Where do I start ... I have never written any of my thoughts down about the sexual abuse I have endured in my lifetime. I am sure, that compared to some, it is not “as bad.” To me, it was horrible. It is still with me to this day. I’m not sure who will read my story. If anyone that knows me reads this, I would say to them, “This is my life story; this is who I am and why I am the way I am.”
My step-dad was the abuser. I know that I have repressed memories; but I am too afraid to remember them. One of my earliest and most painful was one day when my mom was gone (the abuse only ever happened when she was gone). I was about ten, I had been outside playing. After coming indoors, “step-father” said that he needed to check me for supposed “ticks.” Of course I didn’t think anything of it ... I was a child!
He took me into the bathroom, made me undress and then told me to spread me legs. He said he needed to check me all over; meaning my vagina. It felt like he was touching me for hours, it was horrible. He just kept touching my vagina, and kept repeating that he was looking for ticks. I suppose in some sick way, by saying that, it made it seem (to him) that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. To this day when I think about this, I want to get physically sick. It truly makes me feel like it was my fault. Or that I am a lesser person for this having happened to me. There is a country song popular right now with the lyrics, “I want to check you for ticks;” this song is what has brought out many repressed memories—such a simple memory trigger.
After several episodes, I built up enough confidence to tell my mom that “I think dad sexually abused me.” She told me, “Don’t ever lie to me again.” I still remember where we were ... in the car next to an old bakery.
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