The following is fairly heavy & could be confronting to some. Please stop reading if it triggers you. This is my story in terms of psychology and yes it is slightly sanitised in that it does not go into all the gory details, there is a lot more to it, but what is written is as i remember it, & it gives you the gist of the impacts of my abuse & my journey towards wholeness.
I could hear Mum & Dad arguing in their bedroom next to mine. It was only a timber framed, fibro housing commission house with no insulation so when voices were raised you could hear everything. I could tell it wasn’t a real argument & knew what would happen next as it had happened before. I knew how to be hyper vigilant to prepare myself. I was only young, this time probably 8 or 9. And hearing Dads fabricated argument with Mum meant he didn’t have to sleep with her. I tensed in anticipation. I heard my door open, he walked in and closed my bedroom door behind him as Mum outside said ‘No Dick, No’. I don’t know if she knew what was going on, In speaking to her years later she doesn’t remember any of it & She would have known at the time to push the door open would have meant a severe beating for her. She’d had too many life threatening ones already. I never blamed her for Dads behaviour.
‘Move over Son’ Dad said as he approached the bed – I only had a single bed, it ran along the wall underneath the window that looked out on the street. He was carefree, this was fun to him. i was but an object. He climbed into bed with his head down the opposite end of mine. As he got comfortable he slid his feet between my legs & his toes between the cheeks of my bum and then started penetrating me with them. That was the trigger, the usual trigger & I blacked out. Next I knew it was morning & he was gone. I told myself nothing happened and went to school as though nothing had. I was not strong enough at the time to remember, i wouldn’t have been able to survive if i did. There was no option of telling anyone, I had years before been shown the brutal consequences of that with a knife held to my throat and horrific threats whispered in my ears. And this was far from an isolated incident. When you have no perceived means of escape you have to go into survival mode.
The only way to survive the destruction of the parent/child protective bond combined with the brutality of what happened the night before was to tear myself apart. As a young vulnerable child I had to give the darkest, most painful experiences & memories to part of me & then disconnect from that part. in order for me to live, part of me had to die. A bit like chopping a limb off to survive. in this way the rest of me could pretend for many years that nothing had happened & in this way i could function relatively normally for a time & get on with my life, do all the normal activities. But deep down inside you knew, you always knew what had happened, you never ever fully forgot. & you always carried, right from those times a suicidal sadness deep, deep inside you.
To be continued.