Michele Profile picture
Sep 18, 2018 15 tweets 4 min read Twitter logo Read on Twitter
The ironic thing about being the victim of sexual assault, is what you remember. You spend years trying to erase it from your memory, and no matter what you do...the memories always comes back.
I was sexually assaulted the first time when I was 8 yo. A 10 yo boy tried to have sex with me. He laid on top of me and he tried to insert his flaccid penis into my vagina. It didn't work, and because it didn't work, I learned for the first time something was "wrong with me".
It felt dirty. I can still easily recall the feelings of embarrassment, horror, and blame...I was 8.
The next assault(s) occurred over a number of years. I was 9-14. An old man who was a 'friend of the family' constantly made comments about my developing body. My breasts were large & he 'joked' about them constantly. He became a master at touching me so no one would see.
I remember my skin feeling like I had ants crawling all over me every time he spotted me and walked up on me like I was prey. I remember contorting my body to try to shrug off his hands when I couldn't prevent them from touch me...w/o causing a scene and drawing attention to it.
The next time I was 10. A family friend was sitting in our living room with his pants open and his penis pushed through the flap in his tighty whities. I had never seen a grown man's penis.
He pulled me down on his lap, grabbed my hand, pushed it towards his penis and told me to touch it. He told me how good it would feel. How good I would make him feel. He forcibly held me down on his lap, and tried to coerce me into touching him.
From him I remember learning that what I felt was secondary to a man's pleasure. My emotions didn't matter, as long as he gets his.

My aversion to those underwear is palpable. I still, to this day, 33 years later, associate them to the man who assaulted me.
The next time I was 11. I spent the weekend at a friend's house. She was significantly older than I was. We were asleep, in her bed. I woke up to her having sex w/her boyfriend and his hand in my underwear. I tried to roll away unobtrusively. It didn't work, until they finished.
They laughed and joked about how I stayed asleep through it.

To this day, I can't even smell gin - because that was his drink. It makes me vomit.
I was messed up for years. I did all I could to forget. I blocked it & ignored it. The memories always came back. Eventually, someone who loved me really saw me. She hugged me and told me, "You have to let the memories come. It's going to decimate you. It's going to wreck you.
But let them come. One day, they will come...and they won't have power over you any longer."

For me, it happened just like that. It is how I was able to move on.

However, the memories and the triggers will always be part of my story.
For those of you, lambasting Dr. Christine Blasey Ford about what she remembers vs. what you think she is capable of remembering from 40 years ago.

Shut the fuck up.

When you are threatened, physically restrained, violated and diminished by abusers, that molds your psyche.
The details of your abuse are burned into your mind. The things that trigger the memories never stop triggering the memories.

Don't doubt her. She's been through hell. Respect that. #IStandWithChristineBlaseyFord #TrustWomen #BelieveWomen #IStandWithWomen #MeToo
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