Innocence Lost and Found

Dec 29, 2007 - 12:50 PM PST

When you are a child, there are so many things you don’t remember. Not because you don’t want to, but as you grow older your brain has to make room for the new memories you have. At almost 30, I can still recall my sweet sixteen, my first prom and my first kiss. But there are other things I cannot. The name of my first friend at school; what I wrote my 6th grade research project on; when I first watched television. These events do not have a spot in my mental rolodex of memories. My mother and I were talking one day and she asked me if I remember a particular trip to my grandmother’s house. She began describing something I don’t recall. I told her, for one reason or another, I had forgotten many trips to see my grandmother. I sometimes wished I could tell her the truth. For a long time, I did not even know what the truth was. I had forgotten myself. I blocked those memories because they were too painful to remember. I do not even know what made me forget, but I do recall what made me remember.
I was 17 at the time and was with a guy that I really loved. We were at his house after school one day and decided that we were going to fool around before his mother came home. This was typical of my boyfriend and me. Nothing was out of the ordinary about this day, other than my memories resurfacing. It felt like someone had cut into my psyche and ripped every horrible memory I had about my abuse and made a film about it. The memories I had so carefully tucked away ran across the movie screen in my mind causing me to have to consider what happened to me so long ago.
I was sitting on my boyfriend’s lap, attempting to watch television, when he started bouncing me around like he was a horsey. At first, I laughed because it was something that he always tried to do to me when we were together. He loved for me to sit on his lap. He was a football player, standing at 6 feet 4 inches and about 275 pounds, so it was pretty easy for him to play this game with me. As he was bouncing me around, it was like something clicked in my brain. I saw myself at 5 years old sitting, on my cousin’s lap, and he was bouncing me around just like my boyfriend was. We were laughing and joking just as my boyfriend and I were. I remember how happy I was at that moment to be with my cousin. I looked forward to my trips south to be with my mother’s side of the family. Until this very moment I could not recall how those trips changed for me. What was once the only “happy” memory I retained suddenly become a moment of terror.
I shook my head as if I were shaking an Etch-A-Sketch to erase what was on my mental screen. Flashes of days spent in the confines of my cousin’s bedroom ran across my mind if I could think of nothing else. I thought I was going to scream at what I saw in my head. The horrible and painful memories that I did not want to remember were starting to surface. My boyfriend stopped to ask what was wrong. I remember telling him I felt dizzy. He asked if I wanted to stop, but I said no because my hormones were getting the best of me. I wanted to be close to him. I thought if I just kept my mind on what was in front of me, the memories that were trying to come to light would stay in the dark.
We started kissing and, for a moment, I was lost in how my heart was full of love and lust for the man who was kissing me. I had experienced it many times before, but this time was different. My lust for him almost made me aggressive to the point that I wanted to pin him down for what he was doing to me. The crazy thing was I opened my eyes, at one point, and did not see my boyfriend anymore. Everything around me was different. I had entered an alternate reality. My background was now my cousin’s bedroom. And there I was, sitting on his lap, just as I was sitting on my boyfriend’s lap before the scenery around me changed. My cousin was showing me how to play his video game. It all seemed so innocent at the time. I was so excited because I looked forward to spending time with my cousin. He reminded me of my older brother who I did not get to see much. Every summer like clockwork my family would travel to Shreveport, Louisiana to visit my mother’s side of the family. I loved to see my aunt, uncle and cousin. But this would be where I would lose most of my innocence, a place once safe for me, would become a place I would grow to loath. A place I had loved so much—in my youth would make me so happy that I would cry when we would have to leave—would become the place of my worst nightmare.
I snap myself back to reality. My boyfriend is there again. I was happy to return because these trips down memory lane were starting to scare me. I didn’t quite, at the time, understand where they were coming from. I continued to kiss my boyfriend. I could feel his hands reaching for places, until this moment; I could only recall my cousin touching. And as quick as he went for my pants, I felt a chill go up my spine. Every nerve ending in my body stopped in its tracks because it was filled with an eerie feeling. I no longer felt the lust and passion I felt when this whole ordeal started. My body was saying something was wrong. I felt like I was leaving reality again. I was slipping into the undercurrent in my psyche that wanted to take me to a place I thought I had hidden away. I could not help what was about to happen to me.
I remember watching from a corner of the room, but I could feel everything my five year old self was experiencing. There was warmth in between my legs, something I’d never felt before. It almost felt like I was peeing on myself, but there was no urine coming out. I was scared to look down, because I did not know what was happening. I did not know if it was right or wrong, but my gut told me to shut my legs. Just as quickly as I shut them, I felt his hands open them back up and he whispered to me “It’s alright, trust me.” I wanted to cry for that little girl sitting there. Deep down inside, I knew what was about to happen to her. All of the memories came back to me as if I was approaching the rapids on a river. I remember every time it happened and every detail down to what I was wearing. I started to weep inside because I lost my voice in that very moment. I wanted to die. How could I have forgotten all of that? What made me lock those memories in the deepest crevasses of my mind?
I remember how it started with touches then progressed to something more. I did not know that the feeling I felt was my little body reacting to the touches—a feeling later in my adult life I would have to learn to love again. I did not realize my cousin was not supposed to touch me like that. I thought it was just something that happened. No one ever talked with me about the good touch/bad touch. I was never told I should tell an adult when something like that happens. So I just let it happen. During my trip down memory lane I remember the last time it happened. I also recall why it stopped—my period. I just happened to be on it one summer when we went down there—I think I was 12. I can remember feeling like I was not wanted anymore—rejected.
