So far, I have come across a lot of people including men and women, who have been through hell in their childhood. The worst part of their misery is not being able to communicate about it even as adults.
Whenever I have tried to communicate about sexual assault and abuse through my work (as a visual artist) and generally; Mostly people have reacted as its an imaginary world of mine where it happened or as if it doesn’t happen. They have acted as ‘sex’ and ‘sexual assault’ does not exist in this world. Now that I have a social life, a happening social media profile and a smile on my face, they show their indifferent faces more.
I have not been able to tell the details and the number of times it has happened. It did not happen as one event of being molested and assaulted. There has been series of events which I have not been able to talk in detail, not even with my counselor. It takes a lot of courage and emotional turmoil for me to write about these details. Writing has been my better way of communication than talking in general. I am writing this for my own self and for my own peace of mind.
When it happened for the first time, I was very young as much as 3 or 4 years old. My mother has been a narcissistic and abusive one and she never cared about my well-being which played a vital role in my childhood. She was a very social person and mostly left me with neighbors. All I remember about my childhood is crying about her and other people scaring me with imaginary monsters. When you wake up as a child and found yourself sleeping in your neighbor’s bed, I still feel that uncomfortable void inside even though I am in my early thirties. So when it happened the first time, I remember myself crying and asking him to take me to my mother. He was forcing me to eat his ‘banana’ and convincing about its ‘good taste’. I remember he asked me to take the full thing till it touches my throat while I was crying to leave. He did his deed in an under-construction house, unfortunately, I still remember that house. I was a very vocal child, a shy one but vocal who loved to talk. I remember complaining about it to my mother in my childish vocabulary. She said ‘ I will smack him’. But I was again sent with him regardless of my innocent protests as a child. He called it a ‘game’.
When it happened next time I was around 9 years old so I remember it more. When I grew up and collected the details of those ‘games’, it left me shivering and extremely angry about it. My mother forced me to play with my brother who is 4.5 years older than me. He made me lay with him under the covers and made my hand touch his body. When I complained that what is it that you are making me touch, he explained ‘Its just my wet fingers’. I hated this game. For several nights, I refused to play with me and my mother scolded me saying ‘He wants to play with you and you are refusing’, considering she has been extremely abusive to me throughout all the years, I have lived with them. She also had a conversation with my brother ‘Did you make her touch ‘there?’ continued with her evil laugh whenever she occurred pain to me. I was forced to play this game for several weeks.
There are more incidents and I will talk about it when I have the strength as today. It still gives me nightmares and all I want from this life is to be able to sleep without seeing their faces in my nightmares. When you are tired after a long working day, and you are able to sleep soundly, consider yourself lucky.
We need to understand its aftermath of a person’s emotional health, it does not end immediately as soon as it ends with an incident.