I’m going to continue with the subject of abuse. I must have been very young when all the abuse started, as that is all I can remember.
As a very small child I remember experiencing fear of my mother.
Then there was fear of my father. I would lie awake at night, my heart pounding, thinking that I was hearing his footsteps approach my room. It took me a long time to recognize that sound as my heartbeat.
But he did come . . . over and over and over. He caused pain and fear and feelings that I can’t even put a name to.
I couldn’t tell, because once again I lived in fear of my mother, and was sure that she would make it my fault, that he was doing this.
One time, at about 8 years old, I told my best friends, using what words I could find to describe what was happening to me. She told another, who told another and another.
One day I got called out of class by the Special Ed teacher. I sat at a table in a room, alone with her. She asked me what it was that I had told people. By then I had heard the nasty word for sex, but did not know the word ‘incest’. I sat at that table and I didn’t say a word.
Finally, she put a sheet of paper and a pencil on the table in front of me and told me to write what I had said, then she went to get my lunch. While she was gone I got up some nerve and wrote, “My dad f- me”. Then I carefully laid the pencil over the sentence so it couldn’t be seen.
She came back with my lunch, and after much persuading, I moved the pencil. She read it then asked if it were true.
I was scared out of my mind. I told her it wasn’t and received a lecture about telling lies. I had to tell her no, or my mother would have found out.
What the school did though, was call my dad at work, and tell him what I had said. They called HIM!!
Needless to say, I remained scared to death of both my parents, until I left home at the age of 17.
Then my life only got worse, but that’s another story.