Archive for May 12th, 2010

*******trigger warning – sexual and ritual abuse*******

As I shared in my last blog entry, S & L were a wife and husband who were my most sadistic abusers. I always put S’s name first because she did the bulk of the grooming for the ritual abuse. It is her face that haunts me, not his, although he did his share of crap, too.

My first abuse by S was incredibly traumatizing. Up until this point in my life (I was either 6 or 7), my abuse experience was my mother sexually abusing either my sister or me. Also, at some point during this time (the timeline is vague), the 17-year-old male next-door-neighbor on the other side raped my sister while “babysitting” us. All abuse was adult to child. That changed the first time that S struck.

My parents invited S & L over for the afternoon. My father and L watched a football game in the living room while S and my mother were talking in the den. My mother told my sister and me to go play, but I said I wanted to stay with them. (It was quite the novelty to have company.) S got a queer look on her face and said, “You want to play a game? Let’s play a game.”

S laid my sister on her back on an ottoman and remove her pants and underwear. She then to me told do things to my sister. My mother was standing right there with a completely blank expression on her face. She neither encouraged this nor tried to stop it. It was like her mind/soul/spirit had simply shut down. Her body was there, but there was nothing inside. This is one reason I suspect that she suffered from ritual abuse herself and that she was “programmed” to be submissive. I suspect she has dissociative identity disorder on top of her mental illness and that she simply “fled” her body when S made her move.

Regardless, my father was in another room yelling at the TV, and I could hear the football game in the background. My mother was standing there like a statue. My sister was lying helpless without pants on the ottoman, and S was hovering over me telling me that I had to perform oral sex on her. I didn’t want to do it, but S forced me to do it. I touched my sister’s private area for half a second with my tongue and then cried. S stood over me and said, “You are one of us now.”

When I recovered this memory, I was suicidal. The only thing pulling me through was a montage of memories of my sister being forced to do the same things back to me. This helped me recognize that I was not one of my sister’s abusers and that S was responsible for this, not me.

I have always also hated football since that day.



Photo credit: Lynda Bernhardt

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