From: sakelley@euclid.ucsd.edu (Scott Kelley)
Newsgroups: alt.sexual.abuse.recovery
Subject: SPOILER: My Story (long)
Date: 14 Dec 92 18:44:13 GMT


[ Well, the moment of truth has come. I have to decide whether or not to
post what I've written in my journal. Deep down, I know I must. I will
never be at peace with myself regarding these issues until I have shared
the pain with those closest to it. But I am afraid.

I need to do this for ME... but it might hurt others. Whose needs do I
place first? Can I be so selfish?

But, I am also forced to admit, there's a chance it will help someone
else. Someone in the second round of victims. But I think they've
already fled, as I did before. Maybe some of them are listening. Maybe
this will help them.

Maybe they will hate me for not speaking out. To give them the
information that might have kept them from getting hurt.

Maybe they will hate me for speaking out. For causing more trouble. For
lifting up the rug to show what's been swept under. Who's been swept
under.

Maybe they will just ignore me.

Well, ok, so I'm not prepared for the possible fallout of posting this.
But when have I ever been prepared to deal with this stuff?

I've had plenty of time to step back from what I've written. I'm not
doing this because I'm upset and hysterical. I'm not doing this as an
impulsive response to recent events. Although admittedly the recent
events did dredge up the old pain.

Why am I doing this?

The reasons are too numerous to list. Some are to subtle to even
articulate. But they are there. I must do this.

I'm sorry if this hurts anyone.

     -- one of the victims of asar
]


[Transcribed from dead trees... no changes except for spelling and
punctuation corrections...]

[12/3/92]

I thought it had been a long time since I wrote here. But it 
hasn't been. Only about two months. Since the last deep cut. The 
one I never told anyone about. The one that would have put me in 
the hospital if I had told. Maybe I can go deeper tonight. I 
already did a little, but I'm only getting started.

Many months ago, a number of... things... happened. I never wrote 
about those here before. Perhaps now it's time.

I once screamed my pain out to the world.

This was unusual, because usually I can't say anything about what 
hurts me. I still don't know how I did it.

I just looked over what I said back then. At first I thought that 
nothing has changed. But that's wrong. Nothing has gotten better. 
Many things have gotten worse.

Many people responded to my call with support and encouragement. 
They seemed to understand. They seemed to care. It felt so good.

One person in particular touched me very deeply. I still have her 
letter; it's right here. Can I read it... or are the memories too 
painful?

"Is this helping? I desparately want you to know that there is 
someone else out there struggling with the same hopes and fears 
and desires and longings as you and that as long as I am alive I 
will make sure you know that. Let us get through this together."

The pain isn't in how it started... it's in how it all turned out.

We started to correspond... several times a day. Almost real-time, 
even with the time difference. "I'll get back to you about 
12:00..."

Then she had a flashback to her abuse. It was bad. I volunteered 
to call her. So she could hear a voice. She accepted. I called. I 
think we talked three hours. At ten dollars an hour.

Others cared about her; others wrote to her. But she and I shared 
something increasingly special. We kept the calls and letters 
moving.

I'm out of hardcopy notes... now I'll have to rely on my foggy, 
traumatized memory.

I don't remember the first time she said she loved me. But by the 
time she did, I felt the same way. We both needed to feel that way 
at that point. We weren't interested in being realistic. We both 
needed someone to love us, and we were available for each other... 
in spirit if not in person. The physical distances were great. But 
it felt good to know that someone loved me, even from afar.

For a brief time, I had something I could feel good about.

I'm shivering now. It's cold out. But I can hardly slice my legs 
up with long pants on! Just dribbles so far. I'm cold inside 
too...

She had more flashbacks. I couldn't be with her. I couldn't hold 
her. But someone else could.

I needed to be held. She needed to be held. We couldn't give each 
other what we needed. There was no one else for me, but there was 
someone else who could be there for her. Someone who was 
geographically closer. He was willing to go visit, to give her a 
hug. To hold her.

I was jealous. Of both of them. I wanted someone to hold me too. I 
was also jealous that another guy would hold her. But I told 
myself that wasn't fair. He could give her what she needed; I 
couldn't. Besides, it wasn't a sexual thing... just caring and 
compassion. I told myself to be grateful to him for what he was 
doing. I told myself his intentions were good. He was helping 
someone I loved. I trusted him.

