What’s worse: his hands, breath, mouth, penis? His breathing was overwhelming. 

And his skin, sweating . I didn’t want to touch his skin, that was later when I knew what he was doing 

I don’t want this 

I’ll draw a map of the house, of where everything was and where he did things. Maybe it will help to explain, get it away from me. 

How will this end. I hope there is an end. It doesn’t seem there is an end

Lying across ways on my bed my legs open and knees up. he is sitting on the other bed watching. Masturbating. He puts his mouth on me, kisses me.

I shared a room with my sister until she left home, I was about 9 then, and glad she was going, I was always in her way and knew she found me annoying. I don’t think she particularly liked me. Anyway, I thought I could at least choose which side of the room I could sleep on. But I knew I would be worried about being trapped on that bed because of my fears of the (imaginary) snakes under it and my fear of my father holding me there. But her being there did give some sense of safety, albeit small. I knew that there weren’t snakes under the bed but I couldn’t stop the fear of them anyway, I couldn’t stop myself from not putting my arms or legs over the side for fear of them “getting” me, or from being frozen in fear of moving and the snakes knowing I was there. I knew it was not right and felt stupid for being like that but I couldn’t tell anyone. 

How can I put words to it. 

No words will work

If he came in to say goodnight it didn’t always mean he would do something, I think the if he’d been drinking more it was more likely but if he’d been out drinking probably not. 

I’m not sure I can say the words of what I can see

Feeling like a thing, scared, scared of not being able to breathe, scared I can’t do what he wants me to do, scared of feeling scared, an aloneness that I can’t put words to. He tells me what he wants me to do, 

I don’t think I can write the words. It isn’t the same as what I see. I am so scared to say the words. I will lose control. I will be so angry. 

My mother knocked on the door, didn’t come in, she fucking knew. He’s shoving his penis in my mouth and she fucking knew. And I was wrong. For doing it. For being that person. I grew to become so disgusted with myself for continuing to be part of it. For not being a good enough person for it not to happen in the first place. 

I don’t think I can describe what he did – a silent picture that no one wants to see. 

Why am I so physically disgusting. 

I want someone to tell me I’m ok. But I can’t let myself believe that. 

I want someone to love me but know it is for someone else. 

I want someone to know what he did and what that was like but that will show what I am. 

Did I confront him? 

Rational brain: No. I didn’t. I was too afraid of him. Afraid while I lived there even after he stopped, afraid after I’d left that he still had control of me, afraid as an adult that he could still physically hurt me. 

Irrational brain: was I supposed to? Did I do something wrong? I should have, dam I fucked up. I could have made things different. Is that an accusation? See there was something about me.if I had confronted him it would be out in the open. I didn’t so it doesn’t exist, people won’t believe me, people don’t believe me, it’s too late for people to believe me. I am a vile disgusting slut and now I know thats what you think.

Physical sensation: I feel sick. Head whirring. Keep mouth shut. Try to be strong. Turn face off. 

He’s dead

I wonder if he’s dead. 

What will I feel if he’s dead?  

I’ve always wanted him dead but maybe I’ll feel different if he is. 

I look at that person, that child, and see on her the things he did. On the arms, ribs, face, mouth, hands. Particularly on the legs and face. I see him and parts of him, parts of his body, his eyes. On and in me. Covering me. I can see the horrible and disgusting and weakness. It doesn’t make sense that people couldn’t see that. They probably could see it which is why they didn’t do anything. Now if people know, that is what they see, even if they don’t say that. 

I’m not able to believe that I didn’t influence what he did. Yes legally and morally he was in the wrong, but I can’t see how I didn’t facilitate/influence/incite it. There must have been something about me that made him think it was ok, that it was doable, that it would work for him. Maybe if I didn’t, that makes it harder to understand and accept, and makes me more powerless and useless. If I extract this belief, there is nothing left of me. Without it I am nothing. 

I want to describe what I see but can’t. If I describe it then people will also realize it which is both good and bad. I want to make sure people see it so that I’m not alone with it but then I don’t want them to see it because then they will see me. 

How do I take away that disgusting person in me? How can I not see that hopeless child with him all over her? 

Being vulnerable, emotionally exposed, and feeling physically not in control = those seeing me being able to see all the vile and disgusting of me, seeing on me what was done to me. It’s irrational I know, but it feels like people can look at me and see what he did, the different things he did. If they look closer, the more they can see. If I show my physical and emotional self, they will know. 

Once they see that, they can’t unsee it. They will see that I am that. 

Feeling overwhelmed and incapable. 

Not sure what to do. 

Feeling like such a burden to people.