*******trigger warning – sexual, physical, and sibling abuse*******
An odd thing about S was that I do not have memories of her doing sexual things to me directly. Instead, she forced my sister and me to do sexual things to each other, such as “play doggie” and have the “male” dog insert objects in the female dog. At this point, I was still a virgin but my sister was not (thanks to the male babysitter), so I was always the “male dog” in this sick game. When I first recovered these memories, I questioned them because I had not read about this form of abuse anywhere. I also did not understand what S was getting out of forcing one child to hurt another.
If my sister or I did not obey completely, then the sibling would suffer. For example, if I showed any sign of resistance or anything short of completely obedience, S would torture my sister and vice versa.
One time, my sister was not completely compliant, so S smothered me with a pillow. She held the pillow over my head too long, and I passed out. What’s weird is that, even though my body was passed out, I have a memory of the entire experience from the perspective of the ceiling. Once S realized that I had passed out, she checked and found that I was not breathing. She dragged my body to the basement’s bathroom (the torture was almost always in the basement) and laid me down to look like I had fallen and hit my head. She told my sister to run upstairs and get my parents. She gave me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and told me in an angry voice that she wasn’t going to jail for a worthless piece of $@#% like me.
I came to, coughing because of the taste of cigarettes in my mouth and lungs. S had been smoking a cigarette before her torture session, and the taste of tobacco was still heavy on her breath. My parents got there as I was coming to, and S explained that I was playing too wildly, slipped, fell, and hit my head on the toilet. My parents told me to be more careful and went back upstairs to do whatever they had been doing.
I don’t know who was more traumatized by this experience – my sister or me. I have suffered from flashbacks of tasting cigarette smoke throughout my life, even though I have never smoked. Until I learned that any of your senses can hold memories and release flashbacks, I was perplexed by this recurring taste of cigarette smoke in my mouth.
What really disturbs me is that I have a difficult time calling myself a physical abuse survivor, even though almost being smothered to death is clearly physical abuse. I don’t know why I have such a hard time with that label. I guess I keep thinking that other physical abuse survivors had it worse.
Photo credit: Lynda Bernhardt
I believe that I’ve also suffered from abuse where a relative forced my brother and I to do certain things together. I was very young, so my memories are hazy, as well as being dissociated, but I’ve recovered enough to believe that it happened. My brother has no memories of this relative even babysitting us, and he was older than me, definitely old enough to remember, so that tells me that he’s blocked all of it out . . . which suggests that it really did happen. That’s what I tell myself when I begin to doubt, anyway.
This kind of abuse may not be “mainstream” enough to make the news, but it exists. You’re not alone.
There just are not words. None.
I am still here and still (safely) loving and reading.
Peace,
mia
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My own experience was always of physical abuse but during my adult years I remembered specific sexual abuse from my mother such as her forcing me to play with her “pussy willow”. She would call her parts by different names – unassuming names – which I now believe were a way of hiding the facts.
The physical abuse is the hardest to deal with as I am now a large 6ft+ man and people have certain expectations of people of that size such as confidence. I have emotional problems such as crying at the slightest reason, and am scared of any kind of conflict which of is one of the reasons I’ve lost many friends through a passive-aggressive nature.
I remember being pushed backwards in my buggy as a toddler so that I cracked my head on the floor and ended in hospital. From then on I would throw heavy objects like rocks in the air to try and cause them to hit me on the head. Stupid things like that spring to mind now.
The abuse ended when we came back from school one day and found my father had taken his own life – unable to deal with the abuse we all were receiving. This was one week after we had all developed a mysterious food poisoning which I believe was him trying to take us all with him. This happened several times such as him going for long drives with just us in the car.
I also realised about 5 years ago at 25 that I had a broken rib as a baby. I’ve always remembered my mother squeezing me really hard when I used to cry as a youngster. Not a comforting cuddle but an enraged bear hug. I think it may have happened then.
A few months ago I asked her about all this. She replied: “well you never stopped crying and I couldn’t handle it”. She’s been diagnosed as truly schizophrenic and has injections monthly to prevent relapses. However, the refusal to accept any blame means I can never care for her in any way.
Sorry to mention all this during a story as hard as your Faith. I wish you peace and happiness. I am so relieved that someone like you will write about their experience and encourage others to share too. It helps in a therapeutic sense.
Hi, Kris.
I am so sorry for all that you endured. I am glad that my sharing my story is helpful.
– Faith