So he, and another, went to visit her. She got hugged. She got 
held. And I didn't.

Then he told her she should run away from home. Leave the country. 
Move in with him. She had said her home was abusive and difficult. 
Shouldn't she leave such an environment? The running away from 
home made me uncomfortable. But her was there. He was older. And 
he knoew better. After all, he was helping her. Right?

I forgot to say: she was sixteen. He was an adult. I don't know 
what I am. Chronologically eight years older than her; 
emotionally, younger.

She decided not to run away from home that time. He, and the 
other, went home.

Her flashbacks got worse and worse. I was frantic. I couldn't take 
care of her. Just like I couldn't take care of my mother when she 
would cry and cry and my dad was gone for months at a time. Or 
when we were all together and they would fight and then she would 
cry. I was eight years old all over again. Or still. I was 
desparate to trust anyone who would help. Or be a friend.

<< this is our new house. we just moved here. this is our 
paperboy. sometimes he babysits me when mom and dad go out. >>

Memories become even fuzzier now. Memories of the recent past. 
Memories of the distant past. Only the blood dripping down my leg 
is... clear? No, it's read. I must still be alive.

He went up to visit her again. He wanted to help her get away. 
They tried to get away. Stopped by the authorities. She, 
imprisoned. He, stranded on the other side of the border. The 
police, the doctors... all trying to hurt her. He was trying to 
help! Why were they being so cruel? Why wouldn't they let him 
help? I spoke with him on the phone. I relayed messages between 
them. I helped him help her. She trusted him, and she knew I did 
too.

<< i'm glad you're babysitting me tonight. you're my friend. sure, 
i want you to show me something fun! go into the bedroom? ok. take 
my clothes off? well, ok, i trust you, you said this would be fun. 
so i'll take my clothes off. you are too? well, ok. >>

He went up to visit her again. He wanted her. He kept her in a 
hotel room. He kept her awake. He went over the flashbacks again 
and again, in detail. He convinced her that even more things had 
happened to her. He convinced her they were true. He held her 
close. He asked her to drop the one last barrier between them. She 
balked. He threatened to abandon her. Terrified and in shock, she 
consented. Or did she? Could she? Was she capable of it?

<< you want me to touch that? ok. you want me to put it in my 
mouth? no, that's yucky. you want to put mine in your mouth? well, 
ok. i trust you. you want me to get on my hands and knees? ok. i 
trust you. >>

They were stopped at the border because an adult and a teenager 
can't cross on a motor scooter without proper id. The police got a 
court order to have her put in the hospital psych ward to keep him 
from taking her out of the country.

Eventually, she realized what he had done to her. She tried to 
tell the doctors. They didn't believe her. She went to the police. 
They said she had consented.

Eventually, I realized what he had done to me. He had used me to 
get to her. I had trusted him, and he used that to hurt her.

It hurts to have someone abuse your trust and use it to hurt you. 
It hurts worse to have your trust used to hurt someone you love. A 
lot worse.

The story takes two paths from here. The less painful:

Eventually, she and I decided it was impossible for us to have the 
kind of relationship we wanted. Age, distance and circumstance 
were against us. She needed to explore her abused sexuality. She 
needed to do the growing up that I missed out on at her age. We 
loved each other, but we knew that we had to let each other go.

I never blamed her for what happened. I was only angry that she 
hadn't been able to protect herself better. But I would have done 
the same thing she did. I was even jealous of her. I'd let someone 
abuse me if they'd just hold me.

The more painful:

He had abused her trust. He had abused my trust. But we knew about 
it, and could protect ourselves. A little. And there wasn't much 
more he could do to us.

But there was a problem. With the friends I had made when I 
screamed out my pain. He held a position of respect, admiration, 
and gratitude in their community. He guarded their secrets. He 
held another position, too. A second identity. A second 
personality. One many people feared and mistrusted. But one many 
had compassion for.

I tried to warn them. I told them that the person they trusted and 
the one they did not were the same person. I told them how he had 
abused her trust, and mine. I told them that the community might 
be in danger.

The community split into several groups. Some were shocked. The 
person who guarded their secrets was not trustworthy!?!?!?! People 
argued over what, if anything, should be done. Others felt that I 
wasn't trustworthy. After all, I had violated someone's anonymity, 
a sacred right in the community. My motives were not relevant to 
them. It's not your job to protect other people, I was told. 
Others basically ignored the problem... people are really good at 
that. And me? Well, I, with some others, I suppose, ran away.

