I am 31 years old now. I have always remembered just enough to know that I was abused but not much more than that. I hope to be able to "purge" my memories here and now. This won't be pretty and it won't be easy but it's time to tell the "whole truth and nothing but the truth" as I currently remember it.

I know the very date that I was first abused. I was 3 years old. It's on my doctor's records. I was playing in the yard when the two boys from next door came over to show me something. In their yard they had a big cardboard box. They also had a heart-shaped box of chocolates, Valentine's candy. They told me that if I would get into the box and take my pants off I could have some of the candy. I must have really wanted that candy.

They used a stick to probe my vagina. I vaguely remember their mother calling them in and leaving me in that box. I didn't get the candy. I was so sore that evening that I was squirming and wiggling in my chair at dinner. My parents insisted on knowing what was wrong with me and I told them. They took me to the doctor that night for what I guess would be my first pelvic exam. I knew that my parents were very embarrassed by the whole thing but I believed that it was me they were ashamed of, we never spoke of it again. Not to this day, even though I'm dying to know how they dealt with the neighbors after that. We moved away soon after this. I never saw them again.

When I was 4, my parents took on a foster son, Michael. He was the only male in a long line of teenagers my parents fostered. My parents probably thought themselves very clever, they took on kids who could baby-sit for my little sister and I. I remember being downstairs with Michael and my sister, age 2 one day. My parents must have been out somewhere. We were roughhousing, playing, giggling. Then all of a sudden, he told us that it was nap time. We protested but he sent us upstairs, my sister to her room and me into mine. I didn't lay in my bed though. I lay down in a pile of clothes next to the door. (Was I hiding? I don't know) Michael opened my door and asked me what I was doing. I told him I was taking my nap. He said, "Not you" in a way that implied that I should really have known better and led me into his room, across the hall.

I can remember him kind of bouncing up and down on top of me, naked. I can remember thinking how strange that was. I remember KNOWING that I shouldn't laugh or giggle at him no matter how funny it seemed to me. I remember crawling out from underneath his sleeping body. I remember that the TV was showing "Truth or Consequences" with Bob Barker. That's all I remember. No pain, no secrets, no other times. When I told this to one Therapist she said, "OK, no penetration," and made a little note on her history sheet. I wanted to smack her. I didn't say, "no penetration", I said, "no MEMORY". I talked to my sister two summers back about it. She can't remember anything BUT she's always known what sex felt like. She couldn't confirm it until her teen years but she used to have vivid sex dreams complete with the physical feelings. I honestly believe that, on some level, we agreed to split the memories of this abuse so that neither of us would be overloaded and we could put the puzzle back together when we were older!

Mom and Dad divorced when I was 5 and at some point in the resulting chaos I was living with my mother and her new boyfiend (spelling is correct!). He was heavily into drugs and abused my mother, sister and myself in numerous ways. He used to lock my sister and I in an empty bedroom and we would cling to each other and cry as we listened to my mother screaming downstairs. I remember following him into the bathroom one day asking him to show me a magic trick he had promised earlier. He sat down on the toilet and told me to kneel in front of him. Then he lifted his penis and told me to put it in my mouth. I got grossed out and ran!

I remember this too, and this is the memory that has always haunted me the most. I was lying on the couch in our family room while he sat in front of the TV. At one point I got up, went over to him and whispered, "Let's make babies". He roared with laughter that sent me away. At the dinner table that night he told my mother and sister about the incident as if it were the funniest joke he'd ever heard. I wanted to die of embarrassment. I still do. I can remember him spanking me bare-assed at the dinner table too. Might even have been the same night for all I know. I remember standing in my parent's bedroom with him and my sister, I think he gave us some pills, but it's kind of hazy. I remember him threatening to kill us. That's all I remember of him. Oh, his name is/was John Eagling, I have no idea where he is now.

I remember so little that seems to be actual "abuse" that I tend to dismiss it as, "No big deal" but its impact on my life tells another story.

I was sent to a "free" school in Ann Arbor, Michigan as a child, Conlara, you may have heard of it. Anyway, in the 1st grade I was having sex in the bathroom with my "boyfriend", Sean. Well, we thought it was sex, he tried to "pee" inside me while his friend watched. Later that year, Sean threw me over for another girl and I was so hurt that I agreed to expose myself in front of the entire class for the opportunity to be with him again. One day I was led out to the barn, the entire class watched as I stood against the barn wall with 3 older boys holding knives at my throat. They began to count to ten, and with each number they brought the knives in closer to me. By the number 7 I stood with my pants around my ankles and 20 or so kids laughing at me. One of the teachers came calling for us and by the time she walked into the barn, I was the only one left. I was too little to crawl out the window after the others. I transferred to public school not long after.

I was about 8 years old when I saw the magazine. It was a Time or a Newsweek of my Dad's (circa 1975) that he had left on his desk chair in the family room. It had pictures of children on the cover and the cover story was about Sexual Abuse of Children in America. I'll never forget reading that. I felt so sick, so evil, so dirty that part of me died that day. I read of how awful SA was, how it hurt children, how terrible they felt and I felt terrible too. Because all of a sudden, my private little games had a name and they were BAD. If I enjoyed them then I must be really BAD. The impact of that one magazine on my whole self image still floors me to this day. I was crushed beyond crushed.

