The hardest post I will ever write will be this one... assuming I get it all out.
I believe I was in 8th grade when the truth came out. My dad told my mom, then told the whole church. It wasn't long before it was in the paper and a classmate's dad told him about me. The rumor was that my dad had molested me (whatever that meant to a bunch 13 year olds) and that I liked it. They mocked me with "Ho-Ho's" made it clear that I was no longer the person they thought I was. How did I react? Poorly I'm sure. It wasn't long before I became the person everything thought I was. In fact, at times I think I was in a hurry to meet the definition. The whole thing was humiliating, and the only person that didn't make me feel awful was my BF.
With careful words, and an understanding demeanor, she wanted to know what I went through and how I was feeling about all of it. She never pushed. She only ever wanted to understand, and even when I didn't provide details, she still made a point to understand, and still does to this day.
One condition of this situation being brought to life was that I receive therapy. Although I was made a ward of the state, good old Nebraska allowed my mom to retain custody and choose my therapist. She chose the mother of a church member. The therapist was in Lincoln, NE and the closest one who believed that this was the devil's fault and not my dad's. She told me that I must have been molested before because the only reason my dad molested me was because he had been molested before and had that spirit on him. Since like spirits attract, I must have had the same spirit on me from before I was adopted. Aside from that, we talked a little about my abandonment issues and she encouraged me to write my birth mom in order to get it all out. But more than anything else, I remember her expressing that there were probably times that I liked what my dad was doing to me and that I shouldn't be ashamed because it was my body's natural response to that type of physical contact.
The truth is, some times my body did want it, and to this day I am still ashamed. This shame causes profound intimacy issues for me. Initiating intimacy is very difficult for me, and although this appears to be understandable, I think what people think they understand is only part of the issue. There were times that I tried to seduce him, and each time I received a weird response. At the time I thought it was weird, but now I completely understand what was going on.
Little girls in elementary school should be able to sit on their father's lap and be comforted emotionally. Because I had no concept of the difference between emotional and sexual attention from my father, when I sat on my dad's lap, I straddled him. When he rocked me, our crotches rubbed against each other. When he caressed my back, he also caressed the sides of my boobs. When I was "asleep" he would start by caressing my back, then my sides. He would gently roll me over and then caress my breasts. I'm sure all of this attention is what (at least partially) caused my body to respond with early development. Eventually he started caressing my nipples with his mouth and tongue. He gave me my first hickey on my neck. I had to hide a hickey from my mom that her husband gave me. Eventually his hand made its way into my panties and I was the young recipient of full on foreplay. When my body responded, he would be ashamed and the next day he would apologize and ask that I keep it a secret. Since I was under the impression that I was supposed to still be "asleep" through all of this, I would try to act like I didn't really understand what he was talking about. And really, I didn't totally understand until I started wanting it, and he started distancing himself...until he wanted it.
INCOMPLETE
