A Real Pain in the Vagina: On Abuse and Society

Finally, Some Clarity

February 17, 2010 at 4:50 am (Anecdote, Fuck-It List, Manifesto, Memory)

Ok, now survivors, as a community, tend to have one thing in common: We think people not respecting others’ boundaries is a bad thing. We think rape/sexual assault/child sexual abuse/molestation/whatever you callit are bad. Etc.

Yes. We tend to have that in common, and think those experiences are negative things (now that’s an epic understatment).

However, there are nuances to each experience. I stand behind rape survivors 100%. I respect and bear witness to their experiences. I cry with them, scream with them, hold their hands, and wish them somewhere soft to land.

As I age, the differences start to stand out to me a little, though.

I was asked to be around the perpetrator and “act normal”. He was my family. In order to keep his secret, I had to spend a lot of time around him and pretend everything was ok.

This continued after I disclosed. There was constant negotiation about when and how I should be around him, and never with my comfort and mental health in mind. In a perfect world, I’d never have to see him again and he’d stay the fuck out of my way. In incest world – with that painful and embarrassing blemish on family history – denial is often a strong force to contend with.

A common question I get when I disclose is, “Oh jeez, you don’t have to see him ever, do you?” Yes. I go to family reunions knowing he’ll be there, knowing my parents wouldn’t ask him to stay home. People are bewildered that my folks ask me to be with him. (No, I won’t deprive myself of pleasurable experiences in a place where I had fond memories because of him. That would be letting him win.)

If he was not my family, my family might rally to protect me against this foreign threat. But no, since he’s family, they expect me to spend time around the man who molested me for 5 years. If he was not my brother, they might threaten harm against him if he ventured close to me. But no. There is no justice, just aching wounds and expectations.

In some anecdotes I hear about rape, a victim’s family (ideally) would protect her from “that asshole who hurt our daughter”. Instead, it’s “but who is going to sleep in which room for the family reunion?” It’s like it never happened.

Oh GAWD, that would be awkward! To acknowledge that this asshole in our midst was touching our daughter. That would make US seriously uncomfortable! Let’s hope she doesn’t start crying again and ruin our picnic or afternoon hike. Jeez, she’s so ill-adjusted! Why can’t she contain herself?

So, unlike a rape by some “appropriate” dating partner (except that whole pesky rapist flaw), this is embedded into my life in complicated ways. That’s why I renounce my family. They don’t really care how much it hurts, just that it all looks as normal as possible. Denial.

ADDING TO THE FUCK-IT LIST: I’m no longer spending any holidays around the man who molested me! He can go fuck himself. And so can my family if they insist I do.

I am no longer participating in this sick farce. I will not sit at the dinner table and smile after what he did. You’ve asked me to for long enough so you wouldn’t have to think about what he did. Well think about it, and think about why asking me to be around him is wrong, and kind of sick.

I spent all my holidays alone this year, and I have never been happier! To think, when people ask what my plans are for the holidays and I say, “I’m spending them alone”, these ignorant fools PITY me! They must think I’m sad and lonely. But, I’m free! I no longer have to sit in agonizing silence as this child toucher chews his food, farts, and breathes at the same table. I have taken the strangle hold off my neck and raised my middle fingers high! It’s about fucking time!