One time we were in his room and he had me tied up with the purple scarf and the pillow in front of my face when I felt something heavy drop on my chest. It felt slimy and hard, and heavy, and I was like, oh my God, and I started squirming around until the pillow came off my face. That was when I saw my father’s erect penis on my chest. It was huge and hideous. A drop of his semen had fallen onto this one little spot on my chest. I freaked out and started screaming, but he didn’t stop. He just put the pillow back over my face and continued molesting me.
After that night, I started scrubbing that spot obsessively to try to clean myself. Sometimes I’d scrub it until I bled. I would have to put Band-Aids on it. Even now the spot seems permanently bruised and red. Whenever I am really nervous or scared about anything, I still rub that little spot on my chest. I call it my worry spot.
I tried to talk to my mom while all this was going on. I’d plead with her to take me to her meetings at night. But she said she counted on me to help my dad take care of my sister. When I told her that “Daddy tells me to keep secrets” and asked if I could tell her, she said, “If they are secrets then you’d better not. You know you’re Daddy’s princess.”
I felt so isolated. I mean, my mom was nice to me and all; in fact, she was just nice enough to me for me to think she loved me. She didn’t yell at me much, we went to temple together, she made my lunch for school. But I never felt my mom was ever really listening to me, and I learned early on that the way to be accepted in my family was not to rock the boat. I was a good, compliant child. I always wanted to be closer to her, but I was afraid that if I tried I would get turned away.
From the ages of ten to fourteen, the molestation continued. I was a good girl and did my schoolwork, played with my friends, and loved my cats. I remember the comfort of my cats and loving to snuggle with them and talk to them. No matter what, they always accepted me. I tried to have a good time in between the molestations.
Then, when I turned fourteen, something strange happened. My dad lost interest in me. My breasts had started to develop and I got my period, and suddenly he stopped coming around. That year felt like a vacation, but there was always the fear that he might start up with me again. I became very anxious and depressed, and I started smoking cigarettes, then pot. My mom wasn’t tuned in, and I began to really go downhill in school.
When I was fifteen, I finally confronted my father. I told him that I was messed up and that I needed to talk about the sexual abuse, and he said, “Abuse? By whom?” I was shocked. I said, “By you!” And he said, “Oh Garnet, do not even think about destroying this family. Everyone knows what a vivid imagination you have. Who do you think they’ll believe? You or me? Plus, I know all about the pot you’ve been smoking. I can report you.” He actually threatened to turn me in!
That was when I started cutting my arms. When I’d cut, I was the one in control. I think it was like, if I hurt myself first, no one else can hurt me. The problem was there was no feeling, no pain—only blood. But seeing the blood felt oddly comforting. It was tangible proof that I was alive, and I guess I needed to know that.
It’s so weird about my mom. Here she was, Mrs. Big in the community. She had lots of friends and was always helping girls at her high school deal with abortions and family problems and stuff. She even stood up to my father on certain issues. For example, she maintained her Democratic political beliefs, and my father is a hard-core Republican. But nothing I did ever got my mother’s attention. She always seemed oblivious to what was going on with me and my dad. She didn’t even notice when I started cutting my arms.
I’ve always wondered how she could have not known about my dad. I told her many times that I didn’t want to be alone with him, and I remember always wishing she would figure it out or walk in when my dad had me tied up. But she never did. My mom likes things status quo. If everything looks okay, then it is okay. I tried to bring up the abuse with her a few times, but somehow I knew she would choose my dad. Not that they got along great or anything, but she certainly wouldn’t have wanted that mess on her hands. I just tried to bury the memories by getting stoned a lot and hanging out with my friends. I went from an A student to a C or D student. Even though it’s been a few years since my father stopped molesting me, I certainly didn’t feel good about myself. I would escape any way I could. When I was stoned I would fool around with boys; it didn’t matter what they did to me. Things had become pretty unbearable at home. But, every year that my father didn’t molest me, I began to feel a little bit better. Eventually, toward the end of high school, I realized that I would have to improve in school in order to get into college and out of their house, so I started focusing on academics and joined the drama crew at school. I stopped drinking and drugging and cutting, but I still hated being around my parents and was having bad dreams. At least I was able to push down the memories more effectively. When I graduated high school, my parents wouldn’t pay for an out-of-state college, so I enrolled in school in another borough of New York City and moved in with one of my girlfriends and her family.
After I moved out, I kept in touch with my little sister, who was ten when I left. One day I went to my parents’ house to pick up something. They weren’t expecting me or anything, I just showed up. When I got to the top of the stairs I could see into my sister’s bedroom. I could see my dad’s back and my sister struggling to pull up her pants and put on her shirt. My father bolted out of her room and headed for the bathroom. I freaked out. I was shaking all over. I grabbed my sister and said, “What just happened with Daddy?” She pulled away from me and said, “Nothing! Why are you acting so weird?” Her eyes were kind of dead, like she was in a trance or something.
