Anonymous Story: Minimal Traumas

Anonymous Story: Minimal Traumas

Minimal Traumas

Imagine if you will, your a four-year-old female child in a bedroom with your
17-year-old brother.

He makes you laugh plays with you rolls you up in blankets and shares
his cookies with you.

He takes you into the woods but your told to stay right with him
cause he will protect you and he carries a stick to beat off the snakes
and any critters that that you could come up on.

He spends a lot of time with you and your older Grandmother and caretaker
is happy to have the help.

you talk about how you love books how you love to read books with Grandma
every night.

He has books in his room, on the shelf.

You dont remember how his books came off the shelf
but you do remember, how almost every day you and your brother looked at and
talked about these books.

you and he pointed to the pictures giggled and turned the books page by page.

you tried to show Grandma brothers books while brother was away one day.

she stopped you said “oh dont mess with that”.
“I dont know why he has to have that mess around” don’t touch.

you never tell that you have seen them all.

You then start to realize this is a secret and that it’s ok to look at the books
just “Dont tell Grandma”.

Life goes on, As Drunken Grandaddy screams rants and bangs his fists on the table
almost daily for any given reason that day,you are taken to your brothers
room to avoid exposure to his temper.

this is a habit.

one day you remember walking in the room as Brother is playing a borrowed video game. You want to play. You are handed the control for 1 minute then the control is taken away.

You don’t remember what that has to do with the next memory
but you remember begging to play with the game.

But then you remember a penis pulled out of your brothers jeans.

You remember that you have never seen a boys privates but youve never had a
a conversation about sexual safety because youve never heard the word sexual and
every time
you asked Grandma an uncomfortable question,
Shed reply I’ll tell you when your older.

you have no idea at 4 years old that this is simply not just another game
because your life involves games every day.

you remember seeing your tiny hands wrapped around a full grown penis
wondering why he asked you to touch his bump.

So far you havent caught on something isnt right.

he tells you to move your hands up and down like this.
You try to do what is asked cause you are having fun
playing with your brother and it makes you happy to have attention.

this goes on for a while your taking instruction very well and you
think your doing something right.

Then footsteps, coming down the hall.

It’s grandma, Brother panics. replaces bodily parts,
Looks at you with a completely different kind of look on his face.

He says Grandmas coming. Can you keep a secret?
He says do you know what that means?
you stare confused as you try to figure out what this change of behavior is thats going on.

He says, It means ‘dont tell anybody what you were doing. If you do ever tell
I’m gonna spank you and that’s not going to be fun.

adding another question. “Do you understand me” You don’t ever tell.
You’ll wish you hadnt.

So you walk away from the room at four years old with brand new
questions and confusion
that youve been told you can never talk to anyone about.

The days go by and you are more emotional and getting a lot more spankings
for actings out seems like your life has become a whirlwind of being chased
and threatened with switches and belts by Grandma who can’t understand why you
are so bad. But you dont know why your so bad.You don’t even know
that this is normal behavior of Children who have had a sexual assault.
Many many years would pass before you understood
that you were a victim of sexual abuse.

You remember wondering why your hands smelled so funny after that experience.
you remember discovering that when you take off your socks your
feet have a certain sweaty smell so you try to analyze.
You also realize that your mind is consumed every day
for years with a memory of something that you don’t even know is a crime yet,
but you do
know that whatever that was. It’s a secret that you can never tell.

As the years go by, as you grow into an older child you search for answers.
You have a clear understanding that you can never tell Grandma
so you search for answers from your peers who happen to be boy children
in the neighborhood.
Unfortunately the result of trusting those children to help you understand
what this memory and feelings mean but they only assault you as well.
You are an adult before you learn that by telling your weaknesses to others
is a red flag that you are an easy target.
So many many times after reaching out to your so called little
friends for answers to your questions, Instead of questions you only got
assaulted more times with more secrets that your never allowed to tell.

By the time you are 11 years old you have seen 11 penises and youve always
been told to keep it a secret.

You find yourself at 11 being coaxed into the woods by a neighborhood boy
who seemed to be your friend.

but he wasnt your friend, You got raped.You said no I dont like it stop but
you were held down. Then he apologized. He said he was sorry cause youve
been baptized and all.

When you come home crying your Grandparents
both corner you and pick information about what has happened.
You answer yes and no to very uncomfortable questions.
Then your Grandma takes you to take a bath.

The next thing you experience is being flipped off by the boy
as he mouths Fuck you fuck you.
Then you learn that Grandaddy has told the boys father that his son raped you.

The good thing is that you are no longer consumed with the same ruminating memory
of Brother but now of this experience.

You become reclusive stay in your room quite a bit listening to your mothers music.
You become obsessed with music and you learn to
harmonize and sing all by yourself.

Through the teen years you are shamed by Grandma if you like a boy
you are told things like “I can see through you like tissue paper all
you want to do is get with a damn boy.
You lie about talking to boys on the phone so you always say Im calling Christy.

Years later as an adult you learn that what you have is PTSD.
With a plethora of diagnosis from Bipolar to D.I.D.
You learn to swallow that there are people in your family and outside the Family
that will never be able to understand why you cant just grow up
and stop this mental illness behavior.

More years go by your in and out of severe abusive relationships
and barely escape with your life.
But your so quick to forgive when they seem
sincere because look what your brother
did but You know that he has been there for you when nobody else was.
You know that he loved you and you are proud of the
fact that youve never had to confront him about the early assaults.
You always wonder if he remembers.

You appreciate how he has made himself into a very loved and respectable guy
You hold no hard feelings toward him because he has turned out so well.
We forgive those we love faster than those we don’t.

After all these years of emotional secrets and memories and abuse form
all directions. You think that youve done
something good by loving brother through years of your own personal trauma
but also through unconditional love. You have a great relationship with him.

When the other Family members can’t understand why you want to find your father
who you later found out molested your sister,Your brother understood when you said I
just wanted to find him and know he was saved and going to heaven.

When the whole family resented you and even cut off contact with you
your brother understood.
He was the only person who could understand your sincerity
because he had been the one granted the most mercy and forgivness.

You knew he respected you and was grateful that you were
capable of such unconditional love that you talked
more and more often on the phone
and after he became terminally ill,
you talked to him almost daily giving him encouragement
and offering any advice you could.
You loved him.

Then a few days before he died. His last words to you were How his stepdaughter
said he was the only one who treated her like a daughter and never hurt her.
I said “thats so good”.

His response was a raised voice through crying ” Im not a child molester”
he cried mumbled and hung up the phone.
After all the mercy forgiveness and trauma he screamed at me and
said he’s not a child molester. In your heart you know in the present tense
that may be true, but everything youve dealt with emotionally over the years
was just discounted in one scolding that had no cause other than his own guilt
for his behaviors early on.
Then you get news that he died.
you dont cry. Your not mad. Your sorry that this happened,
But your sure now that Karma can be a terribly harsh punisher.

In the meantime as you lick your mental wounds and everyone
including your mother knows that you are crazy, That you have had drug problems
You have been suicidal self-harming, But they don’t understand why.
Over and over your Mother says I hope you can figure out whats going on that
makes you sick.
In your head your respose is always I do know
I can’t tell you because I was told to never never tell.
You never tell. You are 48 years old with a broken body
and mind but your never told. You know you are a good girl.

Author

WYR

WYR

When You're Ready.org is a community for survivors of sexual violence to share their stories.

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