I was twelve years old when I vividly recall my grandfather walking towards me and for the first time placing his hands on me. I was stunned and paralyzed. Each time that we would visit him (or have a sleepover) and when we were alone he would touch me, kiss me, lick my ears, invite me to the bed. I can still see the glister in his eyes, boyish, like he was ‘alive’. I tried to avoid being alone with him. My cousin knows, she’d even witnessed some of it. Her and I are very close and she means more to me than I can tell. But I never told my mother or anyone else. I could never hurt her like that. I’m afraid that the knowledge of what her father did to me, will cause her so much sadness that she wouldn’t be able to bear it. And there is this fear that my family will think that I’m making it up, or seeking for attention and that it will tear them apart. They are the most important thing in my life. And if protecting them means keeping this secret, then I will.
But it makes me feel so alone…
The worst part is the guilt. I’ve never dare to admit this, but in a dark and twisted way a part of me liked the ‘positive attention’. My grandfather was a very stirn man and you couldn’t do much right with him. And for some reason I’d always longed for his approval. When he started touching me, I hated it, I felt disgusting. And at the same time he made me feel kind of special. And that makes me hate myself. I can’t blame him. I blame me. Every time that I think badly about him, or have a nightmare about him, I feel so guilty and bad. It’s my fault, cause I didn’t tell him no or stop. Or at least not in the beginning.
A couple years ago he has passed away, and left me with so many questions and conflicting feelings..
I’ve gotta boyfriend now and (crazy enough) I recently realized that having sex has never been about ‘love’ for me. I can’t even remember the first time I had sex with him. It’s one big blur, and when I think about it my mind blocks. I just remember that the television was on and he wanted to turn it off, because it wasn’t romantic otherwise. But I really didn’t want to turn it off, because than I had nothing that I could focus on (that could distract me).
What scares me, is that I’ve got many of these blurred memories of my childhood (someone standing in my room, someone lying next to me in bed, waking up with blood on my bed, someone asking me if I like it). I’m scared that more has happened to me than I can actively remember.
My boyfriend tells me that I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, screaming (saying that I thought there was a man in my room). But the next morning I have no recollection of it.
Our relationship is not going to well. I don’t want to have sex. But I can’t explain my boyfriend the reason why. And I can see him getting frustrated, searching for a reason, and asking me if anything has happened. Sometimes it turns out in an argument, and without really knowing he puts pressure on me to sleep with him. I know it’s not fair to him, but sometimes, to avoid suspicion or argues, I take a deep breath and we have sex. But all I wanna do in that moment is hit him and fight him. I become so aggressive, and it cost me so much effort, to inhibit that urge. Instead I’m trying to let him see that I “enjoy” it. This internal battle is killing me. Sometimes I get overwhelmed and I can’t hold back the tears, so I have to wipe them away in the hope that he won’t notice. And till now, fortunately, he hasn’t. But I’m afraid that one of these days, he’ll see it and he’ll learn my secret.