Confessional

I have been thinking lately. Thinking a lot. I want to share some of the things that have happened to me in the past but I'm afraid.

Last night I was going to be all brave and come on here and post but an old friend called and we talked and the alcohol wore off and then I decided not to share.

The reason that I'm afraid is because I don't want to hurt anyone. I wanted to share the story of the first time I was sexual abused by my father Dad biological sperm donor.

So, here I am, trying to be brave. Please be kind.

I don't remember everything that happened to me. I do remember praying to God to please make me forget and years later I realized that I really didn't remember much. I think, for the most part, that this is a good thing, although it does make me wonder, especially when I am in a dark place, what I don't remember.

I replay the first time in my head the most often. My dad worked the night shift and my Mom worked day shift. My sister and I would get home from school before Mom would get home and Dad would be sleeping. He would occasionally wake up and yell at my sister and me for being to loud but most of the time, he just slept.

The one day, the day that I will never forget although I don't really remember, he was in his room. I don't know if I had stayed home from school, pretending to be sick or if I had just gotten home from school. I don't know how old I was, I imagine that it was in my late elementary years or my middle school years because they were a really messed up time for me. My Dad came out of his room. He said that he wanted me to come in and snuggle him because he couldn't fall asleep.

I was young enough and innocent enough at the time that this didn't seem creepy or weird. He was my Dad. What would happen.

I can remember laying on my side facing off the bed and he was laying behind me. I don't know how long I was there like that but I remember his hand going down the back of my pants. I do remember being scared and confused. Knowing right away that this was wrong but not saying anything.

I felt a lot of guilt for a long time because I never said, "No." As an adult I can rationalize this and understand. I would never expect a child to have to say anything. I would understand that they are innocent. I still having times forgiving myself for that.

I know that he fingered my clitoris and labia but I don't know how long the whole thing lasted. He took his hand out of the back of my pants and I stood up and walked out of the room. This was the incident of what would become years of abuse.

I hate the idea of being a survivor of abuse. I don't want to be anything involved with abuse. I want to be a person, just like every other person out there. I don't want to have nightmares with my Dad in them. I don't want to have a real and personal connection to every abused child I come in contact with at school. I don't want to relive those memories. I didn't have a say in them. I don't want them to define me.

I know that I still have a long way to go as far as healing. I don't know if I will ever be healed but I know that it does get a little bit better with time, good friends, sharing my story when I'm ready, my loving friends, family and Mr. Husband to hold me and make it all OK.