Sensitive subject matter - read at your own risk.
I've been reading the book my roommate picked up, The Courage To Heal: a Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse, and it's been a very enlightening experience. I just read something that I kinda wanted to share, though it's not for the squeamish. If this kind of thing makes you uncomfortable, please don't read it.
One Hundred and Fifty-Seven Ways to Tell My Incest Story
by Emily Levy
Tell it in Spanish
In Sign Language.
Tell it as a poem
As a play
As a letter to President Reagan.
Tell it as if my life depended on it.
I was not molested as a child.
I feared, when I was three years old, that a man would come into my room in the middle of the night and Get me. Where did that idea come from?
I wonder why I hate my father so much. The explanations I've developed don't add up to the amount of anger and hatred I feel.
There's a vague possibility I was molested as a child.
Tell it as a court case
As a congressional debate
As if the power of children were respected.
Tell it as domestic terrorism
As a national sport.
Tell it as a jump-rope game:
A my name is Annie
He stuck it up my Anus
Now I am Angry
And I want Action.
B my name is Betty
The penis was my Brother's
I wrote a Book
'Cuz I want to get him Back.
C my name is Carla
He said he'd give me Candy
I told my Cousin
And her Dad got Caught.
D my name is Doris
I was still in Diapers...
Tell it as graffiti
As a religious service.
Tell it as a classified ad.
Why is it that when I see Dad I make sure to wear a long scarf that covers my chest?
There's no way he could have molested me. I'd remember it. I have a gerat memory. Everybody in my family says so.
Why did I suddenly start hating him when I was eleven years old?
I think my father might have molested me when I was a child.
Tell it as a TV commercial
As a science experiment
As a country western song.
Tell it as ancient history
As science fiction.
Tell it in your sleep:
This time I decided to get him instead of letting him get me. I jerked him off angrily, scratching his cock with my fingernails, digging them into his flesh as deep as I could. I kept going at it, trying to make him ejaculate. Then I realized it would be meaner to stop. As soon as I stopped, my mother was there again.
Tell it as a bedtime story
As a bumper sticker.
Tell it as if we liked it.
When I was young, I used to say, "Don't touch me, I'm alive!" Why did I make up that expression?
Tell it as justification for nuclear war
As justification for never having another war.
Tell it as a greeting card:
To A Beloved Niece--
On this day I think of you
A girl with virtue always true
A sweeter thing I ne'er did see
No wonder Pop molested thee.
Your rosy breast and dangling tongue
What heaven in a girl so young!
Your beauty now is crowned with luck
His love shown by a family fuck.
One wish for you, now, if I may:
Happy Molestation Day!
Tell it as a gossip column
As last will and testament
As an exhibit at Ripley's Believe It Or Not.
Am I making this up as an excuse to hate him? If I falsely accused him, I'd never forgive myself.
Tell it as a soap opera
As a telephone answering-machine message.
Tell it as a board game:
"Snake eyes. Damn it, I rolled snake eyes."
"Ha, ha. You get molested by your twin brother. Your nightmare quotient goes up 60%, your therapy sentence up three years, and your sexuality goes into the shop for repairs."
"Hey, give me that marker! I can put my own sexuality in the shop!"
"OK. My turn now. Three. One, two, three. All right! 'Doctor Feminist'!"
"Pick a card."
" 'You go to a three-day workshop where you cry, talk about why you cried, and talk about why you talked about why you cried. Take six months of therapy off your sentence.' All right!"
"How come you get all the good ones? My turn."
Tell it as a "How To" book
As a newscast
As instructions on the box it came in.
Why do the muscles in my vagina tighten when I hear his name?
Tell it as a fairy tale
As a magic trick.
Tell it as of this moment:
Kissing your lips is like walking into a lush garden. I watch each emotion bud within your dark eyes.
My palms engulph your breasts, your fingernails cruise across my belly. We rock until you lie on top of me. You press your knee against my cunt, whisper I want you Baby, and suddenly you become him. You are pinning me down, holding me so tight I cannot breathe. You are pushing your prick into me, insisting I want it. I wrestle with your body and with the voice inside my head saying Calm down. This is different: you choose to be here.
Hey, where are you, you ask. What happened. My eyes clearly describe to you the fear my mouth cannot speak. You sigh and hold me gently. Finally I cry.
Tell it as a healing ritual
As an epitaph
As discovered and interpreted seven generations from now.
Maybe my family named me The One Who Remembers so they could believe that anything that I don't remember didn't happen.
Tell it as a map of the world
As if I were still forbidden to speak the words.
My father molested me when I was a child.
Tell it so it will never happen again.
***
I chose to copy this down because I think it's a very powerful message for anyone who has been abused, or for anyone who knows someone who has. My interpretation of that message isn't going to be the same as everyone's, so I'll let everybody decide for themselves what it means... but I definitely support the idea of telling.
I'm screening comments on this post, just in case. Let me know if you'd like to keep yours screened, or if you don't care one way or the other.
