Act Acting » Acting School » Please read, if you can. (sp: abuse, LONG)

Please read, if you can. (sp: abuse, LONG)

Question:

wow.  i’m sorry you went through this. writing it all down was very brave. it wasn’t your fault. jaz

– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – I’m giving this to my therp tomorrow at the start of our session, but I decided I’d like to post it here first.  If anyone reads it all, and has any comments, either post a response or e-mail me. I’ll restate here that this is VERY long (much longer than I intended) and it contains some fairly detailed descriptions of the sexual abuse I was subjected to for 6 years.  Hopefully writing this will make it easier to talk about it tomorrow.  That’s the idea, anyway. I’ll add a spoiler space here…. 5 4 3 2 1 0 Ok, here we go! Well, you asked me to try to write some of this stuff down, and if there’s one thing I can do, it’s write about how I feel.  I can’t talk about it very well, and I can’t show any of the emotion I feel when I do talk about it, but I can write.  I do have the tissues standing by though. It’s such a long story.  I don’t know where to start.  I know I don’t have to write everything, but I can’t guarantee I’ll have the courage to talk about some of this stuff, so at least if I write it and tell you this way, you’ll know. There are several things which stand out in my memory.  The first, I don’t remember happening, but I remember Mum and Dad talking about it a couple of years ago.  I didn’t have the guts to ask them for details.  They spoke as though I should have remembered. I must have been around 6.  I would have been in Prep, probably.  It was mentioned that a boy in my class, Justin, either tried to look up my dress or was trying to pull down my underwear or something like that.  I must have told Mum and Dad, because Mum mentioned at this time how angry Dad was.  She said Dad was furious, and so angry that he hadn’t been able to protect me from that.  The problem is, if I told them about Justin, why wouldn’t I have told them about David?  I was a chatterbox when I was little, and I can’t imagine not telling them anything.  Two possibilities come to mind: Either I was so put off by Dad’s reaction to what Justin tried to do (in reality, nothing happened.  I don’t even remember it!) that I was afraid to tell him, and from that point on I started to bottle things up, or else I did say something, but wasn’t believed.  The innuendo about David Michelle used to throw at me leads me to believe she did know something, but I don’t know how much.  And if she knew, why wouldn’t Mum and Dad?  It’s unlikely Dad wouldn’t have believed me, or ignored me if I said something about what was happening though.  I don’t know whether I’m reaching for something that isn’t there. I’ve tried to talk about this experience before, but I don’t know how much I managed to get out.  I don’t know how old I was when this happened. David and I were playing soccer or something in my backyard, and he kept purposely turning and kicking the ball down the side of the house.  It’s a dead end down there.  A fence blocks off the front yard, and the side fence and house block each side.  He followed me down the narrow, empty space.  He stood between me and the only exit.   I remember I tried to pretend everything was normal, and pick up the ball and return to the backyard, but he wouldn’t let me pass.  He took the ball away from me, threw it away, and turned to me. He started kissing me, and pushed me up against the side fence.  I remember I thought about screaming, but our neighbours on that side were quite elderly, so it was more likely Dad would beat them outside and see what was happening.  I didn’t want that to happen, so I just stood there.  He was kissing me and touching me.  He lifted me up and slowly lowered me down so the fly of his jeans was digging into my groin.  I remember the sensation was both terrifying and strangely arousing.  I didn’t know what to do.  He did this several times, picking me up, touching me, making me touch him.  I think he dropped his pants that time, and was making me touch him…where I didn’t want to.  I tried to do nothing, and just let him do what he wanted to, but he looked at me and said, "You’re acting like you’re not enjoying this?"  I was too scared to tell him to stop.  I don’t know why.  I couldn’t say no.  So I kissed him back.  I moved against him.  I touched him where he wanted me to, and didn’t pull away when he touched me. After a while, we’d go back into the backyard, and then he’d just kick the ball down there again.  I’d tell him to go get it, and he’d refuse. I’d suggest we did something else, and he’d say no, we were playing soccer, and I had to go get the ball.  So I would, and it would start over again. This is getting hard to write, but I’ll keep going. The next experience that stands out in my mind was when we were at his house.  