My Story
I had my 21st session with my therapist last night, and told
her I wish I had started a journal when I had started going
to therapy. She said it was never too late to start one. I told
her that I wouldn't know where to start.She told me to start
by saying that I had my 21st session with my therapist. So, I
guess the first paragraph is dedicated to her. Her name is
Nancy, and she has helped me to understand a lot about
myself. She's great, she's ALWAYS on my side, and she never
criticises me for anything. There will be a lot about her in
here, as well as a lot of other people in my life. But, I felt
the need to mention her first since she is the reason I am
here at this keyboard writing my life on paper. (or computer)
I guess you could say I was a very broken person. That's
what took me to Nancy. I was sitting on the porch of my
friend Lisa's house when I called and made the appointment
to see a therapist. I guess that's the first time I realized
how broken I was. I was telling someone I didn't know and
would never speak to again why I thought I needed therapy. I
couldn't believe how shakey my voice was. This was somebody
who didn't know who I was. That's when I knew how much it
really did hurt down deep inside. I made the appointment, and
began something that would change my life forever. Or at
least chane me inside. My first session was really terrible. By
that I mean it tore at my insides. I cried a lot, more than I
would have ever thought I would have. For at least the next
three month's I often considered never going back. Today, a
year later, I'm glad I kept going.Without it I wouldn't be
where I am now. Garth Brooks has a song called The River.In
it he sings "choose to chance the rapids and dare to dance the
tides". That song has always touched me, and so that is where
Dancing the Tides comes from. I guess I have a lot of explaining to do
now.I was sexually abused as a child. The first time was when
I was about five years old. Actually it wasn't a big incident,
but huge none the less. My uncle Tom just stuck his hands
down the back of my pants while I was reaching under the
truck to get a frisbee we had been playing with. I can't
exactly remember what I thought at that moment.But, I do
remember suddenly feeling dirty. Not so much because of
what he did, but just dirty. Now I know it was because of
what he did. I wasn't touched by him again for a year. I don't
remember thinking much about the incident in the yard with
the frisbee after that day. Maybe I blew it off,or maybe I
didn't know what to think. The next time my uncle touched me
I was about six. But this time it left a much deeper wound.
My family was staying at my aunt Mary's house overnight.
My uncle was also there. My parent's were asleep in the
basement, my aunt in her room, my little sister on the living
room sofa. If my brothers were there, I don't remember. By
the way, my aunt Mary is my uncle Tom's sister. I remember
waking up in the night to Tom standing over me. He had pulled
the blankets back and he had one hand holding my panties
back and the other was exploring my private parts. When he
noticed that I was awake, he covered me back up, kissed me
on the cheek, and told me he was just making sure I was warm
and that he loved me. He covered me back up,turned the light
off and left. He came back several times that night, how many
times, I can't remember. The only thing I can remember
thinking at this point was that he had seen my panties. Panties
which were baby blue and had holes all in them. I was
embarrassed that he had seen my holey blue panties. Again, I
had something to be ashamed of. At some time during that
night, he picked my little sister up and brought her to the
doorway of the room I was sleeping in. The hall light was on.
My aunt Mary always left that light on for us. I guess so we
wouldn't be scared. Well, on this night I wish she had chosen
to leave it off. Because what I saw scarred me more than any
imaginary monster could have. I saw a real monster. He was
on the floor in the doorway molesting my four year old sister.
He has to know that I saw. I think he wanted me to see.
