The Un-Crumpling Part
2
These posts are
intended to inform, educate and hopefully help others. I have found my own
sources of help that have led me to wholeness. My prayer is that other victims
may find healing and wholeness as well.
I don’t remember when the abuse started; my guess is I was
nine or ten. It was around then that my parents thought it appropriate to
subscribe to all sorts of periodicals including Playboy and occasionally
Penthouse. These magazines were readily left out along with the latest copies
of National Geographic and Popular Science. At the time I had no point of
reference for the lack of suitability these publications were for my adolescent
brother and me. My mother and father’s paranoia ensured I didn’t venture into neighbors’
homes and by no means was I allowed to have anyone over. Being homeschooled
guaranteed a cloistering from the typical and mundane of the lives that
surrounded us in our blue-collar suburb.
I probably will never know why the abuse started but I do
know why it stopped. In the flurry of magazine subscriptions there happened to
be Seventeen ordered especially for me. Again, questionably appropriate for an eleven
or twelve year old but ultimately it was a saving grace. The cover is etched in
my mind, a leotard-clad model stretching forward in a Jane Fondaesque manner typifying
the mid-80’s era it was published during. One of the cover stories that month
was, “Incest: What You Need to Know.” The information in the article felt like
a sledgehammer. How could I have been so stupid? I panicked and wanted to run
away or throw up but all I could do was sit paralyzed on my bed surrounded by
my Cure and INXS posters that had been pinned over my yellow kitten wallpaper.
The strength came. I am not sure if it was rooted from pure
terror but I found within me the strength to confront my abuser. He was
unperturbed and in an almost arrogant fashion casually switched the blame onto
me. Then to finish it off he uttered, “I wouldn’t tell anyone if I were you, I
wouldn’t want anyone to think badly of you.”
It was like a vault closing. I crawled into myself vowing to
pretend it never happened. I would run from the truth into a better life. I
convinced myself I would be fine and would triumph over all the possible bad
outcomes the article outlined.
I did.
I succeeded.
But the thing about abuse is that it takes a place in one’s
being and sets up shop and peddles insecurities, rage and shame. It rots the
soul and eventually I couldn’t out run it.
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