Journal entry 5/10/12

I have to go through therapy because of you. What are you doing right now?!

you lied to my mom and she blamed me. She insisted nothin happened. She said I remembered things wrong. I can visualize that night like a movie, running in my head.

i won’t be sad the day you die. I don’t care about you at all. You’ve made me distrust me because you violated my trust. Who the hell does that to a child?! Sick people do what you did.

dont ever contact me again. I don’t even want to acknowledge your existence.

Scarring your children: how not to do it.

Arnold: When I was about 5, my cousin and I . . . went into the basement and dropped our pants. We touched each other’s penises, and that was it. I guess I didn’t realize the total significance of the secrecy in which we carried out this act. For later . . . my parents questioned me . . . and I told them exactly what we had done. They were horrified and told me that that was definitely forbidden (Morrison et al., 1980, p. 24)
Despite Arnold’s parents’ “horror,” same-sex sexual play in childhood does not foreshadow adult sexual orientation (Reinisch, 1990). It may, in fact, be more common than heterosexual play. It typically involves handling the other child’s genitals, although it may include oral or anal contact. It may also include an outdoor variation of the game of “show” in which boys urinate together and see who can reach farthest or highest.

I’ve been made to feel guilty about my body and about normal sexual exploration as a child, since I was young. I was told that I was oversexed, I was dirty, that young ladies didn’t touch themselves there, that I was too young to be doing that, etc. Then, when my cousin (slightly younger) and experimented, like the above example, and we were caught by my Aunt, I was lectured by father. He actually did a great job of gently telling me that it wasn’t okay. It was my crazed, stoner Aunt who went off and was yelling insults at me. She said I was gay, that I needed help, that I was disgusting.

The logical part of me knows that what we did was mere childish experimentation and nothing more. The scared, guilty child in me wonders if my cousin thinks I coerced her. I am worried that she thinks I’m some molester. That now she’s in therapy or that she needs therapy or something, because of it. It’s so painful, I push it away and don’t think of it. It goes into my gut. For Christ’s sake, I was fucking molested! I know how it feels and to think that someone out there, let alone family, might think that about me or feel the same way I feel towards the man who did it to me; I could kill myself right now without hesitation.

I will never talk to her about it. Ever. This is something I will just have to resolve with myself or just live with, kind of. I guess writing this is a way of living with it, sort of.

I will never talk to my mother or my mother’s sister (different Aunt) about how they shamed me and made me feel like shit for being perfectly normal about my body. Yes, I touched myself when I was young and I did so in front of the TV, when I thought no one was around. Yes, I masturbated when I had no inkling what the hell masturbation was; I just knew it felt good. Instead of making me feel bad and scarring me psychologically for the rest of my life, how about talking to me about it and educating me? Luckily, I plan on talking to any children I have. I won’t scar them for life and make them feel self conscious every time they pleasure themselves as a teen or adult.

Way to go, bad parents.

Sex ed rocks and good sex ed should be mandatory to have children. Sexual psychology is a prerequisite.

Touchy subject, no pun intended.

I saw my therapist for the first time in, well, over a month today. We briefly caught up, but ended up on a very sensitive subject for me: sexual abuse when I was a child. I still haven’t told her, in detail, what happened and I’m not quite sure why. This is a link we both share, so you’d think I would be more open to saying what happened. I think I feel an extremely large amount of guilt. I don’t think I was at fault, by any means. I was only a small girl when it happened. I think I feel guilt because I didn’t stop him and I could have. I also didn’t tell anyone about it until I was much older and in therapy. I feel guilt because there are those in this world who have suffered far worse at the hands of someone they trusted, loved, etc. and I feel like maybe I should just get over it. The logical part of my mind says this is all bullshit, but my emotions say something completely different.

We also discussed my current relationship and how I cannot be intimate because my mind won’t stop racing back to that night. Whenever we try to be intimate, which isn’t often anymore, I wince. I can’t stop my mind from racing. I keep thinking:I hope he doesn’t touch me like I was that night. When I think this, I end up ending whatever was happening. Sex is obviously out of the question at the moment until this is tackled. The amount of guilt I feel because of this is monumental. The logical part of me realizes that I’m in no type of “binding contract” to perform sexual acts for anyone unless I damn well please, but I still feel an insane amount of guilt. Self loathing, low self esteem, and guilt have been my constant negative feelings lately, coupled with stress and loneliness. It’s all too much sometimes.

We also discussed how my mom didn’t (maybe still doesn’t) believe me when I told her and how that makes me feel. I haven’t figured out if this is worse than what actually happened that night. To be told by your mother that “you must be remembering it wrong” or “he would never do something like that”. It’s a horribly invalidating experience and I feel like I can never trust her for anything. I feel so numb right now. I know that talking about it is better than bottling it up, but I don’t like the rawness I’m experiencing. I feel like crawling in bed right now for the rest of the day. I’m supposed to go to my mom’s tonight but I really don’t want to and I cannot think of an excuse to get out of it.

Being open about what happened to me has been a positive as well as a negative experience. I feel more empowered when I share with certain people and yet, I feel trapped at the same time. This is something I purposely pushed down so deep, for years, and completely “forgot” about. Now I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.