Please Read With Care
The little one wanted to write this post, but then realized her vocabulary would be limited. Finds it simplier to let Big JBR share in big girl talk.
I put up a Trigger Warning on this post due to the sexual content sensitivity.
I struggled with putting up a title for this post and could only come up with the word Molestation.
Today's therapy session we talked about one of the times I was molested by more than five boys at one time in Junior High School. On school property. Back in 1970. I do not want to say it was a gang rape. But it pretty much could have gone that way. The boys and I were around the same age, twelve.
I found it difficult at the start to get back to the memory to share with my therapist. It took me a couple of minutes to get there as I sat. To center. To relax. Focusing. My mind had trouble getting there. Trying to focus and recount the surroundings, the players and the abuse.
Mind you, this all taking place at age twelve. While I was already on an emotional downward spiral with having to deal with the trauma of my recent parents divorce a couple of months earlier. Then the forced move a month later to New York with my alcholic mum at the time, to live with her and a strange man who I was told to accept as "step-father." Leaving my dad, brothers, childhood friends, and whatever hometown life I had back in Florida. I was an emotionally unstable and confused kid who sucked in the pain and from that day on shut down even more. My heart died.
Anyway, I found myself "alone." Surrounded in a circle of boys within the school's dark corridor after recess. Quickly then being "run-through-the-mill" with each boy pushing me ahead to the next boy. Grabbing, kissing and groping me every which way they could over my body. Hands everywhere. Mouths all over.
I set this incident up to show you also "how shut off I can still be." Once again my therapist gave her "surprised look" as I non-chalantly brought this incident up.
I had no clue what I said had any significance. Not even realizing how serious what was done to me was important to talk about. How I was violated. Even relaying that statement to my therapist. Who again gave "the surpised" look.
When I see "that look," I know there is something my heart has NOT connected to. Then my therapist goes to work and brings these disconnections to light.
Even though I do not mean to, I argue my reasons with my therapist as to why I did what I did. To my little girl's mind my reasons seem so real and sincere. Usually my therapist then has to clarify the truth with me. More than once. More than twice. More than three times. More than.... well you get the picture. As my little mind deeply misconstrues the truth behind the trauma.
In sharing the molestation, I learned something vital today.
I have always thought it was my fault with what happened to me with the boys. I excused the abuse with seeking after acceptance.
My therapist had to drill it in my mind today, first and foremost that what happened with the molestation from the boys was not my fault!
Then she said something that clicked like it never clicked before. She told me I lost my boundaries when my older brother began molesting me at even a younger age and I was not capable of stopping him.
So, with these boys, I had no boundaries as well. I did not put up a fight. I did not stop them. I did not yell. I did not run away. I let them do whatever. I was afraid! I thought it was normal to be abused. Because my brother did it to me.
Having the difficulty that I do in receiving God's love and trust, explains a lot now.
Until today, all these 40+ years I thought what had happened was because I wanted to be accepted. I wanted attention. I wanted to be loved.
NO........, my boundaries were destroyed by my brother.
My little girl's innocence was taken. She was not even able to process at the time in her little mind of the sexual abuse. What she was forced to do orally and then have her brother molest her. No wonder she disassociated. She had no words for what was going on at the time. Her whole body was traumatized and her mind could not process the experience. Only feeling fear, shame and guilt.
She only knew what she knew from what her brother did. She could not fend off her brother. Even though many times she hid from him when he was on the prowl. In the closet or the hamper. Only to be found. Then abused.