Anxiety and me Part 7 WARNING

WARNING:  THIS IS GRAPHIC AND TRUE. YOUNG BLOGGERS MAY NOT WANT TO READ

Age 11:  Daddy was visiting on Friday nights and I wanted to look like the other kids so asked him to buy me jeans. He did. I also wanted boys’ tennis shoes. He bought me my first pair of Converse. He had a new car. He was great. We talked about everything. He was always interested in school, and solicitous about my mother. I never told him she beat me with her cane nor did I tell him about the dog. I was too scared to tell him. We were having fun, and I felt safe with him. He promised weekends with my beloved grandparents, of course never happened. Sometimes we would go flying and I joined the Civil Air Patrol. When he had other things to do we would go target shooting. He bought me my own gun. (at 11???)…..There was a deserted area near my trailer park surrounded by woods. We would set up our targets and shoot. He asked me quite casually one Friday afternoon why I was covered in bruises. I told him I was having a hard time in gym class. Three more Fridays went by and the bruises were worse. He asked me again and I told him the same thing. Then he said he was going to go to my school and speak with the gym teacher but now that I am old, I doubt very seriously he was going to do that. But I was 11 years old, had not even had a period, what in the world did I know? I started to cry. I was so scared to tell him mommy was beating me with her cane. He asked me about bandaids all over my hands and I was terrified he would take Muffin or kill him, and so I made up some story, tears streaming down my face. He let me calm down and asked me for the truth. I told him. I trusted him. I finally loved my dad. He told me he would show me how to make the pain go away. I was very interested in this.I told him I did not want to hurt Mommy. I was so stupid I thought he was going to show me some kind of self defense or something. I was an idiot. He told me to take off my jeans. I thought that was so weird. I told him I did not want to do that. He asked me If I trusted him and I said Yes, of course. I really did. I just felt weird. He learned in real close and said I didn’t have to take them off, but he put his fingers inside me. I jumped out of the car. I was crying and screaming and told him he was hurting me and he was…..After my histrionics were over I asked him how in the world that was going to take the pain away. He said he was going to show me how to have an orgasm. Poor stupid kid. I did not know what that was. I was ashamed, appalled, scared out of my wits. He would tell me sex stories about him and my mother when they were young. He even showed me pictures. I would turn my head away and he would force me to look. I threw up A LOT… Dreaded Friday nights and the hate began to ooze out of me again. I hated him. I even wondered if there was some way I could kill him. Now this is an 11 year old thinking. I was about 70 pounds, very small and skinny and I could not fight my way out of a paper bag. It’s strange that I think of it, but he took my gun a few visits later, shut down all of his reloading equipment and took it out of the trailer. Maybe he thought I had inherited his crazy. Friday nights with Dad became a regular thing. He would touch, never penetrate, although he tried… I would cry and scream and throw up. I threw up several times in his new car. Then I started using my Brain. I was sick. I told my mother I had a headache, stomach ache, hurt my ankle in gym class, hit my foot with a brick For Real…hobbled around. I came up with something every Friday night. I turned into a liar. I was afraid, exhausted from my lying, so scared my mom would find out and somehow blame me because everything was My Fault. I did not really know what daddy was doing but it Hurt and I Hated Him.

I hated him because I loved him. I hated him for hurting me of course but really hated him because I trusted him and loved him and he was a Pervert, but did not know what that word meant.  I was afraid…and just so the reader knows, dear old dad screwed up my head and body so that when I grew up sex was always very hard for me.

Anxiety…where do you come from??

 

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s