Otherwise, wouldn't he have just done his thing in the living
room. My aunt Mary was in the room right next to mine, if
she had opened her bedroom door. Well, she didn't open her
door that night.For a long time I felt responsible for what he
did to my sister. I thought that if I had only screamed. It's
my fault because I didn't scream. I even apologized to my
sister eighteen years later. That's how long I believed it was
my fault. Of course, she never blamed me.But, I still felt
better after apologizing. The next morning, I don't
remember. But, after talking to my sister I found out that we
did speak about it. My sister, Vallory, said that we decided
that we shouldn't tell. I know that we were two very afraid
little girls. Besides being afraid, I don't think we even had
the ability to understand what had happened and what it
really met. And for this we pay today, still. When I was
seven, my parent's woke us up and told us we were going to
get our other brothers and sister. We lived in Williamsburg,
Kansas and they lived somewhere in Kansas City, I think. Until
this day, Timmy, Vallory, and I didn't know that we had two
more brothers and a sister. Our parent's told us that we had
met them before, but none of us remembered it. So even if we
had it was still very new to us. We met them for what was to
us, the very first time. Diane, Larry , And Eddie, our new
siblings. I remember Eddie and Larry being very happy to
see us all. It made us more excited about the situation
because we knew that they liked us. I don't know if it was
decided before that day or was a spur of the moment thing,
but they came to our house for what was supposed to be two
weeks. What I remember most was Eddie and Larry trying
very hard to impress my mom {Their stepmother}. They would
wash the dishes for her and stuff like that. And they always
played a lot with us younger kids. I also remember Diane not
really being too happy to be there. I understand why now
more than I did then. She wasn't a happy person. There was
a pasture across from our house that had cows in it. She
walked over there one day and just stood there for a long
time.I walked over to talk to her. She was upset with my
mother for some reason. I wanted to help her, but she didn't
want my help. She basically bit my head off. I left with my
feelings very hurt. After all, she was my sister and I wanted
to be friends with her. I guess in a way, I felt kind of
threatened by her. This was all so new to me, new brothers
and a sister. would mom and dad love them more than they did
us? Sometime, between that day and the day Diane went
home. She, too, molested me. Diane was fourteen, seven years
older than me.
I didn't tell anyone for at
least nine years. When the two
weeks were up, Diane went home and Larry and Eddie stayed
with us permanently. I didn't see Diane again until A year
or so later. By this time, we had moved to Waverly,KS. I
don't remember how long she stayed, but it wasn't long. I Do
remember her treating me like I was special. Several of us
kid's had went for a bike ride. When I fell behind, Diane
would stop and wait for me, While the others just yelled for
me to hurry up. Diane went home, and I didn't see her again
until I was twelve. A lot happened when I was Twelve. For
one the school I was in had this guidance counselor named Miss
Flowers. She decided to start a group for girls that had been
sexually abused. I went to this group. There was maybe only
six other girls there. The group didn't last long. I'm not sure
if the school put a stop to it or what. But, One thing did come
out of it for me. I went to my sister and talked to her and we
decided that we should tell our mother about Uncle Tom. And
tell we did. She got a little upset, but told us to keep our
mouth's shut and that dad was to never find out. We did. We
kept our mouth's shut for another twelve years. I should have
went strait to my dad, but I believed in my mother. Diane
also came to visit that year. The only time she touched me was
when she was feeling my face. She was telling me which parts
of my skin were smooth and which parts were rough. She did
try to get my mother to let her sleep in my bed with me. But,
at some point before Diane came, I told my mom what Diane
had done. So, my mom refused her request, telling her it
wasn't a good idea because I wet the bed. Every time Diane
asked mom gave her the same excuse. I haven't seen Diane
since. Since I last saw Diane, I have found out a lot about her
life. It's not very good. She grew up in more torment than I
could ever imagine. She was raped repeatedly, for god knows
how many years, by her step-father, Ray. Every time she
became pregnant, she would be forced to have an abortion.
I'm not saying that what Diane did was right, but I guess in a
way it helps me to understand her better. She was a child
herself, even if she was twice my age. And maybe in a small
way, it was her way of coping. I don't feel any hate or anger
for Diane. She's just another survivor struggling to survive. I
hope she comes out of it all o.k. What I do know is that she is
a lesbian living in Kansas City with her girlfriend.As far as I
know, Ray is no longer in her life. What I will never
understand, is why she chose to stay. Was the fear of the
unknown so much more than the fear she already knew? I
guess maybe for her it was. After Diane left when I was
twelve, not much else in my life changed for a few years. I
went to school regularly and got really good grades. For a
while I seemed to be my dad's pride and joy. I was definitely
a daddy's girl. I thought the sun rose and set in my father.