His parents both worked, and his brothers were usually out, so he could do whatever he wanted.  I remember he used to sing to me.  I liked this song called "All 4 Love" and he sang it for me one day. Especially one verse, about fairy tales and he being my Prince Charming really stands out in my mind.  I still know all the words, and remember the song when I’m upset.  I don’t know if this was the same day, but he suggested we watch a video.  He disappeared into his parents’ bedroom, across the hall, and I followed.  He rummaged around in the bottom of their wardrobe for a few minutes, and emerged with a video.  I could see that it was R rated, at least, just by the cover and was already apprehensive.  I knew I wasn’t supposed to see anything rated over PG.  We returned to the lounge and he put in the tape. It was pornography.  It was a preview tape distributed by a company to advertise all the movies they sold.  It was obviously designed to appeal to all audiences, because it contained bondage, homosexual sex, very explicit, close up pictures of all sorts of things.  The images are burned into my memory forever.  We didn’t watch the whole tape.  I don’t know how long we saw.  I was sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, while he sat in a chair behind me.  When he stopped the tape, he came closer to me and started talking about trying out some of the things we had seen. There was one position in particular, which involved the woman laying on her back, bracing herself with her elbows and putting her legs in the air, so she was balanced on her shoulders, and then spreading her legs while the man stood above her.  He wanted me to do that.  He kept saying we should go into his bedroom. I couldn’t.  I was terrified.   I would have done anything, touched anything, agreed to anything to get out of doing that.  I had to satisfy him with other stuff, so he wouldn’t want to do that.  As far as I remember, I succeeded.  He didn’t do anything new that day. Another time, we were in my cubby house in our backyard.  It is a small room, with a lockable (from the outside) door and a window.  Dad drilled a hole through the garage wall so we could have power in there, so we had an old black and white TV and a radio in there.  David used to come over to my place and ask me to "come out and play", and I’d just suggest we go into the cubby, even though I knew what would happen.  I knew it was going to happen anyway, so I figured I might as well just get it over and done with. I remember we were there, kissing and touching as per usual this particular day.  I was wearing my blue and white checked school uniform dress. The bottom few buttons were undone, so it hung loosely below my waist. I remember Dad called out to me from the back door, and paused a moment to pull my underwear back up before moving to open the door and see what he wanted.  He was just seeing what I was doing, and if I was ok.  I told him everything was fine and he went back inside.  I closed the door and turned back to David, who had also pulled up his pants, and he commented that I hadn’t done up the buttons on my dress.  I hadn’t noticed, and I don’t think Dad had either. This near miss didn’t stop him though.   He was pushing himself up against me again before long, both of us naked from the waist down.  I remember just getting him to kiss for a little while, but he soon grew tired of that.  I remember he moved me close to him, and positioned himself so his penis was about to penetrate me.  We were both standing at this time.  I remember I was so young, and I obviously didn’t remember what I’d seen in the video (although this could have even been before then, I don’t know) and I didn’t know what he was doing.  I didn’t even know how to have sex.  I thought all he had to do was move his penis up and down, and since we were standing, that to me meant vertically.  He did that.  That must have been my suggestion, since it was what I thought.  I hate to think that I actually encouraged that encounter, but I must have. Even if he hadn’t shown me the video at that stage, he would have seen it by then.  It was very graphic.  He knew how to have sex.  I have absolutely no memory of what happened after that.  He could have penetrated me.  I don’t know.  Perhaps I just want to think he did, so my feelings today would seem more justified.  I don’t know. I want to tell my parents what happened between us.  I want them to be able to understand.  But I can’t do it.  I mean, my Grandma has a photo of me and David sitting on "Santa’s" knees when we were in Kinder.  My parents have the same photo at home, and I put it on my website just to show how innocent we both looked.  I couldn’t do that to them. There were so many times I could have stopped it.  I didn’t.  So it’s as much my fault as it was

