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I should not post this. I SHOULD NOT POST THIS. I keep telling myself this over and over and over, and still, here I sit, typing, intent on posting. This is an atypical story, to most of you anyway, but as I've discovered, it's far too typical. Fuck it. Here goes ...
I was sexually molested as a child, from a time before I have conscious memories until I became aware of what was happening and made my abuser know I was aware of what was happening. I was incredibly lucky that the person stopped, but she did. Yes, "she." She was my cousin, and she's 10 years older than me. She is, imo, a blight on the face of humanity for many reasons, not the least of which she is a self-proclaimed super-Christian who secretly fondled (and other refinements) her baby cousin in the shower, in the toilet, in the bed, and so on and so forth. But the sexual abuse she committed is not really what's wrong with her.
The whole thing fucked me up. I'm still fucked up, and I probably always will be to one degree or another. I don't trust people close to me, at all. Period. Only victims of abuse will understand this, but I trust strangers more than I trust people I know. When one becomes no longer a stranger, the trust fades and eventually dies. Don't know your last name? I'll loan you money. Know where I hide my mad money? Stay the hell away from me. That sort of thing.
Almost no one who opines on this subject in public has the least clue what sexual abuse of children is all about or what it entails. In my case, it apparently started with my cousin "helping" me urinate. That became a game. Before long, I knew what boys twice my age only wished they knew, and it didn't bother me at the time except in an abstract way, mostly due to the fact I realized my cousin was trying to hide what she was doing. That is, I knew this was a "secret," and secrets at that age tended to be about bad things, and I remember clearly being 7 or 8 and wondering just how bad this was. By the time it all ended, I had figured out it was very bad, even though by then my testosterone flooded, pubescent brain was screaming at me about what a freakin' idiot I was. My cousin was a full-fledged adult then, and she hadn't slowed down at all. Things had just gotten weirder and weirder actually. When I think back on it, I hardly think of some of the crap as sexual, but by any reasonable definition, it was. And it was sick, and it is burned into my head as something I did, at times somewhat willingly, sorta. Does anyone at that age do anything "willingly"? I don't know. Power-based relationships mess up the picture, and our "relationship" was definitely built on power.
I was at my aunt's house once, at Thanksgiving. This was my cool aunt, not my cousin's mother, and she had this cool bedroom with this enormous bed and a labyrinth for a closet. Her house was adorned in strange and exotic art, smelled a bit weird but interesting. She had odd doors that slid into the walls rather than opened. Out back she had a mulberry tree that I liked to climb and pick from. She also had a lot of places people could hide for long periods of time, and my cousin took me into one of these places at one point in the day and taught me my lesson. Seems I had been listening to an Elvis 8-track earlier in the day, and when we'd prayed before dinner, I had not been paying attention to the prayer, rather reading the liner notes and mocking an Elvis Pelvis pose as The Lord Our God was thanked. I was to be punished by, first, having my arm twisted to the point it was near breaking, then by performing for and servicing her in various and sundry ways. I started to figure it out then. This wasn't sex. This was something else, some sort of GOD complex at work. I didn't have the words or even the thoughts for it at the time, but it ate at me for a long time afterward, the pain and physical pleasure combined with psychological annihilation. Beating my ass down by making me think I had it coming and that what I had coming I wanted. Using a lollipop as a microphone to imitate The King who wasn't the One True King, but who was the pretender to the throne of Heaven could only be punished by having that lollipop placed in unnatural places and then forcing me to eat it.
Dearlord I can't believe I'm even writing this. I swear my intention is not to get this thread locked, rather to provide some relevant insight into this whole thing. All I've read here is death, death, death, kill, kill, kill. You just don't get it. You think it is about sex. You think castration might help. How, exactly, do you castrate a female? Do you take out her ovaries? Do you rip her open and take out everything? Does that work?