It had been four or five years since he’d touched me, but all the pain just came roaring back. I saw myself as a little girl, and I couldn’t stop shaking. When my father came out of the bathroom, he very matter-of-factly said, “Hey Garnet, what’s up?” That’s when I became determined to stop him.
I found Dr. Patti through a friend, and I started therapy because I had to save my sister and someone told me she worked with abuse survivors. Dr. Patti told me that we would have to call child welfare to report the abuse of my sister, but first we could call my mother in for a session and try to all call from the session. I was so scared. More than anything, I wanted to bust this open and have my mother finally deal with it. So we called my mother in, and my therapist helped me tell her what had happened to me and what I was sure was going on with my sister. Initially my mother actually believed me. That really surprised me. She held my hand and cried. She even revealed to me that she had been molested by an uncle when she was a little girl. I told her about the sick purple scarf my dad had used with me, and she admitted that he had tied her up with that scarf, too. She cried and she held me. I couldn’t even remember the last time my mom had held me like that. She said first we will go home and confront your father, then we will call Children’s Services.
When my mother went home and confronted my father, of course he flatly—and I mean flatly—denied everything. He said that I had a vivid imagination. He said that he believed that I believed it, but that of course it was not true. He started going on about my drug use and how sometimes drugs can increase the imagination. That’s when my world really came tumbling down. My mother called me and told me what my dad had told her, and she ended the conversation with “Garnet, I believe that you believe this, but it cannot be true. Why would your dad lie?” I tried to give her details to convince her, but she ended up taking my dad’s side.
I called Children’s Services and reported the abuse anonymously. Then where was I? I had opened up the can of worms that my father had warned me not to. I continued to live at my friend’s house, but I never told her anything about my family problems. I started going to Dr. Patti’s sexual-abuse survivors’ group, and I felt a lot of support from the other girls. It was the first time I realized you could never tell from appearances who had been abused. The girls in the group were beauti
ful girls. They were smart and nice and cool. It made me think, “Wow, I wonder who else I know has gone through something like me?”
Meanwhile my father was interviewed by Child Welfare Services and of course he portrayed me as a drug user and troubled adolescent. I was no longer allowed to go home, and my mother wouldn’t even let me take my favorite cat. The Child Welfare Services investigators decided against prosecuting my father. They said there was no physical proof, and that, because my sister didn’t back up my accusations, they couldn’t proceed. They described my father as decent and a good parent. Ha.
My father actually had the nerve to call me a few times to say I should drop everything. Then he called me on my birthday and said that I would always be his love. He said that he and I know it is all true but that he will never admit it, so I should just tell everyone it’s a lie. Then he started calling me three times a week and pleading with me to say that I had made it all up. He said not to worry and that he would forgive me. His calls only made me angrier. I told him that if he kept calling me, he would have to talk to my lawyer. The calls stopped, but candy was delivered to my door on Valentine’s Day with a card saying I should give up the lie and that he still loves me.
Until I spoke about my abuse, I had this strange fear inside me, that somehow he still had power over me because I was keeping his secret. But now my father has no power over me. I’m an adult, and no one can force me to do anything I don’t want to do. Now, with the support of my therapist, the group, and a few close friends, I am beginning to reclaim my life. I am working part time and have taken out student loans for school. My parents don’t financially support me anymore, and I wouldn’t want them to. I still have bad dreams, I still freak out sometimes when I am touched in a certain way, and I still get depressed at times, but I do feel better. I don’t feel the need to escape with smoking pot, I don’t want to cut myself, I am basically learning to live with myself and have stopped blaming myself for all that has happened. I feel like this incredible weight has been lifted from me—the weight of my father’s psyche, the weight of his body, the weight of his secret.
I am taking back my childhood bit by bit. It feels for the first time in my life like I am free. My worry spot is a reminder, but I can rub my worry spot and know that no one will violate me ever again, so I still rub it when I’m feeling freaked out. But now I tell my body that we will be all right.
MY THOUGHTS
Garnet was incredibly brave and loving of her sister. She took a lot of risks. She may not have been able to disclose her own abuse while it was happening, but, as many girls do, she told to protect her sister. By reporting her abuse, she took the risk of breaking up her family. She knew that her family might turn on her and deny the abuse, but she felt that, no matter what the immediate outcome, her little sister would know, somewhere inside, however deep, that Garnet had tried to protect her.
In the short run, her worst fears came true. Her father played out his threat and her sister lied, and she lost her family. She still struggles with this loss. She lost contact with her sister, who ran away from home at the age of fifteen. Eight years after Garnet reported the abuse, Garnet’s sister called her. Through her sobs, she told Garnet what she already knew—that their father had been molesting her and that was why she ran away. Her sister admitted she was prostituting and a drug addict. She called Garnet to thank her for trying to help and promised that she would be in touch.
Garnet still holds out the hope that one day her sister, who is now eighteen, will show up on her doorstep.
Meanwhile, Garnet will always have her worry spot, to remind her of her pain—and her triumph.
