A Nightmare Continued...

It repeats itself in my mind each night.  My crying in agony.  Their masked faces.  The flashes of a camera.  The weight of their bodies on mine.  I force myself to stay awake each night until I'm so exhausted I fall asleep.  It's a habit I'm unable to break.  So far.  It's been so long since I've written this out.  I'm nauseous even thinking about writing this.  And I'm angry.  Not just mad.  But angry.  The kind of anger that fills me with absolute rage. 

I was a little girl. 

A child. 

Just 7-years-old. 

But I cannot ignore this any longer.  I need to speak up about it.  Even though I'm terrified at the thought of writing this.  Even though my entire body is trembling. 

I was raped.  Not by one man. 

I was raped by four men.  It was the summer of 1978.  I didn't know what it was called back then.  I don't recall if I even knew the word 'rape'.  All I did know was that I woke up in the middle of a medical procedure I was forced into. 

He was on top of me. 

He was pushing inside of me. 

When he finished, another took his place.  They each took turns. 

I remember laughing.  I remember hearing weird noises.  I remember the flash of a camera. 

I don't know how long they used me. 

Eventually, they stopped. 

On the way home, I didn't dare say a word. 
I just listened.
And stared straight ahead into traffic.
He said I was a good girl.
He told me it was a secret.
Only between us.
Nobody else was to know.
If I told anyone, they wouldn't believe me. 

So I kept quiet.

When we finally got back to his parent's house, I ran to the kitchen and hugged his mother as tight as I could, never wanting to let go.
Eventually I had to let go though.
She was cooking dinner.
I don't know if she knew I was upset...by that age I had already learned not to cry.
Crying just made everything worse.
So I kept quiet.

And started to eat.

When my parents dropped me off at my relative's house that summer, I was a really slender kid.
So slender that my brother and I resembled twins even though I'm nearly two years older.
Sometime after the operation, he took me to the lake.  Hart Lake. 

Alone. 

He rented a rowboat.  He took us to a secluded area.  I don't recall anyone else around.  But this time I had a protector.  My beloved stuffed purple-and-white bunny.  I took her everywhere with me.  The water was still and dark.  He told me to come closer to him.  I said no.  He insisted.  Again, I said no.  He said if I didn't sit beside him he would make water come into the boat.  I didn't believe him.  The boat began to rock.  I got scared.  I quietly got up and moved closer to him. 
  He took my hand and told me to touch him.  I said no.  He told me if I didn't touch him and let him touch me he would rock the boat.  I said no.  He rocked the boat.  Hard.  Water seeped in.  I started crying.  I didn't want to die.  I was just learning to swim at camp.  My bunny nearly fell into the lake.  I nearly fell into the lake.  So I said ok.  I didn't have a choice.  I'm still sick to my stomach knowing I agreed.  He put my hand on him.  He told me to keep touching him.  I didn't want to.  I didn't want him to touch me.  He wouldn't stop.  He said I made him feel good and wanted to make me feel good too. 

He told me I could never tell anyone what we did or I'd get in trouble. 

So I kept quiet.  And I kept eating. 

When my parents picked my brother and I up later that summer, they were met by a very chubby, sullen, withdrawn girl who was very happy to see them.
But the light and laughter was gone from my eyes and from my spirit.
I knew the truth but I couldn't say a word.

All I would tell my mother is that he tried to drown me in the lake.  She yelled at him to never scare me like that again.  I didn't tell her about the other stuff we did.  I was too scared.  I was told my parents wouldn't want me or love me anymore if I told.  So I kept quiet.

And kept that little broken girl hidden from the world.
Terrified that something far worse would happen.
I kept my eyes open as long as I could before falling asleep.
I surrounded myself with as many of my stuffed animals as I could, praying each night they would keep me safe.
As the days passed into weeks and then months and finally years, the events of that summer stayed in the back of my mind. No matter how hard I tried to push those memories away, they stayed. Always reminding me of what a horrible person I was. 

A New Beginning...

I remember too much. Sometimes I wish I didn't remember anything. Actually, I wish I never remembered any of it. It pains me to remember. It pains others to hear about it. Part of me doesn't want to write this. It's almost as if I'm forced to. I need to heal. In telling my story and relating my journey of healing to you, perhaps it will help others to heal. I hope so. I'd hate to think all of this was in vain.

My story is not typical. Not by a long shot. I grew up in the suburbs. To the outside world, we were a normal family. Dysfunctional. But like everyone else. Except I wasn't like everyone else. I wasn't like any other person I knew.

All I can do is write what I remember.
How I remember it.
I don't care if you don't believe me.
I don't care that you think I'm making it up.
I'm not.
I remember this.
I've always remembered this.
I didn't wake up one day and these memories just suddenly appeared.
I've always remembered this happening.
I don't want to.
I wish to G-d it never happened but it did.

TRIGGER WARNING

August, 1978. My parents were on vacation in Europe and had left my younger brother and I in the care of older relatives. Their son told his parents we were going out and would be back later.

In the car he told me I was going to the doctor's office.
I asked why since I wasn't sick and felt fine.
He said I needed to have a procedure done...like an operation but I'd be asleep for it.
He explained it was to make my vagina bigger so I could have babies one day.
I didn't know I couldn't say no.
I didn't know nobody else knew this was happening.
All I knew was that he was an adult. I had to listen to him and respect him.
So I trusted he knew what he was doing.

He drove me to this place made to look like a doctor's office.
We were asked to come into a small room where I was told to take off all my clothes including my underwear and change into a patient's gown.
I was helped onto a table which was then wheeled into the operating room.
There were other men there...four altogether, including my male relative.
They were dressed in doctor's gowns and masks. Except him. He was still wearing the clothes he wore earlier.
I was asked if the procedure was explained to me. I said yes. I was nervous and scared.
I was given anesthetic.
I was told to recite the alphabet backwards.
I was so nervous I just babbled nonsense until I blacked out.
I had no reason to suspect they weren't doctors.
When I woke up, one of them was on top of me.
I couldn't breathe.
It hurt.
I felt like I was being ripped apart.
They didn't care that I was crying.
They didn't care that I was scared.
I heard the snap and click of a camera and saw the blinding flash.
I was humiliated.

They took turns.

When they finished with me, I was told the procedure went wonderfully.
I was sore.
I was tired.
I was confused.
I wanted to throw up.
I didn't want to be near him anymore.
I sensed something had changed my relationship with him forever.
I sensed something had changed me forever.
I just wanted to go home.

I was 7-years-old.