Suppressed Memories - Beginning to Surface

The incest, perpetrated by "The Dad" began when I was four years old.

After my parents separated, "The Dad" moved in with his parents. He asked Mother for visiting rights every Sunday and she consented. I have to stop right here and point out that Mother, although still very terrified of and by "The Dad", was actually turning her two daughters, ages 3 and 4, over to this maniac still threatening to kill us on a weekly basis! WHAT kind of Mother does that? To this day I have asked her repeatedly WHY, WHY? Her answer, "so the two of you could see your Grandparents." WTF!

Soon after the visitations began, I showed clear signs of sexual abuse. My tiny vagina was inflamed and raw. I could no longer urinate without severe pain. I went for hours and hours without urinating, just to avoid the horrible pain. My Mother began taking me to one Urologist after another in an attempt to discover the answer to my problems. Not one of those Dr.s EVER mentioned a word about possible child abuse. Instead they catheterized a 4 year old, who had already been sexually abused by her parent! Adding more emotional and physical damage. One of the visits to the Urologist will be in my memory forever. We, Mother and I, were in his office. I was sitting on a potty chair, while the Dr. and Mother looked out the window to watch a Parade go by. The Dr. told me if I would pee in the potty, I could see the Parade, otherwise I was not allowed to see the Parade. I did NOT see a Parade that day. I cried and begged Mother to let me see the Parade but she sided with the Dr. I will never forget the betrayal I felt that day.

Many Sundays, "The Dad" just never showed to pick up my sister and me. Those would have been extremely happy Sundays except for one thing. Because Mother had bathed us, and dressed us in the nicest clothes we owned, she forced us to sit on the porch swing for hours, waiting for the Monster to show. She told us we would get dirty if she allowed us to come off the swing....Mother was a clean freak. When hours had passed and it was obvious "The Dad" was not coming, Mother would be furious! She would yell and scream about what a no good bastard he was. My sister and I held each other on the swing, knowing soon, her rage would be directed at us. It was our fault, we were such rotten brats, even a bastard like him didn't want us. Finally, when dusk settled in, we were pulled off the porch swing and pushed into the "Haunted House". Our "good" clothes ripped off and PJs roughly put on us, with orders to go to bed. I remember the two of us climbing into bed, crying, trying to muffle our sobs with our pillows. If we were lucky, she would not hear our cries. If our luck had run out, she made sure she "gave us something to cry about".

When I question Mother today about those visits to the Urologists and I ask her WHY didn't one of them recognize the clear signs of sexual abuse.....her answer is always "people didn't talk about those things in those days". Of course not, let's just keep it all a big secret, not embarrass the family, just let the child suffer! Let the child take on all the blame! Let the child grow to be an Adult who never had a chance for a "normal", emotionally stable life!

Whew, I am exhausted.....allowing Anger to "come out" always takes everything out of me.

Note: The above memories were suppressed until I was in my mid-twenties. And then if it had not been for an angry phone call from my Sister, I may have never remembered at all............


Thanks for visiting the "Haunted House" and please Save a Child!