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Response:

.stargate.net… – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – -snipped the background- I want to tell my parents what happened between us.  I want them to be able to understand.  But I can’t do it.  I mean, my Grandma has a photo of me and David sitting on "Santa’s" knees when we were in Kinder.  My parents have the same photo at home, and I put it on my website just to show how innocent we both looked.  I couldn’t do that to them. There were so many times I could have stopped it.  I didn’t.  So it’s as much my fault as it was his.  Although neither of us are totally to blame. We were young. What is it you would like your parents to understand??  And what is it you think you or your friend did that either of you are at fault for or to blame for??

I’d like them to understand what happened, not treat me differently or blame me because of it, and not react with the anger (either towards me or him) that I fear they would, if I said anything. I feel like I should have been able to stop it.  I didn’t.  Therefore I was encouraging it.  Stupid logic, I know, but that’s the way my mind works.  I think I was at fault for playing "adult" games that I knew were wrong.  I think I was wrong for not standing up for myself, especially when that’s the whole "girl power" message that’s being pushed so much these days.  I feel like my weakness and fears were wrong, and I’ll be blamed for having them. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Since then, I’ve been troubled by memories often.  They usually trigger the other (much less severe) depressive episodes I’ve had in the past.  I remember recently (a few months ago, while I was home again) I was sitting down the side of the house, just looking around.  Perhaps I wanted to torture myself, I don’t know.  I was in virtually the same place as we had been that day.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I blamed myself  (I still do).  I was so upset, sad, angry and practically every other emotion that exists.  I was hurting so badly inside.  I wanted to hurt on the outside, in a way I could control, because I wasn’t in control back then. The side of the house is overgrown with weeds now.  There were lots of blackberry plants growing out from under the house.  I picked up a piece of dead plant that had broken away from the rest of it.  It had large thorns. I started pushing the thorns into my arms.  It looked just like lots of little pinpricks.  They didn’t all bleed.  I had to push quite hard to make them bleed.  I made perhaps 15 or 20 little holes in my arm before I stopped.  I had hurt enough to punish myself for not stopping it back then, when I had the chance. What was "it" that you now wish you had stopped back then when you had the chance??

I wish I’d been able to tell him to stop, especially in the times when I was so afraid.  I wish I would have answered differently when he asked me if I was enjoying what he was doing, rather than being so paralysed by fear that I would have done or said anything to not make him angry or make things get worse.  I wish I hadn’t been so naive and inexperienced, and that I’d had a better way than silence to cope with what was happening all around me. Do you have any thoughts concerning the juxtaposition of strong emotions, your father, and your desire to be in control of your emotions??

I know my desire to control myself, and my tendancy to be so self-critical is a magnification of my Fathers actions.  Yes, he pushed me hard, be he would never treat me as harshly as I treat myself.  I see this situation in terms of black and white, right and wrong.  I have trouble seeing the grey areas, and that something which seems wrong and maladaptive now was the best way I had to cope at the time, especially considering I didn’t feel I could turn to my parents for support. I also know that my father especially is in denial of his own anxiety problems, and that both my parents shun any form of strong emotion.  They don’t express love, sadness or anything really, either towards me or my sister, or towards each other.  The only emotion we’re all good at expressing is anger. So I’ve been raised in a way that says emotions are bad, and should be hidden.  We should always be in control of them.  No wonder I’m having such a hard time expressing my sadness and pain over what happened to me, both in therapy and when I’m alone. You’ve given me a lot of interesting questions Stewart.  Are you sure you’re not a therapist in hiding?  If not, you should be :) Kylie – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Sincerely Stewart — The Metaphor Man  *and*  The Great Defender of the Self (remove the SPAMBLOCK) Please send me an e-mail copy of your posted response.

Response:

-snipped the background- I want to tell my parents what happened between us.  I want them to be able to understand.  But I can’t do it.  I mean, my Grandma has a photo of me and David sitting on "Santa’s" knees when we were in Kinder.  My parents have the same photo at home, and I put it on my website just to show how innocent we both looked.  I couldn’t do that to them. There were so many times I could have stopped it.  I didn’t.  So it’s as much my fault as it was his.  Although neither of us are totally to blame. We were young.

What is it you would like your parents to understand??  And what is it you think you or your friend did that either of you are at fault for or to blame for?? – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text -Since then, I’ve been troubled by memories often.  They usually trigger the other (much less severe) depressive episodes I’ve had in the past.  I remember recently (a few months ago, while I was home again) I was sitting down the side of the house, just looking around.  Perhaps I wanted to torture myself, I don’t know.  I was in virtually the same place as we had been that day.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I blamed myself  (I still do).  I was so upset, sad, angry and practically every other emotion that exists.  I was hurting so badly inside.  I wanted to hurt on the outside, in a way I could control, because I wasn’t in control back then. The side of the house is overgrown with weeds now.  There were lots of blackberry plants growing out from under the house.  I picked up a piece of dead plant that had broken away from the rest of it.  It had large thorns. I started pushing the thorns into my arms.  It looked just like lots of little pinpricks.  They didn’t all bleed.  I had to push quite hard to make them bleed.  I made perhaps 15 or 20 little holes in my arm before I stopped.  I had hurt enough to punish myself for not stopping it back then, when I had the chance.