You know, there are days I want that bitch to die. There have been days when I've thought about making that happen. Those days are long behind me now. While I have not healed, I have come to some sort of peace about all this, and if she had died, I never would have. Several years ago, after my daughter was born, after I saw my cousin try to lay a simple guilt trip on my daughter for dropping a fucking glob of jam on the couch, I blew, but in a controlled manner. I asked to speak with her. I took her far away from hearing range of anyone else around, and I let her have it. At times I was giggling like a maniac. At others I was bawling. She tried to deny, then tried to fashion something that may have been an apology, but I shut her up quickly. I could have killed her right then. I was in a white hot state of rage, but I contented myself with words and an admonition that she should never dare even think of having children nor getting within touching distance of my own child ever again. I was a total wreck afterward, but something changed that day. Nothing fixes itself in a dramatic moment. That's just for the movies. As noted in the beginning, I'll probably never be "fixed." But, I did move on.
And my cousin has never spoken to my daughter, and she has been married ten years without a single child.
I'm here at what I thought would be the end of this, and I realize I've not really made a point. So, I'll make my point, even if it's not entirely supported by the above. Are these people redeemable? Probably not. Do they need to die? Yeah, probably. Is it the place of me, you, or society to decide that? I doubt it. I could have killed my cousin many times, and I would have gone to jail, and she would be dead, and no one would give a shit but my mother. A female might have a better chance of not going to prison, but not much better. The thing is this. The pedophiles of the world are not exemplified by these caricatures you see on the evening news having been busted for possession of underage porn. Those people are sick, demented individuals, yeah, and they probably need to be put away in a dark hole somewhere and forced to watch movies of grass growing for the rest of their lives, but those people are just barely the tip of this particular iceberg. Chronic pedophiles are very discrete and very scared most of the time. My cousin was always scared, which, as I said, was how I knew something wasn't right. Other people I've encountered in support groups have told similar stories. They don't brag. They don't advertise. They rarely even go outside the family. What you see on the TeeVee or read in the evening news are the amateurs, the freaks of nature off on something akin to a pseudo-sexual bender. They may do it again; they may not. They may be chronic; they may not. But a true child predator will likely go until he or she is old without anyone but the victims having a single clue, and the victims won't tell because they have been trained not to do so until they've reached a point in their lives that no one will care what they say unless the abuser is a priest or some other high-profile personality that the media can turn into a running controversy. Molested by your female cousin? Big fucking deal. Was she hot? I've actually been asked that.
This talk of whether they should die or not is irrelevant. We spend more time worrying about what level of vengeance to enact than we do helping the victims, and as a victim, that pisses me right the fuck off. When the abuser is dead, is the victim fixed? Not just no, but hell no. The victim will probably spend their lives afterward blaming themselves for it because abusers are very good at these psychological torture games. When you kill the abusers, you're coming very close to killing the victim as well.
Now, having said ALL of that nonsense, I'll add one final thing. A distinction needs to be made between self-preservation, defending a helpless child at the time, and enacting revenge at some later day. I'm a father. My daughter's mother was a sexually abused child also, by her own father, and when my daughter was born I went to her father, secretly, and laid it on the line. Should I even get a hint he has acted in any way inappropriate, he will be dead. I said these words, "I will fucking put you in the ground." It's not poetry, but it was the point I wanted to make. He died a few years ago and had never spent one minute alone with my daughter. Three sons and one daughter literally spit on his grave at the funeral. So, yeah, I get it, but it's easy to just pile on with this sort of thinking and not actually consider what you're doing. I honestly don't know exactly what I would have done had I discovered my father-in-law harming my child. It would have been harsh, sudden, and dramatic, but I don't know if I would have killed him. No one can say whether they would kill in a given moment; you have to face it to know. I never faced it, so I don't know. But none of this puffed-up, chest pounding talk gets us anywhere. Children are hurt ever single day from this madness. We should concentrate on helping them rather than how we punish their abusers. That's not to say their abusers should not be punished, just that this is not the end of the matter, and too often, that's the way society at large views it. Criminal is dead? Case closed ... let the victims rot.
I'm done. I go sleep now. A bit of advice: never read a thread like this after drinking a 6-pack.
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