Monday, January 2, 2012

Sexual Abuse of a fucked up kid

Sex and abuse and abnormal behavior trigger warning

edited 11:24



I've been having a hard time doing anything today.  Much of my day has been spent in bed in a land far far away.  I only crawled from my little cave to use the restroom.  Nothing else.  I'm lost today.  I feel like nothing is real, like I'm fake.  Like maybe I'm just part of a movie or something.  My mind has been playing it's own movies all day.  I've been thinking a lot. 

He died Jan 2011.  He used to be much larger before his health declined.
I was such a screwed up little kid.  I was sick and displayed disturbing, disgusting, sick behaviors.  Sometimes I was overly affectionate, many times I was overly withdrawn and mute.  I used to pretend that I didn't exist, like I was a ghost floating around where people couldn't see me and could just walk through me.  Most of the time I knew it was just pretend, but sometimes I wasn't sure.  Sometimes I could disappear completely.  Sometimes my body would tingle and I couldn't feel anything else, just a tingle.  Sometimes I could be in two places at once.  I still spend a lot of time there.  I can be with the people today and I can be somewhere else too.  Sometimes I'm lost in a good place, but many times I'm stuck somewhere I do not want to be.

I tried really hard to be a good kid.  I was an extreme perfectionist to the point where I would self injure if I didn't do something right.  I didn't start school in the U.S. until I was 8 so I was in a type of special education until the end of fourth grade.  I worked so hard that I skipped sixth grade.  But I wasn't like other kids.  If I got something wrong on a test I'd cut myself for each point I missed.  If I messed up while playing my violin, I'd whip the bow across my lap.  The whipping sound reminded me of the whipping in the Middle East and sometimes I couldn't stop hitting myself.  One time I broke my bow and had to borrow one from school.  This self hatred and self injury continued through high school.  I wanted to be perfect.  I wanted to be wanted.

When I was still living with Maggie and Tim, sometimes I really wanted the physical and sexual assault--not because I liked the pain, but because I wanted to be punished.  I wanted him to punch me and grab me by the throat telling me how easily he could crush it.  I wanted him to hold my face with his giant hands and call me names.  I deserved it.  I deserved the blood and bruises.  After I came back from the ER, bruised and bandaged, he would come in to check on my wounds and ask me why I'd make him do that to me.  He told me that the doctors and my caseworker and my therapist all knew I was crazy and that we all know where crazy girls go.  He said he didn't want me to have to move away and that it would be better if I could be a good girl.  He was right.  I was a crazy girl that they did put in a hospital.

I don't know why I let the abuse go on for so long.  It wasn't always violent.  Sometimes it was gentle and he would tell me how much he loved me and he used to call me his "Chosen Little Princess."  He would tell me how much he liked my milky white skin and long skinny body.  He would comment on other areas of my body too.  And he would quote old Campbell soup commercials ("mmm mmm good."  BARF) to comment on the smell and taste of my body.  I hated my name.  I still have trouble eating Campbell's soup.  He would comment on my development and he got excited when I first needed a training bra.  He would buy me special secret gifts and cute lacy undies and training bras and I liked the attention and having a secret.  He would switch between extreme rage to gentle, sweet, and loving and it was hard to predict what to expect.  I was always a little scared of him but I loved him too.  How fucked up is it that the most loved I have ever felt was with him?  I also felt pretty hated by him too.  I longed for the times he loved me.  When I was about 10 or so I began to instigate it.  Normal kids don't do that.  A lot of my memories are choppy.  And it's hard to say for sure when things happened.  For example, I remember telling the doctors once that I fell on a cabinet and hurt myself after the abuse.  I really did fall on a cabinet when I was living with my mother, so I'm not exactly sure if that's what I said to the doctors or if I'm just remembering that incident.

I have some medical and psychological records in my lifebook.  They say between the ages of 9-12 I had:
7 UTI's
5 yeast infections
Two trips to ER for genital trauma from "accidents:
  • cervical lacerations and some other medical jargon about my uterus that I do not understand and haven't been able to look up online.
  • 2 tears of the vaginal wall, one so large it needed to be reconstructed
  • major bruising to the groin and thighs
Other trips for accidents that really were accidents
night terrors and sleep walking
bed wetting beyond age 12
frequent panic attacks
chronic depression
Fear of the dark, things under the bed, behind curtains, in the closet, at the bottom of the pool, etc...
low self esteem and preoccupation with body, fat, and development
very picky eater.
Very hyper active (ADHD).  I was given zoloft and adderall
overly aggressive when playing sports
Secretive and withdrawn
preoccupied with sex
selective mutism
jumpy around strangers, loud noises, raised voices, and extremely shy
self injury
preoccupied with death and where I would go if I died

Usually when I instigated it he would be happy and gentle.  "My baby's a dirty little slut," he would say whenever I liked what he was doing and I would feel really disgusting and gross and good all at the same time.  I would cry after he left and burn myself by heating a paper clip with a lighter and pressing it against my skin once it turned red.  My mom used to threaten to do that to me but she never actually did.  Instead I did it to myself.  I used to stare at myself in the mirror, naked, telling myself everything wrong with my body.  I used to look at my flat chest and scold my boobs for not growing.  Sometimes I would self injure in front of the mirror so I could watch from two angles.  Normal kids don't do that.

I read about these innocent kids that were tortured by their sexual abuse.  I wasn't this innocent little kid.  I mean I know I was a kid so legally it's not my fault, but I wasn't tortured by it.  After the first few times, I didn't feel anything.  Sometimes it was like nothing happened at all.  He'd be violent and rape me and when he was done, I'd go play with my legos or something like nothing happened.  I knew it hurt but it didn't hurt.  I know that doesn't make any sense.  That's not normal.  I mean I was this 65-75lbs prepubescent girl who felt nothing when having sex with her much larger foster father in his 40's.  I felt nothing.  I have some memories of liking the way he would softly run his hands across my skin.  I have some memories of liking the actual sex acts.  My memories of most of the encounters are choppy and scattered.  I used to pretend like I was a ghost and he was just passing through me and then I could fly away.  I have memories of pretending to be somewhere else but still had the sexual feelings.  I would often cut myself with knives, scissors, and razors and I didn't feel much then either and I liked it at the same time.  I still do that.  I hadn't done it since the end of July but I did it last night.  Normal women don't do that.  Sometimes I was fully present and participating during sex as a child.  Normal kids don't do that. 

I had a lot of bizarre behavior as a kid.  I'm not saying I was always this huge freak.  For the most part all of these things were hidden and my play was pretty secretive.  I did normal things too, but I did some pretty fucked up things as a kid.  My play was not normal.  I was sick and disturbing.  I used to play this game that would start out like house or school but it was almost always night time in my "house." Sometimes I would play "The middle eastern country," and "dungeon."  I would pretend to tie up my foster siblings and pretend beat them to teach them to behave.  I would pretend beat them, burn them, and whip them with sticks.  I would pretend to lock them in closets.  Sometimes I'd make them sit in a chair and I'd pretend to tie them to it and call them obscene names and tell them how disgusting and gross they were.  Normal kids do not play like this.  I used to take off my barbies clothes and write slut and whore and cunt on their bodies.  Normal kids don't do this.  I would create these elaborate rough sex scenes with Barbie and GI Joe.  Sometimes I'd self injury during play pretending like someone else was calling me names and I was cutting myself as they did it.  Once I got in trouble for drawing a picture of a large man with a giant penis that was also a gun that he used to shoot and kill people with.  Normal kids do not do that.  I was a seriously fucked up kid.  My behavior did change when I moved out, but still...I was a fucked up kid.  Who would want such a fucked up kid?