Do you need to tell?

24 May

I am starting this blog as the answer to my question of “What can I do to address the very serious issue of child sexual abuse?” I am extremely passionate about this for many reasons, one reason being I was victimized. However, the statistics of child sexual abuse are so alarming, I feel desperate to do something.

This blog is the answer to my question. It is my plan to share my story.

It is my prayer, as I share my story, it will start the conversation. It is my prayer the conversation will grow to the point, someone will feel compelled to tell they are being abused. I also pray for those who have a story, past or present, they will feel emboldened enough to keep the conversation going and share their story.

I am going to rip myself open, sparing nothing and I insert disclaimer here: Sick, perverse and depraved people were of major control in my life as I tried to grow up. This is/was ugly, but I assure you, “They” …did NOT win.

As this is an “Intro” into my story (hard to say) I’m going to say straight up I’m giving myself a “good job”. I’m learning to do that & it can not be expressed in mere words, the emotions & mental pictures “telling” brings to surface. It is no small wonder people who have or are being harmed don’t tell. It is painful. Extremely.

I’m not going to sugar coat this conversation about child sexual abuse. (CSA) However, if we don’t go through the emotions and conversation, our children will continue to pay.

I can’t tell you how much it hurts to be victim of CSA. It’s indescribable for one, but there is also the minds ability to go elsewhere as abuse takes place so I have little memory. Blank. I’m fine with it because I know I don’t WANT to remember but blank? I can’t remember. If I wanted to.

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35 Responses to “Do you need to tell?”

  1. duffy1958 May 24, 2013 at 7:49 pm #

    I want to continue my blog, adding comments to complete the story because quite honestly, I can only take so much & I think it’s important to note, for all of us how this will work. I “check in” with myself on a regular basis & I will be interested to see how I get this out.

    • duffy1958 May 28, 2013 at 10:47 am #

      If you read my blog, PLEASE, feel free to comment in comment section. It won’t change my blog. If you have a story, maybe write a comment, then read? Might be better yes? Thank you for reading and PLEASE pass the MESSAGE of Do You Need to Tell?

  2. duffy1958 May 25, 2013 at 1:57 am #

    I was 4 years old when the abuse started. I know because of how long my hair was and corresponding pictures. I’m going to call that person MG. His wife, CG was mine & countless other children’s babysitter. My years there were approx 1962-1966. CG babysat children of single mothers who worked crappy hours and shifts to provide for their children. CG & MG had three daughters of their own & I dare wonder the countless horrors they must have endured at his hand. Their daughters were teens when their mother “watched” us and their father abused us.

  3. duffy1958 May 25, 2013 at 2:09 am #

    As I said, I don’t have much memory but my earliest would be, being locked in a bathroom with MG teaching me how to lick his penis. CG had left to go to the store, she returned for some reason and I cried out to her. The door had been locked so she stood at the door screaming “M! You let her out! M! You let her out!” She is screaming so he starts trying to stuff his penis down my throat, choking me, forcing my head and mouth. I remember being at the bathroom door, he had to unlock it for her, she shoved me away and yelled at him.

  4. duffy1958 May 25, 2013 at 2:23 am #

    I’m going to describe MG for you. I recently drew a likeness of him but it isn’t finished yet. I will post it when I do. My friend says I’m morbid & I would agree, it is a morbid thing to do but I think it’s important to the story. I’m morbidly curious to see how close I come to recreating his likeness. He is dead now, by the way. I don’t know, nor am concerned of his death.

    MG was every kind of disgusting and he “looked” like you would feature a child molester to look like. He was a house painter by trade. He featured himself a fisherman and had an aluminum fishing boat to prove it. This fishing “hobby” played a huge role in molesting me at least. Once they have broken you, and I was, you are “the robot that does”. Tying new fishing lures is code for oral sex. Pouring lead weights is code for oral sex.

