While we are on the subject of sexual abuse………
Herbert Ward
“You never had your head screwed on right.”
This is how my mom started off telling me the deepest, darkest secret in my life, one she had kept for 53 years. Would my life had been different if I had known? Maybe. I know the secret would affect the rest of my life. Given the times, my age and what happened to me, I never had a chance. My mother was correct, “I’ve never had my head screwed on right.”
We were having a retirement party at my parents’ house for my brother-in-law, Scott, who had just turned 65 and was quitting work with his dream to sail around the world. It was a small party, a dozen of us, immediate family, but lots of food. My sister and I had been cooking for two days before the party. We had bought lots of chicken and made everything else, potato salad, antipasto, baked beans, according to my mom’s recipes.
My mother and I talk a lot about food, cooking, books. We are both always reading. She’s told me stories of trips her and dad took to Europe and Hawaii. We share memories of our lives, family and friends. We had become not just mother and daughter but friends, confidants. How long she had carried this secret. Why choose now to reveal it?
This Sunday, my mother and I were sitting outside on my parents back porch talking about various kids I had grown up with and what became of them. Most of them ended up as college graduates, from good colleges, CEO’s and wealthy. One did do time in prison, a long time, for murder. He was my first crush at around age eight. Figures that’s the one I fell for. So not all of them were successful, though most were.
After the litany of success. I blurted, “What happened to us, mom?” Meaning the lack of success, or what is defined as success, in my life mostly, but also my siblings, except for my younger brother who has the big house and money. I live in a small trailer.
Mom responded with, “You never did have your head screwed on right”. I protested defensively, “I did graduate from college”.
But, I knew that something in my life had happened to me to keep me from accomplishing more than I have. I had lots of potential. I was meant to be more. More than what I became, more than what I was, more than what I am. I would have psychological problems for most of my life that would rob me of years of being a functioning, productive person.
I looked my mother in the eyes and told her emphatically, “Something happened to me.” My answer for my own lack of success. I have some memories of what happened, but then they go dark. My mom picked this day and time to tell me what happened. I am still in shock at what she told me.
Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines within all religions and at all levels of education.
I have always had a good memory, and sometimes, it amazes my family. I can remember things even from very young in detail, images, feelings, smells, thoughts I was having. But there is one memory where my brain always fails me. It goes blank, black, deep, dark. It is a repressed memory that affected my whole life.
Here’s the secret my mother told me:
My parents were having a party while we lived on Guam and this man, mom does not say his name, but I know he was dark-haired and would haunt me the rest of my life, offered to put me to bed.
“I remember the party, I remember him saying he would put me to bed, “ I said. I think mom was surprised that I remembered that much. Like I said, I have a good memory.
“Another man at the party was suspicious of him that night with you, and he got bad feelings. Instead of putting you to bed that man took you into the bathroom. He had your panties off and he was kissing you when this other man broke the door down and beat the man molesting you to within an inch of his life.”
“We never had another party after that. We didn’t press charges. He was beaten pretty badly.” My mother sums up after dumping this huge revelation on me. “You really were a pretty little girl”. Like that was some kind of explanation, some reason that I was the one who was chosen by a pedophile. I was pretty.
I don’t remember the violent encounter. I don’t remember the sexual abuse. This incident, this molestation, this child abuse, altered my future, was the catalyst for the rest of my life and how it would evolve or not evolve and what I would or would not become. But I have no memories of any of it.
20% of child sexual abuse victims are under the age of 8 .. most never tell, and some don't recall the abuse.
I was stunned at my mother’s disclosure, and the questions would not come till later, when I had time to process this information. I have so many questions to ask, but am afraid to ask, my mother. She believes if we don’t talk about bad things, they will just go away. This is probably why she never told me. I must ask my mother while I still can, but, I hesitate to bring the subject up again. I’m afraid she won’t answer my questions.
Unfortunately, in my memories, my abuser was with me several times before this party, He had given me a fancy red dress that I loved. It made me feel special. What happened to the red dress? He had taken me to kiddie bingo, and when he won, he let me chose the prize. I chose a large bride doll dressed in a long, white wedding gown. I clearly remember that day. What happened to the doll? I remember a handsome, dark-haired man who paid me a lot of attention. What was his name? The name of the man who beat him up? Lots of questions. Mom died before I could get anymore answers.
