Organization: Penn State University
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1992 12:52:59 EST
From: <RMK111@psuvm.psu.edu>
Newsgroups: alt.sexual.abuse.recovery
Subject: my story *SPOILERS???**

I've been reading this post for about a month now.  It's been difficult AND
helpful.  I'm aware of the recent problems that have occurred, but since I
don't know the origin or all of the details, I'm going to disregard them and  p
post anyway.  I know there are people out there who will understand, and that's
what I care about most.

Anyway, it's taken me awhile to get up the courage to post my story.  It's not
as graphic as some others, but I have to keep reminding myself that it has af
fected me in damaging ways.
I wrote some of this in my journal first.  That will make it a little less
painful to post this.  Well, here it goes.  Oh, a warning I will be ending
my story with a letter I wrote to God when I was feeling really bad.  It is
a possible spoiler.

My cousin molested me when we were both kids. (There I said it and without
pain believe it or not.)  I think I was about 10 years old which means he was
12.  I think he's two years older than me.  It happened AT LEAST twice, but I
can only remember the last time it happened or at least parts of it.  I think
he lied on top of me while we were on the floor once.  That is the time I don't
remember (this is hard... I'm starting to repress the emotions...I have to be-
cause I'm in a public place) very well.  The last time was when he asked me to
come into his room.  He told me to lie down on the bottom bunk bed.  He then
lied on top of me.  That's all he did was to lie on top of me.  I resisted some
how (slightly) and I think he told me to "wait a minute" and then after awhile
he said "okay" and he let me get up.  I don't recall him ever telling me not
to tell anyone "or else".  That was probably because he knew I wouldn't any-
way.  He knew I was such a wimp that he didn't have to WORRY about me telling
anyone.

My therapist seems to think something happened before that time since I knew
that resisting would be futile and I shut down.  Plus, I remember thinking
that if he moved at all in a sexual way somehow, I would lose it.  But he didn'
t.  That's why I have a hard time with the denial of the severity of my ex-
perience.  There were no threats, he didn't rape me (in the legal sense), and
there was no violence.  I know in my head what he did was wrong, but when I
listen to other survivors talk about their abuse and I hear how brutal it was
I have a hard time believing that what happened to me really counts.  I know
this is crazy, but sometimes I find myself wishing that something REALLY
TERRIBLE would happend to me (or that I would remember that something REALLY
TERRIBLE happened to me) so that I can say it counts.  I guess I'm in the
early stages of recovery.  I'm definitely not in the emergency stage.  I have
no flashbacks or feelings of dissociation, etc.  So, I'm having a hard time
believing ...truly feeling...it counts.  I know it does.

How has it affected me?  I can't concentrate on work; I'm afraid of letting
people get close to me; I have no self esteem; I'm a perfectionistic procras-
tinator.  I survived by trying to be the perfect girl.  I was great in school,
sports, music, etc.  I never got into trouble.  Being an overachiever in our
society is positive.  That's another reason why have SO much trouble believing
that I was affected (I know in my head I have been).  But every now and then
I'll go to group or I'll read this post and I see me in other people's words.
Then I know.  I know I've been affected no matter how hard I try to deny it.
It follow me wherever I go.  I can't run from it.

How in the hell do I tell my family.  They also didn't help matters by creating
an environment empty of openness and free expression of feelings.  To this day
(I'm 25) I've never had a heart-to-heart discussion with either of my parents.
Plus, I'm starting to ponder if my father may have abused me.  A friend of mine
who is also a survivor said something to me once that triggered a feeling that
he may have.  But there are no other signs that would lead me to be sure.  Are
there signs to look for?

Anyway, it is about time for me to go.  I appreciate those who have read this
post.  You can respond through E-mail or by posting a response.  It doesn't
matter.

I'm ending this with a letter I wrote to God.  It is a possible spoiler.

    Dear God,
    Why don't you end my pain?  I know why - I must do it myself.  But it
would be muc easier if you would arrange for my demise or forgive me for com-
mitting suicide.  I know it is a permanent answer to a temporary problem, and
that it would hurt all those who know and love me, but the pain is too great.
This will follow me around wherever I go; it will follow me aorund wherever I
go.  I can't hind from it.  No matter how hard I try to forget, it reminds me
and follows me.
     Saturday night I got a glimpse of what the pain felt like.  I hated it!
It hurt real bad.  I couldn't breath.  I couldn't get rid of it.  I didn't
have anything to kill myself with so I lie there feeling it.  I know why I'm
afraid - it's because I don't think I'll make it.  It hurt too much.  What
triggered it?  Lack of control, a noncompassionate family, no one to trust.

Regina