I tried to stay. But what had happened made the public community 
just too painful. Eventually I couldn't even look in. I certainly 
couldn't join in. Some people didn't trust me. I didn't want them 
to be scared away by me. So I stayed away.

I tried to stay in contact with the friends I had made. But I 
couldn't explain the pain I was in. Eventually, they stopped 
writing. I couldn't call out. I was left alone again.

I tried to forget. The pain. The friends who no longer trusted me. 
The friends who just no longer wrote anymore.

And him? The one who had hurt me? The one who had used me to hurt 
the one I loved? He kept his position of trust. And I still lie 
awake at night wondering who else's trust he is abusing. Who else 
he is hurting. He still keeps their secrets.

Recently, someone else accused him of violating trust. People 
argued again. For a while it seemed he would step down from his 
position of trust. How did I know? Despite the pain, I looked in 
from time to time. Like picking a scab. Or, more recently, like 
opening old scars with a sharp knife.

Did I celebrate his apparent downfall? Yes. With a big box of 
pills to overdose on and new blades for my knife. I tried to get 
drunk that night, but my stomach wouldn't take it. I have 
perpetual stomach problems, and since I haven't been taking care 
of myself, now I can't even hold down a little bit of alcohol 
without difficulty. It just comes back up. I didn't find my knife 
until tonight. That still works. I looked at the pills, played 
with them, but I haven't taken any yet. And I've stopped eating. 
So I just took enough antidepressants to make me pass out, and 
went to bed and curled up in a ball.

Now it looks like he seeks to keep his position, or even amplify 
it.

As I looked at my old cry to the world earlier tonight, I noticed 
some things haven't changed, and others have gotten worse.

I am still a failure.

I am still alone.

No one will hold me.

I gained a caring community and supportive friends, and then lost 
it all in the most painful experience of my life.

People still tell me, on occasion, that it's not my job to protect 
other people. But I find that hard to accept.

Who does protect the innocent and unknowing? Those who have 
recently joined the community and don't know the danger they're 
in?

Waht would I say to his next victim? Well, yes, I knew you might 
be in danger of being hurt, but it wasn't my job to warn you. Too 
bad you got hurt. You'll just have to learn to protect yourself 
better.

I couldn't bear to say that.

What about people who aren't strong enough to protect themselves?

Luckily, I'm not strong enough to try to protect everyone. But in 
return I have to live with the fact that my silence might allow 
others to be harmed.

Unfortunately, I'm not strong enough to protect myself. Or ask for 
help.

I don't think there's much I could do anyway. Nobody remembers me 
anymore. They remember her. They still know him. But there's no 
mention of me being caught in the middle. And trampled. Maybe 
they're trying to protect me. Maybe it's best.

I still care about them. When it doesn't hurt too much, I like to 
look in and see how they are doing.

I'd like to thank everyone, for the caring and support they gave 
me before the pain came.

And him, for teaching me the bitter lesson that there are things 
that can hurt worse than being sexually molested as a child. And 
people willing to inflict that pain.

And her, for showing me how wonderful it feels to be loved. And 
for letting go before she found out that I am unlovable.

I still think about her from time to time. I hope she is healthy 
and happy, and getting the help and support she needs.

I think about him too. I don't know whether he means to hurt 
people or not. I don't know if he's hurting more people or not. I 
wish he would get the help he needs, but I don't think he will. 
That makes me sad.

Well, things went ok tonight. There's not much blood. No pills. No 
alcohol. Maybe I'll have better luck tomorrow...

I have misgivings about what I've written. I'm sure I've scrambled 
some of the facts. And I can't express the pain in the way I feel 
it... I can't make the words hurt that much. And I've even left 
things out.

But as I look back through this journal, I see pain that never 
stops... only gets worse. Maybe someday I'll look back and feel 
good about the fact that the pain has gone away. But I doubt it.

[12/5/92]

Throughout this set of journal entries, I have considered 
releasing these entries to the community. If that ever happens, 
some may be wondering what I'm trying to do? Set the facts 
straight? Sorry, my memories are blurred enough that I can't 
guarantee accuracy, even to myself. Vengeance? I hope not. That's 
not a part of what I want to be. A warning to the others? No, I 
tried that; it didn't work. Sadly, I can't guarantee that any of 
the above is really true. I don't trust my motives.