My dad was stationed at Anderson Air Force Base in Guam from 1959-1961. That is how we ended up on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, a seemingly ideal place for children, far from the dangers of the city and crime. A time that I remember fondly may have been the worst thing that could have happened to me. I was a happy little girl enthralled by the jungle, the ocean, life, my exotic surroundings where I lived from ages four to six, until a monster in a handsome, friendly, disguise abused me. Then I totally changed.
Childabuse is a crime perpetrated on the innocent and the defenseless.”
Pete Dominici
In 1960 pedophilia was not in the minds of many parents. Freedom to roam and just be children playing outside was the norm. Monsters and child molesters were the furthest from anyone’s minds. The world to our parents was a safe place for children to grow up in. It wasn’t true then, and it isn’t true now. I was horribly violated and was never the same. It forever changed me. Most sexually abused victims know their perpetrator and it is usually a family member or friend. They can be lurking anywhere looking for the vulnerable. Watch your little boys and girls.
Guam, a tiny island, 30 miles long and four to 12 miles wide, six thousand miles from the US mainland, in the middle of the pacific, would forever have its impact on me. I had my innocence stolen from me there. I was sexually abused while I was still a small child, still new in the world, still open to people, still trusting. Being five, I had no defenses against one who would do such a despicable act. I was truly an innocent. We had no “stranger danger” lessons back then. Sexual abuse was not spoken of or even a blip on parents’ radar screens.
This small island, a picture of beauty and tropical dreams, is where the rest of my future was set on a sad course, because of something I had absolutely no control over. How many other children are hurt every day in such a way? What happens to their futures once they become sexually abused at a young age? I only know what happened to me. But Guam also has its own, not very well known, dark, sad history. It was not always the idyllic, tropical paradise it appeared to be.
As the largest island in Micronesia and the only U.S.-held island in the region before World War II, Guam was captured by the Japanese on December 8, 1941, just hours after the attack on Pearl Harbor, and was occupied for two and a half years. During the occupation, the people of Guam were subjected to acts that included torture, beheadings, and rape, and were forced to adopt the Japanese culture. Guam was subject to fierce fighting when U.S. troops recaptured the island on July 21, 1944, a date commemorated every year as Liberation Day.
Many of my strongest memories are of Guam. I have memories of beaches and jungle, coconuts and sugar cane. One strong memory I have is of a fine, warm, it was always warm, day, my mother took us to the beach. The beaches in Guam are beautiful, pure, white sand, clear blue, salt water with gentle waves and coconut, palm trees. The water was shallow for a long ways, and I crept farther and farther out, turning my head back often to check the beach and noticing that my mother was not watching me. The warm, salt water reached my neck, and I stood on wobbly legs, but still went farther. Children have no good concept of danger. The sea floor that had been shallow suddenly dropped off from under me, I felt myself falling off the shallow edge of the reef I had been walking on. I fell slowly through the salt water, unable to swim, I could not move. I was frozen and could not save myself. A huge wave came, lifted me up and deposited me back on safe ground. My mother had not noticed my brush with death. The sea goddess had thrown me back. Often, later in life, I would wish that I had died then. Part of my mental illness, this wish to die.
Guam is the closest land mass to the Mariana Trench, a deep subduction zone, that lies beside the island chain to the east. Challenger Deep, the deepest surveyed point in the Oceans, is southwest of Guam at 35,797 feet. A coral table reef with deepwater channels surrounds most of Guam. Sandy beaches, rock cliff lines and mangroves characterize the coastline area.
I cried for days after this revelation from my mother for the five-year-old little girl I was. A little girl, almost still a baby. Me. Someone I used to be. My mom has just told me the deepest, darkest secret of my life. I would exhibit most of the symptoms of child sexual abuse growing up, sadness, preoccupation with sex, dissociative disorder, inability to relate to people or make friends. Once the damage is done it can be very hard to straighten out a screwed-up, little five-year-old psyche.
Child sexual abuse can result in both short-term and long-term harm, including psychopathology in later life. Indicators and effects include depression, anxiety, eating disorders, poor self-esteem, somatization, sleep disturbances, and dissociative and anxiety disorders including post-traumatic stress disorder.