  5. duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 1:01 am #

    I just want to say fishing has it’s own smell. Fresh fish? Kinda smelly. Eh. Years of dead fish smell by a perverted old fisherman? Shaking my head. Fish blood, guts. Stink bate. Have you ever heard of it? I think there is cheese in it. The smell of fresh stink bate would make you gag.

    Fishermen use chicken guts too. Mainly for cat fish. I watched this gross, smelly old fisherman kill chickens. He wrung their necks. You just catch the chicken & start twirling until head pops off. I was too young to watch something like wringing a chickens neck. The chickens were to eat & I don’t have a problem with killing your own food. My family does it. In an appropriate manner. That wasn’t it.

    • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 1:21 am #

      I don’t think it was a mistake MG killed chickens in front of me. I think it left the impression he wanted it to.

      The garage was the place I was forced to perform oral sex from 4 years old to around 8. When I was 4 I had beautiful long hair. It was used to yank & hold my head with precision. I remember when I got my hair cut. My mom and hair dresser just couldn’t believe I would want to cut all my hair off. My school picture after my hair was cut, I have the biggest smile, almost like I won a small battle.

      • Jeanine A Thriver February 18, 2015 at 1:23 am #

        It is sooooo horrible what you suffered! I am so sorry!

  6. duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 1:30 am #

    It’s hard to say what I thought as a little girl. I was traumatized repeatedly. I get the feeling I spent those years with the light on but nobody was home. I know I was naughty . I acted out. I feel like I acted like a crazed kid. My mother had no idea what she was dealing with. I never told. How did I know not to tell? I don’t remember any conversation or threats, “Don’t tell” I don’t think there was one.

    • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 1:36 am #

      I want to stop my story for a minute and bring this around to the original intent of my blog. Do you need to tell? Is there something or someone who YOU need to tell?

      Is there someone harming you now? Did they? Do you need to tell? I encourage telling. Telling will set you free.

      Do you just need to leave a comment on my blog? Or do you need to tell an authority figure? Do you need to tell? Please. Please. Do it. Whatever you need to do, to tell. Do it.

  7. duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 1:52 am #

    I never told. Not until I was in my 30’s did I even acknowledge to myself I had been molested. Abused. Almost my entire child hood, but I will get to that. I think I was too traumatized to acknowledge it. I vividly remember when it came to me as an adult. I compare it to a door being opened. Prior to acknowledging to myself I had been molested, I would have told you there wasn’t even a door there.

    It was with God this door opened. I had screwed up, one more time, trusted the wrong man with my heart & children and I was broken. Completely broken. My third marriage, ended by adultery by my ex.

    In my early thirties I had made so many mistakes. I made them. Nothing illegal and I wasn’t on drugs either. “Dear God, how do I make so many mistakes? I am broken. How? Why? What? Help me god.” Primal scream “Help me God!!!!”

    The door. Oh… My…God. Jesus. Jesus Jesus. Help me. There is a door. Fuck. Shit. Hell. Mother fucker. There is a door I see in my mind. It’s kind if mustard yellow with dark fog surrounding it. Mother fucking, son of a bitch. It’s a door & I never saw that door but somehow deep, somewhere, I don’t know where, I “felt” the door.

    • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 2:01 am #

      I see the door, I’m surprised but not surprised. I knew instantly what the door stood for. Did I want to open the door? Was there really a question? Life had brought me to this point. Of course I was going to open the door. I wasn’t afraid. There was dread. There is a difference. I felt comfort even though there was dread. I opened the door. Nothing. *looking around* Nothing. What does that mean? There was bright light behind the door. It was God. I didn’t “see” God I just knew He was the bright light and even though “He” His light was omnipresent, there was nothing behind the door. Not even a room. Nothingness.

      • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 2:07 am #

        I know it was profound. I feel like I passed a test when I chose to open the door. Not a test from God. My own. I didn’t have to step forward and open that door. I could have said “No, No a thousand times no”

  8. duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 2:20 am #

    What happened after I opened the door? I could say nothing and I could say everything. Did I feel different? Act different? Did I change miraculously? Was I no longer a fuck up? No. No. No. No. Did I “feel” set free? No. I felt no different.

