This story contains graphic or mature content.
My story. It’s hard to believe I am sharing. These memories are in my personal journal and in my head. They stay in my head and heart all the time. As I write this entry in my journal, I am totally in tears; however the words come out.
I started writing thoughts down a few months ago when the memories popped in my head. The writing became like my counseling sessions. I am not a writer by a long shot. I dump what is in my head and hope it depicts on paper what I was thinking and feeling. Instead of me physically going to counseling, writing about something and nothing has become my solace. It is also much cheaper than talking to a professional. I have been going to counseling for over five years. I have stopped going earlier this year. He (Buddy) and I were proud of my accomplishments, as I was able to handle life on my own with a better mentality so I stopped attending sessions. I know basically how to handle the haunting memories of my past. To help me on the bad days when I do not have a counselor to talk to, I journal.
Journaling allows me the ability not to hold anything back. I say and write what I want to say without any repercussion. When I went to my counselor, I held things back as I was ashamed to let all the details out of being molested; he would have probably had me committed with what was in my head. I kept a lot in over the years, even though talking with my counselor helped me tremendously, however I had so much pain, anger, and hurt inside of me—I did not think anyone could help me. I prayed that I could keep standing, and thus far, I am still standing.
By sharing my personal journal entry, hopefully it helps someone, just as it is helping me to share. It will be because they have read my personal writings and it will be because I have allowed myself to share my hurt, pain, and the ability to overcome everything. Even though the pain and hurt seems like it never ends, eventually it does go away and I live that day to the fullest. I know how to deal with it better one day at a time. Some days it is one moment at a time.
I am a child of incest. Today, I still think of those moments in my childhood, and at times, I have severe anxiety and deep depression. I think about what this disgusting act had done to my life overall and it has affected me in so many different ways, I could write a book. If I had someone to write the book, I would do it. I already have the name and how I want the book to flow. I am not a writer. Anyways, back to the journal/article. I had let the memories dominate my life as I did not know what to do and had no one to support me during those times as a young girl of giving up my body. How could he do this to me and not even realize the pain he caused me?
What did this incest mean for my life, and what has this ugly thing done to my life as a whole? I was being molested since I was nine years old, maybe ten. It went on for years. The memories are as vivid as it was yesterday. Why is that? The smells, the furniture, the clothes that I wore, the TV shows that were playing in the background. Oh my goodness, sometimes the memories and senses never stop. I try not to remember as much as I used to, but the darn memories will not stay suppressed. It is a secret that only a handful of people know in my life today.
The molestation started with touches and rubs; I was aware and yet unaware of what they meant. I did not understand. However, since I trusted, I did not say anything. All I knew was that it did not feel right, but what was I supposed to do? I was nine. Later on, during the months and years, the visits and the touching became more of a routine, giving me baths and actually trying to insert me.
I remember, being in the sixth grade and I was developed for my age. It was a hard time for me. I was getting teased in school by the boys because of my body development and hated by the girls. I think things got worse for me for being molested as I had developed in the right places at an early age. School was hard and my life outside of school was harder. I became a hermit and have lived in that type of shell for a long time.
One of my biggest challenges in adulthood is that my ex-husband, who was the first to know about my past, likes to throw it in my face since our divorce. This is a whole other story. You have to stay tuned for this one. He has used the secret that I shared with him when we first got married to try and destroy me for walking out of the oppressive marriage. He almost succeeded. And yet, I stand.
This is only a start for me and more healing for the body and soul that I am ready to consume. The story may be all over the place. I am making an effort. However, I have pages and pages on writings of the memories that I have as a child well into adulthood. Stay tuned. I love to share with anyone who can relate or understand. Life does get better. I hope my writing improves a little more so I can share with emphasis of my experiences. This introduction entry comes from my personal journal with the hope of sharing all one day. I still stand.