My Secret

The following post deals with a very difficult subject for me. It will be raw and unedited as that is the only way I can do it.  I am writing this for myself only with the only consideration for anyone who chooses to read it being my regret that I am spewing so much negative energy into the world. But I simply can't keep it in anymore.


I have a secret. It's a secret I have carried my whole life. It is not a secret I kept by choice, as a child it was forced upon me. As an adult I tried to stop letting it be a secret, but I soon found out that it was just too painful for most people to hear. So it remained a secret. This isn't the first time I have dealt with it. I've lived my life for long periods of time without it intruding.  I haven't dealt with it alone, I haven't kept this a secret from my husband.  I would not have survived or had the wonderful life I have had without him. I have long considered him my reward for surviving. He made me strong enough to stop being a victim and become a survivor. This is my secret.

I am an incest survivor.
My father raped me, he used me, repeatedly for years.
My biological father taught me how to sexually service him.
I still feel the disgust of my childhood memories.

My first memory is of my mother, pregnant with my brother. My father told me that while she was in the hospital having my brother I would be sleeping with him in their bed. I knew what would be expected of me. The things I would have to let him do and the things I would have to do to him. I didn't want to do it, but I wasn't given a choice. My brother is 3 1/2 years younger then me. He doesn't know my secret.

My next memory, I'm sitting in a rocking chair in our living room, I'm about 7 or  8yrs old. I was sitting quietly reading a book. I read everything I could get my  hands on. My mother was having tea with a friend in the kitchen. The lady was a neighborhood mother with kids my siblings and I played with regularly. She often came over for tea with mom. I doubt they knew I could hear them from where I sat reading. My mother was mad at my father about something, I heard to her say to her friend that she was cutting my father off from sex. I so distinctly still hear her words, "He can go stick it in a coke bottle for all I care". All I could think of was no, it wasn't going to be a coke bottle. I knew things would be getting worse for me. I started to cry, but I knew if my mother heard me crying she would come and ask me about it. I couldn't tell her. I was afraid that when I couldn't tell her she would get mad and take my book away. She knew that would be worse for me then the belt. That didn't really work anymore. So she had started taking my books away. So, I stopped crying. I didn't cry again for a very long time.

I know that my father must have said something to me at some point to get me not to say anything. I always knew it was wrong. I never wanted to do those things. But every time I would think about telling I get over whelmed with dread. I still do.  It pisses me off that I can't remember what he said that made me know I couldn't tell anyone. I have tried to rationalize that it really doesn't matter anymore. But I still get pissed about it.

I was 10 yrs old when I started my menstrual cycle. It didn't stop him. I had read enough to worry about getting pregnant. Which I did, until it stopped about a year later.

It's common where I live to have showers in the basements, the homes are old, many still have the original claw foot tubs in the bathrooms. That's what we had in our home, a big heavy claw foot tub, so my parents put in a shower in the basement. The basement wasn't finished, the washer and dryer were just a few feet from the shower curtain. I was 11 1/2 yrs old. I was sitting in the living room reading. My mother was doing something and asked me to get the laundry from the dryer. My father was down there taking a shower. I didn't want to go down there, I knew if I did he would get me.  I tried to tell her I would get it as soon as dad was done in the shower. But she insisted. She threatened to use the belt. Getting beat with the belt was nothing new I had been beat with it many times throughout my life by both of them. Welts from my knees to my mid back were not uncommon. Actually, they hardly did that anymore, it just didn't work. I would take whatever they gave and never let out a peep. But, I just got tired of arguing and went to get the laundry. I wasn't down in the basement long enough to even begin to get the laundry. He heard me open the basement door and come down the stairs. He was waiting with the shower still going and the shower curtain open. A few minutes later when I didn't come back up my mother came down to see what was going on. My father didn't hear her coming down.  I was on my knees, in front of him, his hand was on my head I got pushed away and told to go to my room.  And that's it. that's all I remember about that. Except, I do feel like she set me up.

A few weeks after that I started going to therapy, it was awful. I had to get out of school early, but I couldn't tell any of my school friends where I was going or why. I had to take the bus downtown by myself once a week. It was fall into winter time. It is cold and dark and snowy where I live at those times of the year. The whole experience of getting there was so terrifying and I could tell the therapist was just guiding me to say certain things so she could say I was ok. So I figured out what to say as soon as I could so I wouldn't have to do it anymore.

I wish I could say that was the end, oh how I wish that was the end. In a way it is the end, but it is also a beginning, there is more I need to say. I have to follow it to the end. The end is where I'm at now. I want this to be the end and the beginning. Be well my friends, I'm sorry if this caused any pain.