I was just 6 years old when my father woke me up, dragged me downstairs to his room and raped me. That was my introduction to sex. My mother was in the hospital having a baby. I hadn't known anything about sex or abuse in the 50's, children were kept in the dark about such things , but instinct had warned me that something terrible was going to happen. Imagine how my terror multiplied when my father told me he was going to kill me if I told anyone. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that he meant it.
My father also introduced me to pornography and perversion. A pimp as well as a molester, he not only robbed me of my innocence, he did it in an unspeakable way. Believe me, you don't want to know.
I was already used to being beaten. My siblings and I were hit with razor straps, stabbed with forks, you name it. I heard myself called "whore" and "slut" before I was old enough to know the meaning of the words. I only knew they made me feel worthless and unwanted. The man who called himself "father" made me perform oral sex at an age when most children are learning to play hopscotch and tell ghost stories. He even forced my sister and I to engage in three-way sex with him... To this day, she and I have not talked about it. I don't know if she remembers what happened. If she does, I am sure that like me, she wishes she could forget.
When I was l2 or l3, I worked up the courage to push my father away. "You are never touching me again!!" I shouted. Do you know what he said? "Guess I'll have to [____] the retard." He was talking about my little sister, who was mentally handicapped because of brain damage caused by an auto accident. I already carried a huge mountain of guilt because she had been my responsibility. It had been my job to see she got home from school safely, but I had gotten careless and let her ride with friends. A car hit her as she was getting out of their car. You can understand why I have tried to block out my childhood.
I married at 16. It didn't last. When I divorced, I had three children to care for. It wasn't long before I remarried and had two more children.. I was an alcoholic by the time I was married my second husband, but he loved me and believed in me. He tried to convince me I had potential. But it was like I had been born under a bad star. When I was 20, my brother came by one night and asked me to help him get sober. "I'm sorry," I said. "I have a date with the bar down the street. I walked him to the bar, but when I went in, he left. Later that night, he passed out on the train tracks. A train ran over him and he lost his legs. I tried to block out the incident the way I blocked out everything else with alcohol and sexual promiscuity. To me, sex-was-love-was-sex.. My husband couldn't begin to fill my needs. No one could. Emptiness and self-hatred kept threatening to swallow me. If there is a hell on earth, I was in it.
Shame overcomes me when I think how I ruined my own daughter's life by being overprotective. I thought all men were like my father. No way they could be trusted. I pushed males out of the picture if they even came near my daughter. I was even afraid to touch her. I withheld affection, so we didn't bond the way most mothers and daughters do. Being forced to have group sex with my own sister and father had instilled a fear of becoming a lesbian. Since I had never known normal family relations, I was afraid sexual attraction might develop between me and my daughter. I had no idea how to live a normal life. None. How could I possibly teach my children how to live normally?. My father had taken away much more than my virginity.. He had crippled my mind and heart. He might as well have locked me in a dungeon and thrown away the key..
I could not let my children know their grandfather for fear he would harm them. I had not seen him for 20 years when my sister called and told me he was dying.. I went to the hospital and told him I
forgave him. He died the next morning, seemingly at peace. I think he felt that he had made peace
with God. To say that I had mixed feelings about where God should send him is putting it mildly.
After my father died, I started working to get my act together. But I kept drawing a blank with God, and I knew why. I had only been giving lip service. Was being a hypocrite when I told my father I forgave
him. Furious, I yelled at God. "I hate the man!" I shouted. "I hate him, I hate him!: If there is any forgiving done, it will be because You did it for me!" Obviously God prefers a good, honest fight. Because the next morning, I woke with love in my heart for the first time since I was little. God had tiptoed in during the night and released me from hate and fear. He had forgiven me and now I could forgive. And I knew that once I forgave really forgave --, more and more love would flow in. . .and out. Now I feel compassion for people. Including me. Hallelujah!! I am free!!