The reason, I think... I hope... that I'm writing this is to 
explore my pain. To tell my story. To heal. I don't feel like I'm 
going to heal, but I need to tell.

"Everyone has a right to tell the truth about [their] life. 
Although most survivors have been taught to keep their abuse a 
secret, this silence has been in the best interests only of the 
abusers, not the survivors. Nor does it protect the [people] who 
still have contact with the abuser.

Many survivors have a compelling desire to speak out. Yet whenever 
you consider breaking the taboo of secrecy, you are apt to feel 
fear and confusion. You may question your right to tell or 
criticize your motives. In order to understand the strength of 
these feelings, you must remember that you are emerging from a 
context of severe cultural and personal repression. You are 
challenging the secrecy that is the foundation of abusive family 
structures. You are taking revolutionary steps toward self respect 
and respect for all [people]. You are exercising your power.

There are many motives for wanting to confront or disclose. You 
may want validation that these things actually happened, perhaps 
from a sibling who experienced abuse or witnessed yours. You may 
want factual information to help piece together your memories. You 
may want to make the abuser, nonprotecting parents, or others feel 
the impact of what happened to you. You may want to see them 
suffer. You may want revenge. You may want to break the silence. 
You may want financial reparations or payment for your therapy. 
You may want to warn others that there are [people] still at risk. 
(And they are. We have heard countless stories of survivors who 
didn't think the abuser would hurt anyone else but them, only to 
find he had also molested their own children, nieces, nephews). 
You may want to explore whether it is possible to establish an 
honest relationship, to get support. If you choose to speak out, 
it is probably for several purposes, some more attainable than 
others.

There is no right course of action in disclosures and 
confrontations. There is no right time to tell, no right way to 
tell, and no right decision whether to tell. It is very important 
not to be pressured into confronting. Although some stages in the 
healing process are absolutely necessary, confronting abusers and 
telling family members are not.

Be clear that whatever you do, you are doing it for yourself. 
Consider your decision thoroughly, and whatever your choice, carry 
it out in a way that will best allow you to assert your own rights 
to honesty and visibility."

  - - -  From "The Courage to Heal":Disclosures and Confrontations

More from the same:

"There are some questions you can ask yourself to help make up 
your mind:"

* Whom exactly do I want to talk to? Why?

     i don't know.

* What do I hope to gain from this confrontation? Are my
  expectations realistic?

     i want the pain to stop. i want to protect others.
     no, not realistic. won't happen.

* What are my motives for confronting or disclosing?

     i want the pain to stop. i want to protect others.
     no, not realistic. won't happen.

* Is there anyone who can give me the information I need?

     no. i don't need any information.
     i already know others have been hurt. again.

* What do I stand to gain? To lose?

     gain? maybe i can keep just one person from getting hurt.
     lose? nothing more. everything important i lost long ago.

* Would I be risking something I still want from my family?

     the community is closed to me now.

* Could I live with the possibility of being excluded from family
  gatherings?

     i am already excluded.

* Am I willing to take the risk of losing contact with other
  family members with whom I want to stay connected?

     i have already lost contact.

* Am I stable and centered enough to risk being called crazy?

     i probably am crazy.

* Could I maintiain my own reality in the face of total denial?

     i have no reality. but i still see the denial.

* Can I withstand the anger I am likely to face?

     probably not.

* Could I handle no reaction at all?

     i don't know.

* Do I have a solid enough support system to back me up before,
  during, and after the confrontation?

     no, probably not.

* Can I realistically imagine both the worst and the best outcomes
  that might result?

     worst: nothing changes.
     best: ???

* Could I live with either one?

     i don't know.

* Have I prepared for the confrontation?

     how?

One thing becomes clear. Current events make me feel that I should 
come forth quickly. While the issues are still in question. NO! I 
will come forth when it is right for me.

I behaved rashly before. I must not do so again.

[Sorry it ends so abruptly. There's more in the journal, but it's not
really relevant. Mostly arguments back and forth with myself about
whether or not I should go public with this. If you're reading this;
that issue has been decided.]

=================================================
Scott Kelley, sakelley@ucsd.edu, (619) 534-8560
Multimedia Interactive Learning Laboratory (MILL)
Department of Biology, UC San Diego
(also an1389@anon.penet.fi if you need it)
=================================================
Newsgroups: alt.sexual.abuse.recovery