This is a feeling, even in my almost 30 years, has not really ever gone away. I think I have spent most of my life attempting to recover from that abuse. It left me feeling empty without really ever knowing why since I had blocked all the memories. I wondered if this could be the reason why if I could not be sexual with someone; there was nothing else for us to do. And even though I had made it to fifteen and a half without having any true sexual encounters, was this abuse the reason why I felt like I have to have sex with the person I am seeing? It’s also complicated. I did not think I was ever going to figure it out.
Back to reality—the memories rushing back to me made me freeze in time. My boyfriend described it as me going limp. It looked as if the life had left my body and I wasn’t coming back to him. He called my name, but I didn’t answer. My eyes were open, but they looked glossed and glazed over. I do not remember any of this. I just saw my cousin putting his hands on me, the very same way my loving boyfriend was trying to do. The difference between the two situations is that my boyfriend was doing it out of love. I honestly don’t know what was going through my cousin’s mind when he was touching me. I wonder if he was thinking at all. In his sick, twisted and perverted mind, I think he was okay with what he was doing. He took the innocence of a little girl and preyed on her. That little girl just wanted to be close to her cousin. I attempted to explain to my boyfriend what I saw, but I was just too embarrassed to say anything. I looked up at him, hoping to find something, some sort of solace in his eyes, but he just looked as confused as I did.
I began to tell the story to him, not leaving out any detail so I would never forget again. I described the first time it happened and how at first, my cousin just touched me, at first, on the outside of my clothing. The older I got, the more happened. I explained I never thought there was anything wrong. My cousin would always ask me if I was curious. I mean I was—I was little kid. I wanted to know how things work. I just thought we were exploring the things that made us different. It did not matter to me that, first off, he was my cousin and that he was seven years older than I and had hit puberty. At the time, I found the whole thing interesting. It wasn’t until I was about ten when I realized this wasn’t supposed to be happening between my cousin and me. But by then it was too late. I had accepted the order of things. He would figure out a way to get me confined to a room. This was usually when all of the adults weren’t there. That way, there was less chance he would get caught with his pants down.
I started to sob. Tears made marks on my face leaving tracks that led to my soul. I couldn’t look up at my boyfriend. I could hear him asking me if I was alright, but I could not stop crying. I remembered everything. It was scary because I did not know what to do with my newfound information. I could not think straight. At first I just wanted to get up and leave. Walk out of my boyfriend’s house and never look back, but part of me knew I could not do that. I had to explain. Explaining would be the first step in putting the fragile pieces of my psyche back together. I attempted to gather my thoughts as if I could piece them together so I could form the words that would explain to him what happened in that moment. My heart ached as if I was having a heart attack. I grabbed my chest and tried to rub that pain away. I felt his arms wrapping themselves around me to provide comfort for something they didn’t understand. It made me feel safe again. I knew that as long as those arms stay around me I could do anything.
The last time I remember, I was taking a nap. I woke up with something poking me in my back. I turned around to see him grinning. He had that look in his eyes as if he was saying to me, “you know you want it.” At that point, I just turned around and laid there, attempting not to cry. I remember dreaming of rainbows and lollypops, attempting to think about anything but what he was doing to me. I vowed it would stop. I would speak up for myself and never let him touch me again. Part of me, even then, knew it was wrong. Cousins were not supposed to act like that with each other. It just wasn’t natural.
I can remember the look on my boyfriend’s face when I finished my bitter diatribe about my cousin and the abuse I received all the years. He looked as if he, too, had seen a ghost. I can remember he never let go of me when I was telling my story. I told him I was scared I would never be able to be intimate with anyone because I had remembered. The thought of some one touch me made me physically ill. I just kept replaying everything over in my head and I did not know if I would be able to let it go and move on. I did not want to tell my parents because part of me did not know if they would believe me. Another part of me thought about how my cousin’s life had turned out and thought that was punishment enough for him. He lived in solitude, with no one around him that loved him. His drug habit was about as bad as they come. My aunt and uncle tolerated him because he was their child, but I think they hated his guts as much as I did sometimes. He was nothing—he amounted to nothing. Out of all of my 1st cousins he was the worst. But I knew a time would come where I would have to say something to him at least for my own piece of mind. But that day, as I laid in my boyfriend’s arms, was not the day for that.
I am almost 30 now. That day still haunts me. I have found my relationships with men have been affected because of the abuse I was subjected to. I don’t entirely trust men. My relationships tend to be highly emotional and sexually charged. I feel rejected if my boyfriend doesn’t want to have sex with every night. There are still ways I can’t let my boyfriend touch me because it reminds me of what happened between my cousin and me. I sometimes feel like I am still a victim. Sure, I have done extensive work in therapy, but sometimes the fact it happened is still too much for me to accept. I have realized that none of that was my fault. I cannot keep on blaming myself because I didn’t tell. I was a little kid, one who spent most of her life sheltered from those things that would have allowed me to be able to tell my parents what happened. I am not perfect, but I’ve always felt like people see me as perfect. Like there was this halo placed on my head. But the trouble is, I am not perfect, far from it. I am recovering. I am a work in progress. This event does not make me. If anything since I have remember it has made me stronger. I have learned to work through my pain to become a better person on the other side. I have a long road ahead of me, but I’ve also make great strides since remembering that day. I am a survivor. I am no longer lost—I am found.