Marissa
I was abused/molested by my older brother for years. I think it started when I was 4 or 5. I blocked the sexual abuse out for years and still cannot remember all of the ‘details’. I’m actually glad that my brain is protecting me from the specifics and the raw horror that I went through.
But when I was 17 years old I got a call from a friend. She’d just gone out with her boyfriend and he’d raped her. I’d asked her if she told her mom and she’d said no, that her mom liked him and, after all, she was ‘dating’ him. We were just learning about date rape back then and I told her that no meant NO! But it triggers something in me.
That same night, I have nightmares and wake up wondering if ‘it’ really happened to me. I remember him on top of me in the bathroom. I remember the knock on the door and him rolling off me, panicked. He’d motioned for me to climb into the cupboard and be quiet. I’d hurried, I was scared. I remember someone coming in and using the bathroom. After they leave, I slip out of the cupboard and run to my room. I’m in my room and am scared when I see him watching me through the crack in the door. “Don’t tell – they won’t believe you anyway” and he smirks and walks away. Last time it was ‘Don’t tell or I will kill your dog’. Always a threat.
I wonder did this happen to me? Our family was NOT perfect but THAT couldn’t happen in our family…or could it…
I confront him and he admits it, almost shrugs it off like it’s not his problem, it’s mine. I feel sickened. What should I do? Who should I tell? Would they believe me? I decide to tell mom but can’t do it face to face. I tell her through the bathroom door. Silence. Did she hear me? Yes, she heard me. Said she was sorry. From that day, we never discussed it again. I wanted to–more than she’ll ever know.
As the years pass, I remember more and more of that sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of my brother and it sickens me. I get clammy hands when I know I have to see him. Until recently, I’ve always let him have the power over me. Putting me down. Stealing from me. I put a lock on my door and he still invaded my space. When I was going through all of this – it was normal or maybe it was that I didn’t want to deal with it or didn’t want to realize that my mother did nothing to stop it, did nothing to help me understand it was not my fault, did nothing to help me heal.
I also remember so many doctor visits… my bottom red, raw–it hurt to have underwear and pants on it was so raw. Why didn’t the doctor put two and two together? Or was it because my mom refused to see the ‘truth’. The doctor told mom I need cotton underwear, that nylon was the cause.
I wasn’t able to breastfeed my son because of him. But then again, I gave him that power. I should have realized that I was in control and breastfeeding was natural and not disgusting and was not abusing my son. It felt wrong to think of my son breastfeeding.
Last year my brother put his hands around my neck. He was frustrated and we were fighting about the care of our mother. I told him to get his hands off me and if he wanted to beat me up, he could do it outside but not in front of mom or my son (who was 8 at the time). Mom got in between us and he stopped.
I still am trying to make sense of all of this and still have those ‘blocked’ memories surfacing and still fight to NOT to let him have the control over me.
I am a woman now, a mother, a wife and I will not let him have control over my emotions. Not after 30 years. It’s my time. I’ve forgiven him but will not forget and will not ever let my guard down when I’m around him. He still can make me nauseated by thinking of him.
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SooperMom2008
Finally, our conversations began to turn towards marriage. The romantic proposal took place in the perfect setting and, of course, I said YES! Our wedding was beautiful…. although not everything I’d ever imagined as a little girl. On our way out of the parking lot, everything changed. He was angry. Our honeymoon lacked the mix of tenderness and fun that I had anticipated. There was no longer a sparkle in his eye or admiration in his look.
From then on, things went downhill. From the very beginning he sexually abused me multiple times a week, sometimes more than once a day and many times after he had not showered for four or five days.
He would make fun of me if I cried, getting in my face and calling me a baby or mocking my cries.
He would play mind games with me, telling me that he wanted me to be more aggressive and “sexy” during sex but, when I would try to initiate, he would turn me down and walk away. About three months after we were married, he told me to quit telling him that I loved him because it made him feel like he had to say it back.
He treated me like a servant, getting angry if no housework was done while he was at work. He would blow snot onto the couch, carpet, walls or at me, my pillow, etc. On top of this, he made fun of my background and upbringing. He was constantly saying that if he hadn’t married me he would be wealthy.
