I don’t know how to talk about this. but I have to. I am not in anyway ashamed of what happened to me as a kid, nor do I need a pity party about it. I have spent my entire life coming to terms with a few small, to what may have seemed to him as insignificant acts, of a father figure that left irreparable change to my psyche.

It took me to be 40 years old until I am ready to face what happened and I am ready to outline how it dictated my entire upbringing, my belief system, outlook on sexuality and the long line of struggles I faced between the ages of 10-40. FUCK.

When I was around 10-11 I recall hating my father. He grossed me out, I was deeply disturbed to be with him alone and avoided any scenario when that might happen. He simply creeped me out. I told my relatives I hated my father. They said, oh well, you are just a teen, you will grow out of it. Even then I knew, no, this is different. I will never grow out of this, I will never love my father. But I struggled to understand why I hated him so much.

There was this one memory I recall. I must have been 6. It was my birthday and my dad cradled me and rolled me around on my parents bed. I thought it was innocent. Until a couple years later, when I laughingly recounted the story in public and remembered how fun it was. His stark reaction *No! That never happened!* left me startled and confused. and for the first time planted the seed of doubt that maybe the stuff my dad was doing to me when no one was around was not totally ok. Even I felt weird about it, but I thought this is what people do. Like waking up in my bed in the middle of the night with him patting me on the butt and spooning me in an uncomfortable way.

This fall. When I was having a coffee with my mom, we talked about some of my fathers perversions. I have always been honest with my mom about what happened, or what maybe did. I have always been able to talk to my mom, no matter how dirty the issue or dire the secret. GOD BLESS, my life for that!!! I don’t know what happened, because my body blocked me from remembering… I still to this day don’t know everything that went down… but about a day after me and my mom talked, I was hit with this memory. I have seen my fathers erection. He showed it to me. I felt like sewer. I felt violated and filthy.

I have seen my fathers erection. On display.

Let that sink in.

It might not seem so significant to some. probably not to my father. I don’t know. Does it?

I have several memories of growing up with my father that are inappropriate. Very inappropriate.

I never confronted my father, because I have never really figured out for sure what happened. but there are things I do now for certain and this is the most important reason why I am speaking of this now. LISTEN UP! THIS IS FOR EVERYONE: a small action might change someones life for forever. A hand grab, trying to squeeze in a kiss, a push against the wall, groping your genitals in front of a girl, showing them your erection, making suggestions or sexual innuendo can have life long, lasting and devastating effects to a life of any girl. Men need to understand that the small things they do, can destroy someones sexual psyche for years. It can take a life time to repair 30 seconds of indiscretion.

You fucker! You grabbed my ass on the stairs going up from the max train in Portland in September of 2001 AND I STILL REMEMBER THAT SHIT! You cocksucker that jerked off to your porn mags in the employee bathroom. You fucker that stroked your cock in the employee room thinking I wouldn’t notice. or that guy who pulled out his erection to show me on the bus when I was 12. You sick fuck. I remember EVERY INSTANCE I WAS VIOLATED. You probably don’t remember traumatizing a child who was trying to get comfortable using public transportation. I REMEMBER EVERY ONE. And every one of those instances shifted my life. FUCK YOU!

I never came forward because I remembered my first set of memories around 15-16 yrs old. They hit me like a bowling ball. They knocked the wind out of me and for a few weeks I walked around in a daze trying to make sense of what had happened. To me? This happened to me? Was it just a dream?!? Can my memory be trusted? So, when I was raped at age 16, I sorta thought it was part of the deal. Normal, for men to take what they want, I thought.

What I remember about my childhood, it is very limited, but clear enough for me to know for certain those memories are very real. I did not tell anyone because an incredibly wise shrink I saw asked me to take a moment to consider my options: to heal on my own, or to confront him, pull my family into a court case, be faced with doubt, questions and humiliation. I did not feel comfortable remembering the details as it was. let alone recount them in front of my family.

This is why most women don’t report rape. There is more shame and hurt in recounting the event. Let alone everything else that follows. The questions. The shame. This is why I chose to stay quiet. I did not want to hurt the people around me, nor did I want to go over in detail about the worst memories of my life and how I have been devastated.

Despite remembering some things, my psyche protected me from a lot of it. I was struggling to cope with life as it was, how could I ever face my entire family, grandparents to aunts and cousins.. this was not a battle I wanted to fight in public. This was  a battle that was my own and I decided to disown my father instead. I’d rather have him just go away and me move on with my life. which I did. My mom got to divorce him, so why couldn’t I?

My sister and brother kept asking questions for years to come. I kept my mouth shut. Eventually they gave in and let me have my way, let me never speak to him. I let them choose their own relationship with my father on their own. I did not want to involve them.

My father changed my entire life. I have resented him for it. The way I behaved sexually was all because of what he did to me. It has taken me 40 years, a litany of abusive relationships and unhealthy sexual encounters to realize what his small, supposedly insignificant actions did to me. Few moments of indiscretion can change someones life for forever.

When I came to terms with all the things he had done, I realized he is a fool. Too stupid to understand his impact on a small child. He was so fucking selfish he did not take a second to consider that the most minuscule action on his part could leave an ever lasting wound on a child. His perversions fucked me up and haunted me for 30 years.

I was sexually abused by my father around the ages of 7-12. To this day, I don’t remember the details. Nor do I need to. All I know is that it was wrong. and it fucked me up for the sort of sexual engagements I would have for years to come. The several abusive relationships I ended up in because I could not differentiate between love and sexual desire. I did not know what sincere love meant. or what pure lust was. It took me many many years to recognize healthy loving relationships. Today, I am blessed I have found my way and have several of those.