One time when our family went to visit my grandpa Levi and Grandma Emma for a fun family gathering, my mother walked in on my Aunt Avery, Sean’s Wife, and my Father. Aunt Avery had her hands down my father’s pants. My mother was so upset, but once again, my father lied and said it didn’t happen.
I have wished it wasn’t possible for me to have the memories I do from such a young age because then I wouldn’t have to admit it happened to me. I wish I was too young to remember anything regarding my life. Or if I do remember, I would only remember happy times or hear amusing stories from relatives, like when I became stuck in the wooden kitchen chair and my mom called the fire department to remove me. She says the firefighters used the jaws of …show more content…
I do remember detestable times and I have not forgotten. My heart drops and my body tingles with fear as I remember. I wanted to forget, and for a time I tried so hard to so I could pretend they did not exist. I desperately would try to block bad memories that I kept hidden so well in my deep dark dungeon , so they would stay there and never come out to haunt me. But I can’t deny them any longer. I have to get them out to tell my story so I can move on. I want to be free. Along with the happy, came the disgusting.
Instead of letting myself remember what happened, I use to justify it was my mother changing my diaper and putting cream on me. Present day I know that I was potty trained before this happened. I would convince myself that I was crazy, and must have made it up. I would practice in my mind that I would put it in a deep dark dungeon and lock the giant thick wooden door with a heavy chain lock, never to come out again. It was much too scary.
When I do remember, I vomit. I have nightmares of my uncle Sean, my mother’s brother, suffocating me with his hands only to wake up to my own hands on my mouth and nose. Though my memories and nightmares are of a younger aged Sean, possibly in his …show more content…
I can’t imagine how much worse my life would have been, and I don’t remember if I ever saw him again until my teenage years.
My mother did not learn about the awful abuse in this home. I am sure it didn’t help that sexual abuse was not discussed in the early 1970’s like it is today. I do know when when I have brought it up, she said a 19-year-old guy would keep me at times. I don’t agree. It was
I have wished it wasn’t possible for me to have the memories I do from such a young age because then I wouldn’t have to admit it happened to me. I wish I was too young to remember anything regarding my life. Or if I do remember, I would only remember happy times or hear amusing stories from relatives, like when I became stuck in the wooden kitchen chair and my mom called the fire department to remove me. She says the firefighters used the jaws of …show more content…
I do remember detestable times and I have not forgotten. My heart drops and my body tingles with fear as I remember. I wanted to forget, and for a time I tried so hard to so I could pretend they did not exist. I desperately would try to block bad memories that I kept hidden so well in my deep dark dungeon , so they would stay there and never come out to haunt me. But I can’t deny them any longer. I have to get them out to tell my story so I can move on. I want to be free. Along with the happy, came the disgusting.
Instead of letting myself remember what happened, I use to justify it was my mother changing my diaper and putting cream on me. Present day I know that I was potty trained before this happened. I would convince myself that I was crazy, and must have made it up. I would practice in my mind that I would put it in a deep dark dungeon and lock the giant thick wooden door with a heavy chain lock, never to come out again. It was much too scary.
When I do remember, I vomit. I have nightmares of my uncle Sean, my mother’s brother, suffocating me with his hands only to wake up to my own hands on my mouth and nose. Though my memories and nightmares are of a younger aged Sean, possibly in his …show more content…
I can’t imagine how much worse my life would have been, and I don’t remember if I ever saw him again until my teenage years.
My mother did not learn about the awful abuse in this home. I am sure it didn’t help that sexual abuse was not discussed in the early 1970’s like it is today. I do know when when I have brought it up, she said a 19-year-old guy would keep me at times. I don’t agree. It was