And I think I thought he thought the sun rose and set in me,
too. I was always so happy to please my father. I remember
one day, he was outside telling (or bragging) one of his
friends how smart I was. I'll never forget that day. Although,
I thought my dad was the greatest man alive, I know now that
I never really knew him. He was a very distant person. He
would come home from work and go strait to his room. There
he would read or watch television. He really loved to read, a
habit I picked up from him. My dad was the type of person
that kind of stayed inside himself. He was never really
accessible. I never knew anything about him. Nothing about
his parents, or family, or what his childhood was like. He kept
it all inside like some big secret. What I have found out over
the years mostly has come from his sister, Mary. From what
she has told me, I think I understand why it bothers him so
much to speak about it. But, it's not really my story to tell,
what little of that story I do know, is his to tell. I hope one
day it is told. But, the man who holds it isn't likely to tell. I
guess the incident that I should speak about next happened
when I was fourteen. It's not an easy thing to speak of. I
have been in therapy for over a year and I've mostly spoken
to her about my uncle. So, anyone who has been in therapy
would understand that after a while it gets easier to speak
about. This one has been spoken about very little, so it is still
kind of a knot inside. Maybe I can untangle it to where it is
at least understandable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Rest
On October 21, 1988, my highschool had it's
homecoming game followed by a dance. About
halfway through the football game, the guy who
was susposed to be my date showed up. He had
been out drinking with some friends. We sat in the
bleachers with friends until the game was over.
We then went into the school gym for the dance.
At some point, I had gotten up and went to the
restroom. A girl I knew came in and told me to
hurry up, that Tracey and James were in the lobby
fighting. Tracey was my date, and James was my
childhood sweetheart. James and I had split up
shortly before the dance. I don't remember why,
but that's why I was there with Tracey. They were
having this huge argument in the lobby, and a
teacher came along and broke it up. Tracey
grabbed me by the hand and took me back into
the dance. He searched for a friend of his, and
when he found him, asked to borrow the keys
to his truck. he gave them to Tracey. He told
me we needed to talk and to come with him,
and I went.
We got into the truck and he started it. I argued
with him about this, because my older brother was
susposed to be there soon to pick me up. He said
he was going to drive around the parking lot to
warm the truck up, so I didn't say anything else.He
was angry about James who he had been arguing
with about me. Soon, he left the parking lot. I told
him again, my brother would be there soon to pick
me up. He kept driving. I'm not exactly sure where
he drove to. It was some dirt road leading back
into the woods, if you can call it a dirt road. It was
more of a path. I was becoming afraid. He was
drunk and angry at James, and I didn't know how
angry he was at me. As soon as he parked and
turned the truck off, his anger just seemed to go
away. He turned towards me and started kissing
me. i told him no, my brother had to be there by
now, and I would be in trouble if I wasn't home on
time. He never said anything to even let me know
he was hearing me. He pushed me back onto the
truck seat and kept kissing me. He pushed my
skirt up and put my legs up and layed his weight
on them. I kept saying my brother is waiting. I kept
saying this and that I had to go back. He didn't
stop and he raped me. I remember not being able
to breath. I actually begged him to let me put my
legs down. He did. I remember a little red light on
the radio. Red, Red Wine by UB40 was playing.
Strange how I remember that. I didn't say anything
else. I cried and stared at the light. I know now
after a lot of therapy that I disassociated. What
gets me to this day, is that I remember what I was
thinking then. I was thinking about my brother.
And I can't remeber for the life of me what I was
thinking the night my uncle was molesting my
sister. I can close my eyes and see the whole
scene, right down to the color of her pajamas, but
I can't remember thinking or feeling a thing.
After it was over, he took me back to the school. I
saw my brothers car and started walking towards
it. A girl I had known from grade school, came up
and asked me why I was crying. I told her. She
later told the police that I had been crying, but she
couldn't understand what I was saying to her. I got
into the car, and my brother asked the same
question. I told her, but I couldn't tell him. I told him
James and Tracey had been in a fight, nothing
more. I didn't speak about it for three weeks. that's
when I told my mother. She got a little upset, and
cried some. Later that night we told my dad. He
got angry. Angry with me. Asked why I hadn't been
beaten up, why my clothes weren't torn off. He
called me a whore.
The next day things were pretty much normal in
the house, as far as routine. I could see them
looking at me different. My mother had made an
appointment for me to be seen by a doctor, but I
didn't want to go. I made excuses, and she never
took me.
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