LIFE AFTER INCEST
I’ve worked with so many girls who thought they could never be whole again because they were incest survivors, and I’ve seen so many come through this horrible ordeal, as Coral and Garnet both did. Garnet and Coral are doing really well now. You can read about their lives in Chapter 16, “Flowers Bloom.” The beginning of getting through incest is simply knowing it was not your fault—not one bit of it. You are not alone. Wounds do heal. If you were the survivor of incest, you may always feel the remnants of a scar, but you will not always feel the tremendous ache of a gaping wound. Incest survivors do get beyond their incest to lead happy, wonderful lives. They can have healthy, intimate sexual relationships. As you have seen in Coral’s and Garnet’s stories, and will see throughout this book, there is a strength in the human spirit that cannot be crushed, even in the face of the most violating abuse.
THERE ARE WAYS OUT
If you are still living at home, there are things you can do to protect yourself. You may not be ready to face the consequences that might result from telling your mother, but, no matter how young you are and how dependent you are on your parents for housing and support, there are many other things you can do.
First of all, I want you to realize that through each positive decision you have made in your life—finding friendships that are deep and strong, joining the debate team, playing the guitar, taking up acting, playing soccer, picking up this book—you made the choice to live your life, and please remember it is your life. With each positive step you take, you are healing some of the pain your molester inflicted on you. One young woman once told me, “My father thought he had me, he thought I was his, but I was only lost. Now I am myself and he cannot touch me.”
Second, incest is against the law. In some cases I do recommend that you report it. This is not to say that reporting holds no risks. The authorities will check out your situation, and it is usually your word against your perpetrator’s. If you live with the perpetrator, he may be removed from the home—or you may be. The truth is that sometimes reporting can cause more problems for a young girl under the age of eighteen. She may be sent to foster care, she may be in the middle of college applications, finding her way out. And mostly she may know that if she reports it, her mother could reject her. If you cannot get out of your situation…. In the meantime:
• Try to find someone you can trust and start talking about it. Tell a trusted teacher or principal in your school. Although they are mandated reporters, they can help you figure out where you can live if your mother throws you out.
• Find a family member or friend to take you in. Or a trusted friend whose parents you trust and who will believe you.
If you think that no one will believe you or protect you from your abuser, I do not suggest you run away. I recommend you look into teen centers in your area. Go to one of them, and talk to the social workers there. You can say it is about your friend. But you can get information on where you could possibly find safe housing in case your family rejects you.
If you cannot leave your home, if you are too scared, if the abuse has stopped for a long time and you believe it won’t happen again and you are graduating high school soon, then make sure to stay away from your home as much as possible.
• Stay away from your father (or perpetrator) as much as you can.
• If you see any weakness in your perpetrator, you can try to threaten him with a call to the police.
• If you are pretty sure he won’t physically harm you, if he does not have a gun or another weapon, try to tell him no. Believe it or not, this sometimes works; more often, of course, it doesn’t.
• Sleep over at friends’ houses. If you are not ready to tell details until you move out of your home, find a trusted friend and try to stay at her home. I have known girls who’ve lived at a friend’s home during their senior year of high school. Sometimes the abuser will not want to stir the pot and have information come out by pushing you to come home.
• Find some way to support yourself financially.
• Do as well as you can in school so that you have a good chance of earning a scholarship for college or vocational training. Or if those options are not available to you, try to live with a friend while you join the workforce. Once you are eighteen years old, try everything you can to get away from your molester.
E
ven if none of these suggestions work for you, please know that what you are feeling—whatever it may be—is normal, and that one day you will be able to get away. For now, you can go to our Resource Center to find lots of websites, supportive services, and other resources to help you cope.
When someone forces you into an incest relationship, he forcibly tries to take something precious from you. Just remember, he can’t take it forever, and he will never ever own it. Your body, your spirit, and your heart are yours and only yours, and if you start to process your sexual abuse now, you will get them back forever.
CHAPTER 8
TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT
Other Incest—Brothers, Cousins, Uncles, Stepfathers (Topaz’s Story, Sage’s Story)
heart jumping
body shivering
fingers clutching
zippers unzipping
sanity escaping
good-bye little girl…
—a sixteen-year-old sibling-abuse survivor
Of course, incest doesn’t happen only between fathers and daughters. Many girls are sexually molested by their brothers, uncles, and cousins. The wound may be different and the betrayal perhaps not as deep as when a father or stepfather is the abuser, but abuse within families is always traumatic, no matter who perpetrates it.
BROTHER-SISTER INCEST
Brother-sister incest is one of the most complicated of all forms of sexual abuse. The statistics on it come primarily from the foster-care system. In fact, Mary Walker has observed over her forty years as a specialist on the foster-care system that as many as 90 percent of kids in foster care report having been sexually abused. We have better data on these kids not only because they are in the system but because if they are permanently adopted, their new parents will usually seek services—such as social work or therapy. When a foster child displays unusual behavior, such as overt masturbation or fear of being touched, the prior abuse is uncovered. But it is impossible for us to know how widespread either biological or stepsibling incest is, since what goes on in private families often stays private unless someone comes forward to report it. And, given the shame and secrecy that surrounds incest, that just doesn’t happen too often.
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