    I didn’t feel any different but I did have knowledge. I didn’t understand how big of a deal that was.

    What do I do with this knowledge? I told my sister. This was before I had unlimited long distance & it cost me a fortune as a poor single mom of 3. I called her and told her the realization I had come to. I wasn’t specific with her about the door, just the praying part. She remembers the conversation now. Maybe better than I, but as I shared with her I said, I know how to pray for myself now. Ending our conversation, my sister said to me, “Well, maybe I need to pray for myself” End of conversation and we didn’t talk about it again until 20 years later, our present.

    • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 2:23 am #

      What I know now, 20 years later is I told. I told myself what happened to me as a little girl.

      Does anyone need to tell? Does anyone you KNOW need to tell? It’s important. I encourage it. I insist! Do you need to tell?

      • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 2:55 am #

        I’m going to go back to my story. This is new to me. Calling this my story. I don’t like it. I would much rather blog about growing up care free & blissful. I can write. I know I have a gift. I would rather talk about going to the zoo as a child. I did go to the zoo. I remember drinking out of huge hippo mouth drinking fountain. Tippy toe to slurp the warm water. Lol

        Pictures evoke vague feelings of familiarization. The light was on, I went through the motions of living and acting as a child, but no one was home.

    • Jeanine A Thriver February 18, 2015 at 1:28 am #

      So brave!

  9. duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 6:44 am #

    I wanted to talk about “grooming”. Professionals now know, a child molester will create or prepare situations to seduce a child. Candy. Money. Gifts. Many different ways. The basketball coach, priest, teacher, scout leader, the list goes on. They all have their own niche to acquire their victims. They “woo” a child like a lover does. Sick. They have a “predilection” towards children. They can even act very child like.

    Do you know the “average” child molester has between 100-250 victims. Those are not my statistics and I have heard Dr. Phil quote the same figures. It takes my breath away. We are not alone but surely we want to STOP this monster plague of child molestation.

    Do you need to tell? Or is there someone you know who needs to tell? Johnny’s cousin, twice removed, Uncle Barney molested all those little kids? I’m making that up, of course, but I hope to appeal to every situation. They are there. There ARE people you know who need to tell. Mentor them. Help them. Please tell. And keep telling.

    • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 11:08 pm #

      When I talked about the grooming a CM (child molester) does, can I just say, that wasn’t my experience? MG did not believe in “grooming”. He was a good size man. Tall. Meaty. Old. How old? Always tanned because he was always fishing. What about painting?

      MG & CG were very poor. She babysat I don’t know how many. There were 4 of me & my siblings. My oldest and dearest friend, was she and her sister. My friend GC and I were the same age, our sisters 2 years younger. Some of us say we were molested and some of us don’t, I won’t speculate or tell their story.

      MG & CG lived in a run down house, owned by CG’s mother. I don’t know how the money situation worked with them. CG babysat all of these kids and she also took in washing and ironing for the judges wife. The judges wife was an older, grandmotherly looking woman. She liked to have her sheets washed by hand and very starchily ironed.

      CG would boil large pots of water and wash the sheets by hand. She would use a wash board and then wring them out in a wringer washer. I would “hang out” with CG while she did these things. She liked and hated me, she made it very apparent.

      I think CG in her day was a beautiful woman. She lived in a day where you didn’t get divorced and you sure as hell didn’t talk about child molestation. She was broken. I doubt there was anything she didn’t know about what her husband was doing. She was ignorant. Very unschooled. Her mother, the one they lived with was hateful to the core. I’m going to tell you her name. Grandma Hargis. She is a whole chapter. I’ll get to her. Grrrrr.

      • duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 11:20 pm #

        The poverty in this house was worse than my/our own. We were poor but everything we had, sparse as it was, was clean and in good shape.

        These people, (people?), hoarding had almost taken over, there were large pathways through the house. It was dirty.

