I was watching this movie today about this young woman. She was a blogger. She was 18 years old and decided to defer a year before starting college. She was anonymous and blogged mostly about her promiscuous sex life.
I almost changed the channel. I so rarely turn on the TV and I was just about to turn it off but something made me continue to watch the movie. The movie was about how this girl was molested as a young girl of six and how this changed her life forever.
She was not penetrated but simply petted by the old man next door. She even admitted to having liked it. She had a suicide attempt at the age of 13 after an older boy refused her advances. There were all the signs of someone who was molested. Liking older controlling men, self loathing, no sense of self and the list went on. Turns out the story was true. She ended up pregnant and then one day disappeared. There was no real conclusion to the story.
I want to say I was very uncomfortable with this story and it made me very angry. I want to tell you why.
I had blocked most of my childhood away in a little tidy box or most of it anyway. I get small snip its of my younger life but I want to say that most of it is censored heavily by me. I never knew why until one night at, when I was visiting one of my dearest friends house.
My friend had just gone through a very nasty and bitter divorce and moved into a beautiful townhouse. I had come over with my daughter in tow to have a sleep over with her and her kids. The children were sleeping upstairs and we were drinking wine from her amazing collection downstairs.
We were talking men and it was very late. We began to talk sex like most women do after a few bottles of wine and then we began to be specific. The subject of blow jobs came up and then I blurted out that my first blow job was at the age of four. I was like what the hell? Who give a blow job at four?
I just stared at my friend and she stared at me. The tears started to stream down my face. I began to shake with shame and self loathing. My memory came blaring back to me in technicolor. I remembered something that I had stuffed in my do not remember file. Thank God I was with one of my best friends for life. Without her, I would have not been able to get through my suppressed memory.
I grew up in suburban Orange County in bedroom community. The kids played outside with each other all day after school until the street lights came on and all day everyday during the summer. We were all friends and we knew our neighbors. I know that is a shocker to most folks these days, but it is the truth.
My brothers were playing basketball at the kids house down the street and I went there to watch. Girls didn't play basketball with boys back then. Anyway, the boy who lived there asked me to help him with something in the house. I did not think anything of it and I went with him. He was my brothers age, I think 12 maybe? Anyway, he took me into the laundry room and he made me do what most girls don't do until they are well into their thirties. I remember trying to fight him because it was really icky.
To be honest I don't remember the actual act. That part is a ken doll blur. I am thankful for that. I don't remember the after part or walking home. I do remember finding my mom in the middle of laundry and asking her about this horrible new game that the kid down the street made me play and, if I had to play it with all the boys? My mom was horrified and I think I had to brush my teeth and was given a bath immediately with a hair washing and comb out. Maybe ice-cream was involved. Not sure, I was four.
The next morning at my friends house, I called my mom and asked her, if my memory was true. She was surprised I did not remember the incident. I told her no, not until that previous night and to much wine. I did not mention the conversation leading up to it because I did not want to traumatize her. I figured that just by being her daughter I was enough drama and trauma. She didn't need to know I was talking about sex.
I asked her to tell me everything. She told me that when my dad got home that night she sent him over to the kids house to speak to his parents and they refused to believe what had happened. My dad almost beat up his dad and said that their kids were not allowed to play with his kids any longer. That family moved away a few months later. Thank God.
I do know that I suffer from a very low self esteem and I gravitate towards men who are very controlling. I was changed from that one event in my life. Think of those young girls who are sexually abused and tortured again and again. What that must do to them, if that one time in a laundry room did that to me? I came from a loving intact home. Some girls do not come from homes like mine. I think it is a horrible thing when young girls are not safe in their own neighborhoods or homes. That their very souls can be corrupted by anyone and they are changed forever. I know I was.
I was lucky, I had a very loving mother and father who did everything to ensure that never happened again. In fact, I was installed with such a paranoia to protect myself from harm, I have been safe ever since. Yes, silly things happen to me all the time but nothing like that again.
Why do I feel compelled to tell you this? I want all parents to be aware that anything can happen to our children at the drop of a hat. That anyone, even the boy next door can be the devil and destroy your child's innocence in a few minutes.
I grew up and was relatively normal and felt loved. My issues were small and I found a way to stand firm and become a better person through almost every hurdle I have come across with my family, husband and the good Lord by my side. However, most are not as blessed as I am.
I ask you to keep your children and grandchildren close and be very watchful and alert. Watch out for the neighborhood. If you get that feeling that one of the neighbors is a creeper, they probably are.
If something does happen to one of your children, get them some help and stand by them. They will be changed, who would not be. Just remember to love them no matter what.
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