A honeymoon pregnancy and partial bed-rest didn’t stop the abuse. Everything continued and even escalated over time. He slapped me on the cheek, smiled and peered around to see if it had left a mark. He continued to get angry if the housework wasn’t done, despite the fact that I wasn’t supposed to do it. To top everything off, I had now become a victim of marital rape on several occasions.
His anger was sporadic and explosive. I kept telling him that something had to change. If I tried to leave the house when he was upset (making me cry and shaken) he would grab my arms, stand in the door way and hide my car keys. He would make fun of me, ignore me, disregard my feelings and make everything my fault. He would raise his hand to hit me and I would recoil.
Our son was born and post-birth life was even worse than before. My husband wanted nothing to do with the baby. I felt completely alone in taking care of him. Our son was very sick the first couple weeks and, when he would cry, my husband would jolt him and scream in his face to “SHUT UP!” The few times he carried him, he carried our son around by the front of his clothes. Once, he got angry at a football game and punched a hole in the wall.
Just a few weeks after our son was born, my husband raped me out of a much-needed nap.
About a month later, he told me that he had been addicted to pornography. He said that’s what had been fueling his anger. We talked for a while and he seemed genuine. But… thirty minutes later, he wanted sex.
I was in and out of the ER with stress-induced anxiety attacks.
In public, my husband was the perfect husband and father. Behind closed doors, life was hell. Those precious few moments where I saw a glimmer of my pre-married life kept me hoping that things would change and I’d have the man I married back. I have since discovered that people only change who are willing to admit that there is a problem.
After a year in hiding, I am now divorced, have a great job and love being a mom. My son is my life, the sun in my universe and the reason I get out of bed every morning. As a survivor, I am special and I can now live every moment knowing that as a fact! My goal is to encourage victims and survivors to do the same!
Jamie Rae
“The Ultimate Offender”
how long have we been silent
how long have we been silenced
how long have we been keeping secrets
that threaten to burst our souls at the seams?
is being silent a requirement
is keeping secrets the price
fear and shame exact for granting peace
allowing ourselves to be silenced
what makes us good?
i have learned to keep secrets
in spite of my blabbermouth blabbermouth
the spoken word just anything
replace my need for love.
say it like it matters:
my father gave me secrets to keep
nightly prayers: if i should die before i wake
i pray the lord my soul to take
say it like it matters:
my father molested me
and silence equals love
say it like it matters my father betrayed me!
i say it matters very much
this is a poem for women
this is a poem for the little girls
that inhabit us.
say it like it matters: statistically speaking
one in three knows the touch of her father in the night
or maybe her father’s father
or her own dear sibling
say it like it matters: this is the same as murder!
like any one of us i would gladly trade
nights of crying alone in bathrooms
wanting to SMASH mirrors with my fist
but realizing my image has been damaged enough already.
like any one of us
i would trade those nights
for the chance to whittle down a stick
to its sharpest point
with the edges of my mind and scratch
I HATE YOU
in the grass that covers his lousy bones
i say it matters:
it matters very much.
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jamie rae
c. 2010
reprinted with permission
Black Belt Mama
I’m frequently asked why I decided to start training in the martial arts. There are many reasons, but my date gone wrong is one of the things that drives me to continue training.
It was the summer after my freshman year in college. My friend arranged a double blind date that I was not at all interested in. At first I said no but was eventually talked into it. I had a funny feeling about this guy after briefly meeting him at a dance club a few weeks earlier, and I wasn’t at all interested in dating him. But we women frequently ignore our instincts.
A few nights later we met the two guys in the parking lot of the hotel where I worked. I didn’t want to leave my car behind and go with them. My gut was telling me not to but my friend insisted, and so I got in their car and off we went.
When we arrived at the house I was uneasy. It was in the middle of nowhere and no one else was home. My friend and her guy quickly disappeared into the wooded backyard to find the pool, and she made it clear she wanted to be alone. My date asked me if I wanted to watch a movie. It was either watch a movie, or stand in the driveway waiting for my friend, so I reluctantly agreed to go inside.