        They also received commodities from the government. I don’t know how that worked but I definitely know a powdered egg when I taste it. GROSS.

        The commodity meat would come in a mostly blank, silver can, with black lettering and a picture of the animal which was in the can. For example chicken picture, cow, horse. Horse? Really? Horse meat? Hmmm. I tried it. I liked it the best. Not to offend anyone.

  10. duffy1958 May 26, 2013 at 11:32 pm #

    I’m going to stop and tell on myself. Do you notice how I start talking about how “grooming” was not part of my experience and then I go off on all the other? Shaking my head.

    Grooming was NOT part of my experience. Filthy, gross old MG never saw the need for grooming. He picked you up and took you where he wanted you until you get trained to the queues.

    MG had no teeth. I almost forgot and this is probably what repulsed me the most was MG and his gums. Oh wait. He would grab me, tickle me and GUM me in front of people. Maybe he thought that was grooming.

    Are y’all getting the picture? 6’2″, big boned, meaty, ugly, bald, wrinkled BADLY, toothless, smelly, paint and blood stains on his clothes and always a fresh stench of BO, sweat & fish gut smell. Stuffing a large penis in my mouth, countless times over those years. Why do little girls know about pre-cum? He had a thing about teaching me to lick it all.

    • duffy1958 May 31, 2013 at 4:32 am #

      I was 4, as I said, when the molestation first took place. With me, I think the assaults were immediate and consistent.

      My mother was a newly single parent. After 4 children and a lot of fighting, lying, and cheating, my parents were getting a divorce.

      We first lived in a one bedroom house. We had two sets of bunk beds in one bedroom for me and my 3 siblings. Our mother slept on the couch. She had gotten a job as wait staff in a local restaurant. She worked split shifts to provide for us. A morning shift which included breakfast and lunch. She would go home for a couple of hours and return to work the dinner shift. It was the most popular restaurant in town. She said her wages paid for the babysitter & we lived off of her tips.

      I remember milk getting delivered to our house. The old fashioned bottles were first but replaced by a two gallon bag enclosed in cardboard. I don’t know if it was a big deal to get milk delivered but it seemed like it to me. I remember getting into trouble for keep opening that refrigerator door to checkout the box of milk. It had a spigot and everything.

      I was so naughty as a young child. I never stopped but when you are older, you are bad, not naughty. My poor mother. She was a newly divorced woman, with four children, the youngest, my little brother was 8 months old.

      Every time my mother turned around, I did something outrageously naughty. I had an older brother, younger sister and brother. I don’t remember them getting into trouble, I garnered most of that attention to myself.

      I don’t know what I did, this time, but my mom was going to spank me. I ran from her inside of the house, dodging furniture and finally breaking free to outside. I ran around the outside of the house, screaming bloody hell, my mother fast on my heels. I had long hair and after what was about the third pass around the house, my mom caught me by my ponytail. She was pretty determined to get me that whooping.

      Someone, a neighbor, I’m guessing, called child protective services. They paid a visit. I think I talked to them. My poor mom was humiliated beyond measure.

      The molestation and my reaction to it, was to begin the estranged relationship my mother and I struggled with the rest of our lives.

      • duffy1958 May 31, 2013 at 9:10 pm #

        There are so many components and complexities to the affects of child sexual abuse. Dear God! One of my twitter followers is a person who suffered tremendous physical abuse at the hands of a sibling. Her focus is “Sibling abuse”. I appreciate her so much because she does a fabulous job of exposing the effects. I find myself cheering at every tweet as she calls them out. I could not do the subject justice right now but if you would like to follow her, see what I’m talking about, I feel we all benefit. Her @SIBLINGSCANHURT If you would like to follow me on twitter I am @duffy1958

      • duffy1958 June 13, 2013 at 11:59 pm #

        Boy. Heavy sigh. I will address my father soon but, what to say about the relationship I had with my mother. It was complicated and it never was fixed. My mother has recently passed away.

        Our relationship was interrupted by the secret I held of sexual molestation. I acted out so badly and my mother had no idea WHY I acted the way I did.