(For anyone wondering, my interest in this is purely third-party. I haven't been abused, and I'm not trying to suggest I have by this post. I just thought it was worth sharing.)
One Hundred and Fifty-Seven Ways to Tell My Incest Story
by Emily Levy
Tell it in Spanish
In Sign Language.
Tell it as a poem
As a play
As a letter to President Reagan.
Tell it as if my life depended on it.
I was not molested as a child.
I feared, when I was three years old, that a man would come into my room in the middle of the night and Get me. Where did that idea come from?
I wonder why I hate my father so much. The explanations I've developed don't add up to the amount of anger and hatred I feel.
There's a vague possibility I was molested as a child.
Tell it as a court case
As a congressional debate
As if the power of children were respected.
Tell it as domestic terrorism
As a national sport.
Tell it as a jump-rope game:
A my name is Annie
He stuck it up my Anus
Now I am Angry
And I want Action.
B my name is Betty
The penis was my Brother's
I wrote a Book
'Cuz I want to get him Back.
C my name is Carla
He said he'd give me Candy
I told my Cousin
And her Dad got Caught.
D my name is Doris
I was still in Diapers...
Tell it as graffiti
As a religious service.
Tell it as a classified ad.
Why is it that when I see Dad I make sure to wear a long scarf that covers my chest?
There's no way he could have molested me. I'd remember it. I have a gerat memory. Everybody in my family says so.
Why did I suddenly start hating him when I was eleven years old?
I think my father might have molested me when I was a child.
Tell it as a TV commercial
As a science experiment
As a country western song.
Tell it as ancient history
As science fiction.
Tell it in your sleep:
This time I decided to get him instead of letting him get me. I jerked him off angrily, scratching his cock with my fingernails, digging them into his flesh as deep as I could. I kept going at it, trying to make him ejaculate. Then I realized it would be meaner to stop. As soon as I stopped, my mother was there again.
Tell it as a bedtime story
As a bumper sticker.
Tell it as if we liked it.
When I was young, I used to say, "Don't touch me, I'm alive!" Why did I make up that expression?
Tell it as justification for nuclear war
As justification for never having another war.
Tell it as a greeting card:
To A Beloved Niece--
On this day I think of you
A girl with virtue always true
A sweeter thing I ne'er did see
No wonder Pop molested thee.
Your rosy breast and dangling tongue
What heaven in a girl so young!
Your beauty now is crowned with luck
His love shown by a family fuck.
One wish for you, now, if I may:
Happy Molestation Day!
Tell it as a gossip column
As last will and testament
As an exhibit at Ripley's Believe It Or Not.
Am I making this up as an excuse to hate him? If I falsely accused him, I'd never forgive myself.
Tell it as a soap opera
As a telephone answering-machine message.
Tell it as a board game:
"Snake eyes. Damn it, I rolled snake eyes."
"Ha, ha. You get molested by your twin brother. Your nightmare quotient goes up 60%, your therapy sentence up three years, and your sexuality goes into the shop for repairs."
"Hey, give me that marker! I can put my own sexuality in the shop!"
"OK. My turn now. Three. One, two, three. All right! 'Doctor Feminist'!"
"Pick a card."
" 'You go to a three-day workshop where you cry, talk about why you cried, and talk about why you talked about why you cried. Take six months of therapy off your sentence.' All right!"
"How come you get all the good ones? My turn."
Tell it as a "How To" book
As a newscast
As instructions on the box it came in.
Why do the muscles in my vagina tighten when I hear his name?
Tell it as a fairy tale
As a magic trick.
Tell it as of this moment:
Kissing your lips is like walking into a lush garden. I watch each emotion bud within your dark eyes.
My palms engulph your breasts, your fingernails cruise across my belly. We rock until you lie on top of me. You press your knee against my cunt, whisper I want you Baby, and suddenly you become him. You are pinning me down, holding me so tight I cannot breathe. You are pushing your prick into me, insisting I want it. I wrestle with your body and with the voice inside my head saying Calm down. This is different: you choose to be here.
Hey, where are you, you ask. What happened. My eyes clearly describe to you the fear my mouth cannot speak. You sigh and hold me gently. Finally I cry.
Tell it as a healing ritual
As an epitaph
As discovered and interpreted seven generations from now.
Maybe my family named me The One Who Remembers so they could believe that anything that I don't remember didn't happen.
Tell it as a map of the world
As if I were still forbidden to speak the words.
My father molested me when I was a child.
Tell it so it will never happen again.
***
I chose to copy this down because I think it's a very powerful message for anyone who has been abused, or for anyone who knows someone who has. My interpretation of that message isn't going to be the same as everyone's, so I'll let everybody decide for themselves what it means... but I definitely support the idea of telling.
I'm screening comments on this post, just in case. Let me know if you'd like to keep yours screened, or if you don't care one way or the other.
(For anyone wondering, my interest in this is purely third-party. I haven't been abused, and I'm not trying to suggest I have by this post. I just thought it was worth sharing.)