It was a small living room, and the sofa bed was pulled out. He started the movie and sat down in the middle. I sat on the very edge. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.
I was too paranoid to watch any of the movie. He kept gradually moving closer to me and was making me feel uncomfortable. He tried to hold my hand and I fixed my hair with it instead. I was not interested. I wanted to make it clear.
Apparently, I wasn’t clear enough.
It all happened so quickly. He grabbed me and pulled me down into the center of the sofa bed. He climbed on top of me. He was kneeling on my thighs and holding my wrists down with one hand while he worked on the button on my shorts.
I immediately told him to stop it, firmly. I started yelling, loudly. I told him to get off of me. I screamed for him to knock it off, but he was not listening. He was in this terrifying zone and I had to do something quickly. I squirmed a little bit and was unable to move him.
Then something snapped in me and I got completely FURIOUS. He WAS NOT going to succeed.
What came after was fast and furious. I managed to get my legs out from underneath his knees, pulled my knees up to my chest, planted my feet on his chest and launched him. I remember watching him literally fly across the room as he slammed into the wall.
After the initial shock of what I had done to him was realized, he charged me; but I was ready. I was on my feet, crouched. He was met with fists flying at him. I hit him in the eyes, nose, mouth, neck. I didn’t stop, because I knew I couldn’t. He was going to keep coming at me unless I put up a real fight.
After hitting him multiple times in the face as hard as I could, he staggered backwards and I saw my opportunity to run. I darted out the door and then quickly turned to face it. I didn’t want him surprising me again. I began SCREAMING at the top of my lungs for my friend.
My attacker appeared at the screen door looking disheveled. He didn’t dare venture outside. I told him to stay away from me. The voice that came out of my mouth was not my own. It was primal, and it was protecting me. From the safety behind the screen door, he yelled “So you don’t want to have sex?”
“What do you think, you idiot? I said NO!” I was shaking something terrible, but my volume was as loud as possible. I wanted anyone within the area to hear what was going on.
It was then that my friend and her date appeared. “What is going on?” she asked.
I told her we needed to leave right away and that my date was not coming with us. The problem was that it was his car. He came outside, and tossed the keys to his friend and asked him to drive. I was absolutely sick about having to get in the car with this guy and his friend again. I don’t think my friend understood the severity of the situation, despite the fact that I told her straight out, “He tried to rape me!”
Her date got in the driver seat and she sat in the front passenger seat. At the last second, she allowed my date to climb in behind her and sit in the back beside me. I was furious, but I figured in the car, I had witnesses and he wouldn’t try anything.
By now, I think he was afraid of who I would tell and what would happen to him. He kept getting in my personal space and begging me to forgive him. Every time he crossed the center line of that car, I grabbed his face and slammed it back against the window on his side of the car. His face was already swollen and bruised in areas where I had pummeled him during the initial incident. I had no problem adding to his injuries.
My friend seemed upset that her date was cut short, but I was never so happy to see my car. The car had barely stopped and I was climbing out behind the driver’s seat. My date still wouldn’t stop. He kept trying to talk to me and grab at me. It was like he thought we had a minor lover’s quarrel or something. It had been nothing of the sort.
I got in my car and told my friend she better get in or I would leave without her. As I went to close my car door, my date stuck his hand in the frame and told me he wanted to talk. I told him he had two seconds to remove his hand or else I’d be taking it with me as I drove away. He removed his hand.
On the drive home, I told my friend what had happened and broke down. What if I hadn’t reacted the way I did? What if I hadn’t been able to move him? I was so angry at myself for not trusting my gut about this guy. I knew he was bad news and yet I allowed a sense of obligation to my friend to lure me into a date with him. I would never make that mistake again.
After several years of martial arts training, I can’t even imagine what I would have done to that jerk with the training I have now. I hope I never have to find out.
One of the greatest things I’ve learned during my martial arts training is that you should always trust your gut.
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Jessica writes at Black Belt Mama.