Not only was I sexually abused, but the discovery that there was a violent, bloody altercation that must have scarred my little brain disturbs me; because, I have no memory of it. This child sexual abuse, added to a family genetic history of mental illness, made me susceptible to abuse the rest of my life. Mental illness makes it hard for your life to go right. After this time in my life, I remember being sad all the time, crying a lot and being painfully shy. These are all outward signs of child sexual abuse.
Child abuse, including sexual abuse, especially chronic abuse starting at early ages, has been found to be related to the development of high levels of dissociative symptoms, which includes amnesia for abuse memories.
All through school I never had any friends. I remember crying on the playground, because I had no one to play with. I sucked my thumb until I was ten and broke my arm and couldn’t suck it anymore. I spent most my time alone except for the company of my sister who was always, sometimes, my only friend. I always felt safe with her.
While children may exhibit regressive behaviors such as a return to thumb-sucking or bed-wetting, the strongest indicator of sexual abuse is sexual acting out and inappropriate sexual knowledge and interest. Victims may withdraw from school and social activities, and exhibit various learning and behavioral problems including cruelty to animals, attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), conduct disorder, and oppositional defiant disorder (ODD).
I dropped out of school in the ninth grade. I was a rebellious teen. I fell in love with another dark-haired, handsome man, who would also turn out to be a very violent abuser. I married this man nine days after I turned 16. I had my first daughter a month after I turned 17. I attempted suicide at age 20. The cycle of abuse didn’t end at age five.
Teenage pregnancy and risky sexual behaviors may appear in adolescence. Child sexual abuse victims report almost four times as many incidences of self-inflicted harm.
I’ve examined my life and I have certain memories and knew that something had to have happened to me. “I did graduate from college”, I had said to my mother defending my lack of success. It only took me 17 years to get a bachelor’s degree in Journalism, but it was a major accomplishment in my life given my mental issues. It is through writing that I have been able to deal with my life and the pain and mental illness. Writing continues to sustain and heal me.
About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one psychological disorder. 5
No mom, I never had my head screwed on right. . Was I expected to just forget and not be affected by the sexual abuse and violence? It affected my whole life. What was I doing when the door crashed in and this man was beaten “to within an inch of his life” in front of me. Was I crying? screaming? in shock? What kind of person molests a five-year-old? More questions.
A well documented long term negative effect is repeated or additional victimization in adolescence and adulthood. A causal relationship has been found between childhood sexual abuse and various adult psychopathologies, including crime and suicide in addition to alcoholism and drug abuse.
The rest of my life was predicated on what happened when I was five. It changed the course of my life and my destiny. I was no longer the girl that I had been up to that time. From then on I was damaged psychologically. I’ve had a lot to overcome, yet I still plug along. It has taken me decades to learn the truth and to find the answers to my question, why am I like this? Screwed up in the head.
Young children that are sexually abused are the most vulnerable, many not being able to articulate their abuse, and failure to recognize the abuse, as most molesters make friends with the child. That is why it is so important for parents to recognize the signs and take action. I exhibited almost every sign that sexual child abuse victims of a young age can develop.
Young children who are sexually abused often have difficulty understanding or explaining what has happened. While tens of thousands of sexual child abuse cases are reported each year, many are not reported because children are afraid to tell or they do not have the words to tell. Recognizing the signs of sexual abuse can lead to fast intervention and professional help for very young victims
Any child who exhibits outward signs of child abuse should be listened to and handled with care and professionally to avoid a lifetime of spiraling abuse and psychological illness. There is hope for the children if adults are aware of the signs of abuse. Children cannot protect themselves.
I have proof, eyewitnesses, to my abuse, but I don’t have a memory. That does not mean it didn’t affect me and the direction of my whole life. It has taken me five decades for me to get some of the answers to my lifetime problems. If you suspect child abuse please don’t ignore it. I think of the stranger who kicked in the door. He did not walk away.
References:
http://www.livestrong.com/article/216938-signs-of-sexual-abuse-in-young-children/#ixzz2cRWorzXp
http://en.thinkexist.com/quotation/child_abuse_casts_a_shadow_the_length_of_a/208491.html
http://www.naasca.org/2012-Resources/010812-StaisticsOfChildAbuse.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Child_sexual_abuse