        I remember a time, my mother had a “painting” party, inviting all of her friends to paint the entire, inside of our little one bedroom house. They had finished painting and were celebrating with a hot dog.

        I had a hot dog. I was about five or so. I took my hot dog, crawled behind a chair in the newly painted blue living room, bit my hit dog and taking the remainder, proceeded to make dots on the wall. Grease spots.

        My mother was HOT! She discovered me, threw the chair, so I was no longer hiding and shouted, “See! See! Why does she DO this?” Asking her company of friends.

      • duffy1958 June 16, 2013 at 3:30 pm #

        My mom. Help me God, my mom. I need to talk about her but maybe this is the hardest part. I can so relate to the other bloggers who had abusive mothers and the pain involved. How much more painful does it get when your MOTHER hates you.

        Hmmmm Hates me? My mother hated me a lot of times. She tried to love me sometimes too. She did. I don’t want to try to take away from her in that she would at times try.

        It’s just that when I was four, being molested horribly, I was out of my mind. I’m menopausal right now so I can FEEL how I felt then. My mind is scattered but a steel trap also. I’m very emotional. I was jumpy. I was always ready to jump. I was and am suspicious of people.

        I remember once when my mom was trying so hard with me, this crazed little kid. We were poor so even necessities had to be carefully monitored with four little kids.

        I had gone to the bathroom and pulled out the entire roll of toilet paper and I remember my mother standing in front of me with the rem of toilet tissue in her hands,screaming at me, (she wanted to hit me) “Use three, THREE SQUARES of toilet paper!!!!”

        I was mean when I was little. I know little kids do things and I did. Once, we were older by this time, but still young. All four of my siblings and myself were eating all together at the table. This wasn’t a usual occasion. My mom was very happy at this time and she was trying very hard. It was a special occasion for all of us to eat together. I don’t know what my older brother and I were fighting about but I flung my fork, right at his face and stuck the fork in his face,… right below his eye. My mom did not curb her instinct to whip my butt and I got one for that.

    • Jeanine A Thriver February 18, 2015 at 1:33 am #

      What an awful man!

  11. behindthemaskofabuse May 28, 2013 at 4:08 pm #

    I’m sorry you too were a victim to child sexual abuse. It’s chilling and sad how much of it there is. Thank you for dropping by my blog 🙂

    • duffy1958 May 28, 2013 at 5:25 pm #

      Thank you for your comment Behind. I am going to be looking up statistics today to post when I can. I’ve read them before. They are worse than people imagine and in those numbers we need to keep in mind the statistics of “unreported” crimes against children. All of those little kids Uncle Asshat molested, no one ever told about.

  12. survivorofchildsexualabuse May 31, 2013 at 2:16 am #

    I am sorry you were hurt too. I wish we could prevent it all, speaking out is the only way we can reach others. Even when you do tell, many don’t believe you. Honest to goodness my own son, as an adult was the first person I really told and he believed me. There is healing in telling, keep talking. Some will listen. If we save one, just one child, it is worth it. I hope we save many.

    • duffy1958 May 31, 2013 at 4:51 am #

      Wow! How refreshing your response is! Thank you! I’m so encouraged by others enthusiasm. (Do we call it that?) I am %100 with you, “If we can save one” I’m hoping and praying for many also. I am tormented by the statistics and those who are still captive. With much lamentation and travail, I birth, “Do You Need to Tell?”

      I am just getting started as you can see by how new my blog is. This is a new chapter in my life. Much to do. Thank you for stepping up and being counted and for using your voice to combat what I call an evil plague. Thank you for encouraging me & taking time to comment.

      • Jeanine A Thriver February 18, 2015 at 1:47 am #

        You are so strong! You do so much to help others! I am sorry you suffered so much…. Being a difficult child makes total sense after all you suffered! You were suffering inside!

  13. duffy1958 June 5, 2013 at 10:27 pm #

    Reblogged this on Duffy1958.

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