What was "it" that you now wish you had stopped back then when you had the chance?? Do you have any thoughts concerning the juxtaposition of strong emotions, your father, and your desire to be in control of your emotions?? Sincerely Stewart — The Metaphor Man  *and*  The Great Defender of the Self (remove the SPAMBLOCK) Please send me an e-mail copy of your posted response.

Response:

What is it you would like your parents to understand??  And what is it you think you or your friend did that either of you are at fault for or to blame for?? I’d like them to understand what happened, not treat me differently or blame me because of it, and not react with the anger (either towards me or him) that I fear they would, if I said anything.

   I asked you what it is you would like your parents to understand, and you said that you would like them to understand what happened.  I will ask my question again.  What is it you would like your parents to understand??    I asked you what it is you think you or your friend did that either of you are at fault for or to blame for, and you said that you don’t want your parents to treat you differently or blame you because of it, etcetera.  I will ask my question again. What was "it" that you feel either you or your friend are to blame for?? I feel like I should have been able to stop it.

   You feel like you should have been able to stop what?? What was "it" that you now wish you had stopped back then…?? I wish I’d been able to tell him to stop, especially in the times when I was so afraid.  I wish I would have answered differently when he asked me if I was enjoying what he was doing, rather than being so paralysed by fear that I would have done or said anything to not make him angry or make things get worse.  I wish I hadn’t been so naive and inexperienced, and that I’d had a better way than silence to cope with what was happening all around me.

   Let’s try to focus on the last sentance.  How old were you??  Do you really wish that you had been less naive and more experienced at that age??  In what ways could you have been less naive and more experienced, and about what exactly??  And what *was* happening "all around you" anyway??  Lot of emotions that you and your parents weren’t supposed to have maybe?? Do you have any thoughts concerning the juxtaposition of strong emotions, your father, and your desire to be in control of your emotions?? I know my desire to control myself, and my tendancy to be so self-critical is a magnification of my Fathers actions.  Yes, he pushed me hard, be he would never treat me as harshly as I treat myself.  I see this situation in terms of black and white, right and wrong.  I have trouble seeing the grey areas, and that something which seems wrong and maladaptive now was the best way I had to cope at the time, especially considering I didn’t feel I could turn to my parents for support.

   It’s nice that you learned to internalize how your father treats strong emotions.  That’s what kids do.  That’s how they learn.  That way you don’t have to face your father’s anger at you and the potential for feeling the loss of his love etcetera.  So what was it again that looking back you now think was so wrong and maladaptive back then??  What was it that you were trying to cope with back then?? So I’ve been raised in a way that says emotions are bad, and should be hidden.  We should always be in control of them.  No wonder I’m having such a hard time expressing my sadness and pain over what happened to me, both in therapy and when I’m alone.

   And maybe why, in my personal opinion, you are confused about what you are really saddened and in pain over.  IMHO, nothing bad happened to you, EXCEPT for the fact that you were a little kid with lots of emotions that you didn’t know what to do with.  And IMHO, there is nothing wrong with you now, except that you still have lots of emotions that you don’t know what to do with. You’ve given me a lot of interesting questions Stewart.  Are you sure you’re not a therapist in hiding?  If not, you should be :)

   Thanks.  But I am no therapist.  I only play one here on ASD.  :-)   In all seriousness, I don’t think I could be a good therapist.  I think if I am any good at what I do here on ASD (whatever it is that might be), it flows from the extent to which I can both be close, and distant, with people here.  It’s the fluidity this medium provides for me.  If we were meeting with you (or anyone else) one-on-one in a therapist/client relationship, then I would probably feel way too responsible for you to explore the things that I am really personally interested in exploring. If my ability to try and explore those things with you here on ASD works for you, that’s great.  If not, well, it’s still interesting to me.  But if I was working with you, or anyone else, as an actual therapist, I am sure I couldn’t feel that way about you or our relationship.  I think if I was a therapist I would feel *too* responsible for my patients, and I think I would quickly drown in my own attempts to figure out what is about the patient and what is about me.  But here on ASD, I can stand up and say, "This whole response was all about me.  Every last bit of it, not just this last paragraph." Sincerely Stewart — The Metaphor Man  *and*  The Great Defender of the Self (remove the SPAMBLOCK) Please send me an e-mail copy of your posted response.

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