This article you are about to read, is not for children. It is not a blow by blow account of what was physically done to me, nor will any subsequent articles on this subject.
Incest has played a big fat part of my life. What you are about to read…some of you will find disturbing.
However, this is my story and my story to tell.
It is written from my heart and in the most respectful and honest way that I know how.
If you have been the victim of incest, like me, you carry the scars, both visible and invisible.
You feel fractured, not broken, but like your not quite right. Like nothing will ever be the same and you hide every part of your life. You don’t feel safe. You watch everything and everyone and you feel that eminent horror is right behind you.
Incest is a word that stops me in my tracks. It is dark and menacing. It is evil. Incest is cold, its claws are sharp and it bites away at you from the darkest corners of your mind.
Three members of my family, my Father, my Uncle and an older cousin, used me as a sex toy. I was passed like a rag doll between them and usually at family gatherings. These men would drag me into a bedroom, all three of them, and it was game on. Usually my mother sat in the next room, drinking tea and eating scones.
If you are wondering if she heard…absolutely! She heard…there was no way she could not.
I learned very early on to close my eyes and try as hard as I could, not to be present. Some of you know how that feels. However the pain I could feel, that is indescribable.
Sometimes these sessions would be short, and sometimes they would last for hours. Once I was tied up in a shed and it went for days. I would be black and blue after these sessions. I had scratches and bite marks and I felt that my little body would would be broken into a million pieces.
When these sessions were over, I learned not to come back into a room where my Mother was. She would be so angry with me and I would get such a belting from her. At times I would collapse through sheer pain and exhaustion and her flogging was the cherry on top.
This was my life.
From my first childhood memory…you know that time when you are aware of yourself and you remember doing something fun…well fun was not in my start to life or in my future. I had 14 years of this abuse, and it was my day in and my day out.
At the age of about eleven, I started planning my escape. That was the only way that this was going to stop. However it took me and three years to get the courage to run…and run I did.
I have been running from this horror now for 50 years and I am tired of running. I’m done.
I’m tired of the shame, the dirty little secret, being afraid, of not letting people into my life.
I can see the hurricane of damage that Incest has done to my life.
I’m tired of the self harm I inflict on myself as some kind of tribute to those who went before me.
Quite recently I started thinking, I am stronger than anything that anyone has ever done to me. I like who looks back at me in the mirror and my head is at peace, as best as it can be.
I share my story with you, with no shame, with hope that my story will in some way help you understand the feelings that you may have. I sincerely hope that the next time you go past a mirror, you are proud and kind, and learn to love the person who is looking back at you, for they are your best friend.
Be kind to yourself,
Love Big Fat Dee
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