouth. He was that angry. He said, "No Nails!"
I was shocked at his sudden turn from loving father to madman. I was four years old, alone with my dad as I often was. If I did things, dad was happy. I loved my father and I enjoyed making him happy. One of the things dad loved most was when he unzipped his pants and had me touch him, rub him, I guess, until he came white.
See, the flashback started at the shocking, startled, traumatic point, the sudden malicious grab and twisting of my little arm into great pain. Then, seeing and actually feeling his hand on my wrist, I could then see the events that followed, dad's face and words. The beginning of a memory typically is in the middle of an incident such as this.
Then I was able to see or sense the few minutes before the grab. I could coexist for a moment with that four year old part of myself. I could feel her deep shock. I easily felt how greatly she loved out dad and how much she enjoyed pleasing him. I could also feel...the depth of loyalty and love that she had for him, turn, change her. It was as if she was slapped in the face. She was in disbelief that her father would ever be angry at her. She felt betrayed by him. She had only known him as loving and caring, never seeing the violent and cruel side of him.
She was also very angry at herself for messing up, doing something to cause her father to turn mean like that. Of course, like most small children, she blamed herself not her dad. Four was wounded, deeply wounded not just from the physical pain of a severely twisted arm but the emotional pain of suddenly losing the parent she dearly loved and idolized, worshipped.
She withdrew, disappeared, turned around inside of herself and ran to the farthest, most distant reaches of our mind, ion our Inner Landscape. She stayed there with her pain, humiliation, betrayal and love for her now gone dad,
Fifty Five years later, in a home in which we are completely alone and safe, she suddenly surfaced and brought the memory to reality with her.
So, this is the earliest, clearest memory of the incest and sexual abuse. It was normal for Four to be taken aside, somewhere private and she would rub dad's penis to climax. This was completely normal for our four year old self. This is how sick, perverted and deranged my father was. His little daughter taught to jack him off probably as soon as she could master the physical task.
Yeah, I'm a little broken inside. My dad was a serial pedophile who used me for sex most days of the week. I wish I were exaggerating but I am not.
Incest
