Friday, September 20, 2013

That First Time

As suvivors, many of us remember "the first time."
I am not talking about our first (for some if ever) consenting, romantic, true love making time.
I am talking of the first time we were attacked, penetrated, violated and used.

I barely remember it. I know it was done by a finger. At least that is the first time I can recall with such detail. I remember the pain in my vagina for days after. I remember it burned to pee. I also remember I was less that 4 years old. The first time I remember most was a time my brother coaxed me to his room after I had gotten out of the bath tub. This wasn't new for him to do. It was a game, sometimes he had a treat other times he just wanted trick me into coming in his room so he could smack me.  If I called out to tattle it was my fault for being in his room.
This time however he told me to close the door behind me. I was only wearing underpants and my towel. He told me to lay down. I obeyed, he started taking off my underpants.  This brother 13ish years old (oldest brother and only half sibling) had changed my diaper before and had seen all my "parts" so it really did not register with me that he was demanding anything inappropriate of me, at least not up to this point when he removed my underpants. I started to sit up, though I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the squirmy toddler in me, maybe I was uncomfortable and was trying to protest without words. He shushed me and told me to lay down and swore he wouldn't hurt me. This was always a warning phrase. "I swear I'm not gonna hurt you." It really meant "Oh yeah, I am definitely going to hurt you but, it will be an 'accident' and you won't die."

The next thing I know my vagina is being brutally penetrated by his index finger and he is leveraging it with great pressure in an attempt to stretch out my vaginal opening. I wince in pain and try not to cry even though the lump in my throat is nearly choking me. I start shaking my head side to side to cope with this great pain in my private parts and not make to much noise to avoid being punched or getting in trouble with mom and dad. 
 Finally, it was more than I could bare I started crying and whining "it hurts." He quickly pushes his finger in deeper and down harder and then exits my vagina. 
He shushes me more and uses my underpants to wipe off his finger and tell me to get dressed and not to tell or he will kill me in my sleep. 
I ran to the bathroom, naked. I felt like I had pee and that my guts were going to fall out my private parts. 
I sat on the toilet crying for a few minutes and couldn't pee. I gave up and blew my now runny nose from crying and went to my room to put on my pajamas.
For days my private parts burned and I fussed about taking a bath. It was written off as me being a brat and nothing more. My oldest brother had gone back to his father's for the week and all was forgotten. My mother was either pregnant or busy with yet another new baby it seemed all the time. Before school age it was always my older brother (not the abusing half brother) and my sister (13mo younger than me). We were the "3 big kids" we took care of ourselves and each other. My older brother poured milk or juice for me and my sister because he was oldest (of the 3) and steady. I poured cereal and pretty much did everything for my sister. Dress her, help her put her shoes on the right foot etc. We had our own little world during weekdays. On weekends our half brother came to visit it was hell. We all wanted his attention and approval. The boys shared a room and I recall hearing a lot of thumps and thuds at night.

My brother continued molesting and instrumentally raping me. The memories and nightmares haunt me. There are times I remember in great detail, and times that are a blur. 
I remember he used rubber spatulas and repeated his previous practice of enlarging my vaginal opening with penetration and pressure. Once he even used a batman figurine (and no one understood why I was never a fan). 
That and the penguin freaked me out in the movie.
I've written in a previous blog about him forcing me to sip his urine from an Easter egg shell. 
He loved drawing me in with attention and gifts (candy, cheap coin machine toys etc.) and then inflicting some kind of horrible pain.
I also have expressed in a previous blog about how this early sexual abuse wasn't always painful. Sometimes it tickled, or I felt nothing at all. I struggled for years with guilt, shame and fear that should have never been put on me. 

He forced me to lick the bottom of his shoe once (which he had stepped in dog crap with earlier that day) just to humiliate me in front of my siblings. 
He loved that. He loved making me feel like he was about to finally accept me into his circle and then tear me down. 
I wanted his approval so badly, and had  no idea how out of balance and wrong these "expirements" were.  This was the beginning of abuse in my life. From three years old and on I was abused in different ways. 
 I look back on it all today with anger and even sadness. I know my brother was being sexually abused but, I no longer accept it as an excuse. My brother swears that he has no recollection but, I can no longer buy this lie. My parents tried to convince me that they had no clue but, they told on themselves time again with comments made after they allegedly found out. They failed to protect me because they failed to care about me. They failed to care about me because they failed to be parents. Being parents would require they act like human beings and not abusive monsters or neglectful ignorant ones.
My first time should have never happened. Today, for the first time I am completely over it. I am also completely over everyone who was once a part of my life that abused me or turned a blind eye to my abuse.
Welcome to a whole new kind of "first time." 


  1. It's amazing how clearly you remember. I don't think I remember anything before about the age of 5/6. But then, I wasn't subjected to sexual trauma at that age. Oh yes, I certainly remember the first time as I was 11/12 and it was my father who took weeks, maybe months to "get into me" as I fought him so much. But it still hurt like hell when he finally got there. I can't imagine how painful it was for a little 4-year-old. So disgusting. I outline the complete details of my father's methodology in my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER and readers have found the whole process horrid. I read yours and it seems that much more horrid to me as you were so young.

    Viga Boland

  2. I remember very clearly at the age of 11 being raped by an uncle and then several weeks later by my father. I don't remember being raped or molested before the age of 3 when I do remember calling myself an adulteress in church while listening to a sermon on Sunday night. Why do I remember one and not the other. An 11 year old has survival tools that a 3 year old or younger child doesn't. I work with the memories that I do have. If I ever get the other memories back, I will work will then too. Until then I do have a life that I enjoy.

  3. With many of my memories I have a body knowing without explicit memories. Sometimes I am grateful for that, sometimes it makes it all seem surreal and I wish I could just remember more so that I could understand better. But then there are other times I wish I had no memories of his fingers inside me - and what is it with kids and objects (my main abuser was my brother also). I will never understand what made him do that to me. Thank you for sharing, it makes me sad to think of you so little and having that happen to you. Makes me feel more fortunate because I was a few years older at least

  4. This comment has been removed by the author.

  5. This comment has been removed by the author.

  6. Each of you survivors is dear to me. None of us deserved this. I am so sorry for all you have been through. You responses to my sharing have encouraged me in my healing and journey. I ache for each of you. I am amazed by your stories and strength and am so proud to be part of a circle of people who understand and support each other in our horrors.
    Thank you, to each of you for your response, courage, love and bravery.