Reliving the traumas of his childhood rape by his nanny and her family, and, finally, fully recovered from the betrayals brought on how his own family still didn’t believe him! Translated…
When I recalled how I was raped in my childhood years, I’d chosen to share with members of my family about it, but, their reactions to my tales had left me in disbelief, but it’d felt, all too familiar. I don’t quite know how to describe it, I suppose, that that feeling should be noted as “betrayal” then?
not my photograph…
My older brothers told me, “It’s NOT that serious”, “You’re overreacting.” “They (my parents) didn’t do anything wrong.” “If it was me, I’d have done the same thing (leaving me at my nanny’s).” “They had already treated you, more than kind.”
My parents told me, “You misremembered.” “You were, way too young, to even recall.” “You were left at your nanny’s for a very long time, it’s not that serious.” “They (people who’d raped me) were merely a bit rougher in disciplining you.” “Being raped is something that’s shameful, don’t tell it to anybody else.” “We’re older and we can’t handle it.”
Until I’d read the literatures about rape and related psychotherapy treatments, I’d realized, that what I was going through was a phase called, “Confrontation”, discussing the issues of my rape, with someone who was supposed to take care of me but never had, and this, is a process that’s, filled with hurt, difficulties, and hardships.
not my photograph…
For the parents who were supposed to be protective of their young, as the victims told of what had happened, they’re faced with the accusations of not protecting their own young well enough (especially when incest is involved). These people would normally, do all that they can, to avoid, to delay, deny, and would even, use violence, toward the victims who are accusing them. What I’d described in my own book, it’d given me this sort of a mirage in tie, I thought, that I was, describing the reactions of my own family members, but instead, it was, describing the hurt, the damages that all children would need to face, when they’d confronted their parents.
When I’d made up my mind to confront my parents, a lot of those who’d cared about me advised me not to do it. Because, anyone would know, that there’s no way to start, discussing what they’d done to me, and, confronting them about it, it would only, make me even more damaged.
I can tell, that all of these friends, and relatives’ care for me was genuine, but, some things, I just, wanted to, tell my parents personally, and some things, I need to, do myself. And this process, it would help me understand where my parents were coming from, how they’d felt about the events better, and, it’d also, make me more aware of how I’d felt too.
In the process of the confrontations, I was, pained by how my families had denied, and avoided the subjects, and how they were, betraying me, all over again, but, it’d felt, too familiar and reasonable at the same time. Because, for the past thirty years, that, was how they’d, treated me, they’d NOT changed their aloofness, their hurting me, because of what I’d gone through, or how I was so hurt as a child.
Just like how thirty years ago, when I was three, they had, left me at my nanny’s, and allowed the family of four to rape me. Back then, I’d hoped and prayed, that someone can, take me away, from that awful place, but, they’d only appeared, when the days turned green on the calendars (weekends). And, as they’d shown up, they’d stayed, for half an hour, talked with my nanny, then, only a word or two of exchange with me, then, they’d, left, and, I’d had to, wait until the next week, and continued to, find a way to survive, under the rules of those who’d, raped me.
Every day, I would, close my eyes, hoped, that my parents would, show up before me, but, I’d, opened my eyes again, they’re, not there, and I’d recalled once more, that they had, left me here, that it was, their choice, to leave me, in this, horrible place, all alone, to face those who’d assaulted me. Every hour of every day, I’d become, locked up in despair. They’re not coming to my rescue, I’d needed to, rely on myself, to save me.
On a “green day” when they’d come visit me, I’d refused to see them. I hid in the bedroom where my nanny, her husband had, raped me, I really hoped, that my parents would, come look for me, take me out of this place. But, ten minutes later, they’d, left.
not my photo still…
I stayed in the bedroom all by myself. Felt nothing. I felt, like I was, floating in air, I don’t know who I was. There was, a huge hole inside of my heart, but, I couldn’t feel the pains, nor the sorrows. And this “feeling-less” life lasted a total of thirty years, and, it’d, take up a lot of my life.
My families had, abandoned me, made me face those who’d raped me for three consecutive years. When the most important people in your life, in your most desperate moments of need, abandoned you. Your sense of trust toward anybody is, completely, destroyed, let alone, when it’d happened, to a young child who needed the protections of her/his parents the most.
Thirty years ago, they’d mistreated me like so, thirty years later, I’d confronted them, and, they’d not changed the least bit, and this was, the meaningfulness, of me, confronting me: I’d tried to, open up the front doors, no matter how much they’d done, to hurt me, I’d still tried, to reach out, but, they’d not even tried, to understand it one bit, instead, they’d, taken their usual attitude of denial, and passivity. I know it now, I see it, clearly, I’d, bit my farewell to them all inside, and, I’m, moving on.
The most pain I’d ever experienced, is this betrayal from my own family, it’d, changed my life, I kept thinking, how, do I, cope, with this sort of damages.
An Unseen Hand
When people discussed the subject of child sexual molestations, they’d often mentioned, an “unseen hand”. Meaning, that under certain reasons, children aren’t able to speak out loud about what s/he had experienced, it may be the lack of cognition, the lack of the fluency in verbal expressions, or that they may still be, living in such conditions.
There are, a high percentage of the sexual molesters of children who are adults that the children knew and are close to, for instance, fathers, raping daughters, and the worse is, other members of the family, for instance, the mother, knowing this, chose, to stay silent about it, or asking the victim to be quiet about it, this is the serious second damage, and, it would be, one of the sole causes of the next time that the individual gets raped again.
Not everybody has the capability, of speaking aloud how one had been traumatized, because the perpetrator may continually, have huge influence on the victim’s life. In what condition, under what circumstances, who you tell it to, are determinants of how much more hurt, or support and understanding, you will receive.
In the book I’d written, I’d talked about the many considerations going through my mind in the process of being raped, other than hoping to be understood, to get the supports I’d needed, it was, fulfilling the promises I’d made to myself thirty years ago, and clearly, tell my story, so everybody will know, what, had happened to me as a young child.
It takes, a lot of courage, to finally come out into the open about one’s own sexual abuse one had endured during childhood, and, it takes a very long time, to heal up, after the truth was being told, and you’d still had to cope with the fact, that how the adults who were supposed to protect you had, denied you over, over, AND over again, and, through this process of getting broken over, over, and over again, you will learn, of just how strong you really are, and how you’d survived, no longer a VICTIM, of your childhood years, free from the abuse and neglect of your own loved ones, someone you’d put full trust into, because, let’s face it, parents ARE never going to be GOOD enough to their kids, because all you parents out there, still hadn’t worked through the traumas of your separate childhood years, and it’s still NOT our (your own offspring??? Hello, hello, hello???) faults!