So here I sit wide awake in the middle of the night alone with my thoughts recounting my episodes of sexual abuse. That's not a good thing for anyone to do, but as the old saying goes "you can run, but you can't hide." Do you remember how I once wrote that I'm an emotional cutter? I guess this is one of those times. So consider this an invitation to stroll down memory lane with me as I cut away and have an emotional blood bath.
Before I get started, I'd like to make a few comments regarding Judge Kavanaugh. The first comment is that everyone is innocent until proven guilty. He knows that better than anyone. The second is that it's far too common for people in power or people who lead a privileged life to abuse their power or their status in life. The last thing I'd like to say is that I hope justice is served in this instance and I hope if Judge Kavanaugh did what he's being accused of doing that he does the honorable thing and helps his accuser, Christine Blasey Ford end her years of torment. If you're guilty, admit it, make a sincere heartfelt apology to Professor Ford without any justifications or excuses (oh, but I was young and drunk...as if that makes anything okay) and step down immediately!
Like so many other women I, too have a story. Mine isn't unique, but it's mine to tell. It's mine to remember and it's mine to deal with in the way that works best for me. When I was just a child I was repeatedly molested. This went on for several years. I could write a dissertation or more on this alone, but I won't for many reasons. Regardless of what my molester tells himself or others, he knows the truth and so do I. He permanently altered my life and helped me form some twisted thought processes and behaviors. For that, I want to thank him! [Please pardon my Maine sarcasm...it's just a lovely little defense mechanism I have.]
Like so many other women I, too have a story. Mine isn't unique, but it's mine to tell. It's mine to remember and it's mine to deal with in the way that works best for me. When I was just a child I was repeatedly molested. This went on for several years. I could write a dissertation or more on this alone, but I won't for many reasons. Regardless of what my molester tells himself or others, he knows the truth and so do I. He permanently altered my life and helped me form some twisted thought processes and behaviors. For that, I want to thank him! [Please pardon my Maine sarcasm...it's just a lovely little defense mechanism I have.]
My next experience was getting my bare bottom spanked by the good Preacher I Like Young Bare Butts and for what? I didn't memorize some Bible verses! The holy man of God, the good Pastor may have enjoyed the experience immensely, but I didn't. I can definitely say he helped sour my views on organized religion and God in general. For that, I want to thank him! I have no belief in God at all.
When I was in Junior High School/Middle School I had stayed after school to watch some wrestling matches. It was already dark as I made my way home carefully watching each step I took because the sidewalks were slippery from the snow and ice. You see, I wasn't smart enough to wear boots so the price I paid for being "cool" was that I walked like a drunken sailor on my way home hoping I wouldn't fall. As I approached my house, I passed a nondescript man bundled up in dark winter clothing walking in the opposite direction. Before I knew it, he had turned around and pushed me into the snowbank and quickly ran his hand up under my dress and grabbed my crotch. I was stunned and the only thing I could do was to yell at him to "get the fuck off me" as I pushed him as hard as I could to get him off me. As Mr. Let's Grab A Young Pussy went running away up the street, I gathered my composure and made my way inside my house. I never said a word to anyone about what had just happened several yards from my front door, but I never went without boots again in the winter. For that, I want to thank him!
The next thing that happened on my chronological list of scars was a year or two later when the guy who I had a mega crush on got a little carried away one evening while we were all high at my house started tickling me. He got a little rough and carried away with what he was doing. It took a few people to pull him off me. Yes, I wanted his attention, but not like that. My close friend and partner in crime, Joyce and I talked about it afterwards because she knew I was really upset. We both came to the conclusion that he hadn't meant to hurt me. We were both high and things just got way out of hand. Maybe that was true...maybe it wasn't, but thank you, Jimmy Crane for teaching me a valuable lesson.
Next, came Mr. I'll Make You Wicked Hot who decided while having me tied up for some sexual brouhaha that burning my breast with a lit cigarette was a what needed to be done in order to get him off. That little adventure not only caused me emotional trauma, but it caused immense physical pain as well along with a nice well-placed scar now long since healed and faded, but still quite visible to anyone looking at my breasts. Thank goodness, these days that scar is only visible to me as a reminder of what a fool I was at times. For that, I want to thank him.
When I was in my early 30's I became the first female member of a volunteer fire department in Gulf County Florida. One evening during our weekly training session, the assistant chief, Bobby Pliar sent everyone off to do various jobs and had me stay behind to show me how to change the oil in one of the fire trucks and how to man the pump on one of the trucks. As he begun showing me all of these things, he motioned for me to come over to where he was and when I did, he grabbed my breasts. I usually have a quick comeback for everything but I was so stunned and absolutely speechless I just didn't know what to say. All I did was stand there and look at him while he had both my breasts in his hands. It took me a few days to tell my significant other who was also on the fire department. He was furious and was the type of person who believed in revenge, but revenge wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want it broadcasted it because I knew I'd get a"I told you so" from all the people who didn't feel it was a woman's place to be on a fire department. That was small town good ol' boy thinking for you at its finest! After thinking it through, I felt my worth as a fire fighter was much less than his worth because not only was he assistant chief, but he was a EMT as well. I did get an apology from Bobby, but shortly after that I quit the fire depatment. My heart was no longer in it. For that episode, I want to thank him!
During my 40's, I had a few incidents of men who felt because they bought me dinner that I needed to repay the favor with a blow job or a hand job guided rudely and forcefully by them and strongly deferred by me. Nothing says "hell no" quite like someone trying to force you to perform sexual acts in a parked car or in a movie theatre while they lean back and digest their dinner. Needless to say, I never accepted a second date with any of these men. It always puzzled me why anyone would assume sex was repayment for the cash they dropped on dinner. What I really want to know is do I really look like an after dinner mint? For that, I want to thank them.
Now, I stay my ass at home and out of the line of fire! That may be the wrong thing to do, but it works for me. I'm sure many people wonder why I gave up on men and put myself in permanent time-out. All these things combined with a few relationships from hell made me see that a troglodyte's life is for me. Nothing in my cave will ever hurt me except maybe the cave itself...
*reposted from 9/19/2018