When I was 10, my father (who had been granted custody of his 2 girls) remarried. I didn't (and don't) have much of a relationship with my step-mother but she was the first person I told about the abuse. By this time I had re-framed everything a bit, after all, I was supposed to be the victim of a horrible crime, not an active and willing participant. Anyway, I told her one day as she drove me to school (6th grade?). It was so hard to find the right words to express myself with but she was great. She assured me that it wasn't my fault (yeah right, I thought) and asked if she had my permission to tell my Mom and Dad. She already knew about the stick incident, from my Dad, but was shocked by the rest. She called my Mother long distance and set up a special visit just for me so we could talk. Then, she told my Dad. I sat with my step-mother at the kitchen table as we listened to my Dad rant and rave at me as he paced the floor. I was a liar. I made those filthy stories up and he'd be God-dammed if he would ever listen to me speak another word of it in his house. I can't remember how long he went on, it seemed like forever. It worked though. I didn't say another word about it, to him or my mother, ever.

I could never say "No" to a sexual encounter. I wasn't looking for sex but I felt powerless to stop any man from having his way with me. OK, that's not entirely true. In my Jr. High years the other girls always wanted to know, "Are you a virgin?" I hated that question. I couldn't say "Yes" with conviction so I was determined to lose my "virginity" as soon as I could. It took until I was 15 and it was so awful I won't even go there, but that was the only time I pursued sex, after that, it pursued me.

My inability to say "No" was so serious that, when I was 20, I was raped by a virtual stranger in my own bed while my roommate lay in his bed not 10 feet away and didn't even know how far things had gone. I was soooo angry with myself. I should have screamed, I could have fought, I should have stopped him. What the hell was wrong with me??!! I now know that my paralysis is not uncommon for survivors but then, I was totally unglued. (Deep Breath, Aaahhhh...)

I got married at 20 to my own Prince Charming. It truly was love at first sight for me. We were happy but he worked too much and I worked too little. I had an affair at work that ended badly, I was very hurt and in need of some space. I wanted to go camping with my husband to help heal the pain, but he had to work (per usual). I asked a friend to take me. Douglas had just broken up with the love of his life and had set his sights on me. I knew this. I knew I was in trouble but I really wanted to get away from that damn phone (it just wouldn't ring, ya' know). He had no tent. I told him he could share mine. I told him No. He didn't listen. I stopped saying No out loud and just waited for him to get it over with.

I told my husband about it when I got home. He was not happy. Douglas called before we finished our conversation and got quite an earful about the whole mess. I felt awful. I led Douglas on and now I had caused a rift between the three of us. I seduced Douglas a few days later to make up for the tension "I" had caused him. Then I told him it was over. I was about as stupid as they come though, later, when my husband was away on business, Douglas came by. I told him it was over and he agreed that it was but, could he just spend the night in my bed. It was too late to drive home and the couch was so uncomfortable. I agreed. I awoke with him on top of me telling me that it was my fault, I was so beautiful, you see, he couldn't help himself. When he was done he got up, picked up a few tapes he wanted to borrow and left. I have never felt worse, not even when that guy raped me 3 years before. This was my friend! I continued this relationship. I couldn't tell my husband what I had done. I didn't know how to stop seeing him, he was my husband's friend. He overstepped my boundaries a few more times in the following weeks. I flirted with him pretty hot and heavy one day and when I turned cold on him that night he was so furious with me that I was afraid to tell him that I knew I was ovulating. Our daughter, Faerin was the result.

My husband was miserable over my pregnancy and so was I. We did not want children but I felt unable to terminate unless we never told Douglas. My husband would not agree to keeping it a secret . I had already terminated one pregnancy at age 18 but I could not bring myself to doing it again, I liken abortions to paying for being raped. Anyway, we agreed that we would place the child with an adoptive family. But hormones are funny things, I was unable to give up my baby and I spent almost 2 years trying to raise her as my husband's child. Communication with Douglas was terminated after he called me to complain about an ex-girlfriend of his who, get this, "wouldn't put out when they went camping in a shared tent"!! I sent him some literature on rape as a warning to change his behavior and he called in a panic, afraid I was going to press charges. He didn't ask how I was or how his unborn child was, he was just worried about going to jail. I called him when Faerin was born and saw him at a party when she was about a year old. I had told him that a blood test had proved her to be Cahan's (DH) but one look at her and he knew I had lied.

I saw him again when Faerin was 2. There was chemistry there and, a child that we shared. I wanted all of my children to have the same Father and Cahan was growing unhappy with raising another man's daughter. It was not an easy transition, but now, Douglas and I are married with 3 children (2 boys). We love each other and are happy but I cannot help but wonder how very many things in my life would have been different had it not been for my early training in how to please a man. (I hate to call it that, but that's what it was).

I remember so little, I don't believe that the abuse itself was very extensive. But when I look at how I turned out...damn, there was a lot of damage. I can't imagine how bad it must be for those who lived through years of this. (((Hugs)))

Ocean