margotvankapelle (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
margotvankapelle) wrote2010-03-01 08:44 am
margotvankapelle) wrote2010-03-01 08:44 am
Deep thoughts (May be triggery)
I've never been terribly secretive about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid. It was pretty standard, as child sexual abuse goes: Parents divorce, Mom remarries, Stepdad decides to make Mom's nine year old daughter his personal sex toy. While he never raped me, there are any number of sexual things one can do that don't involve penetration.
I thought for years that post-abuse counseling had done the trick as far as coping and healing go, that I didn't have any major aftereffects from the abuse. I even felt a little guilty about identifying myself as a sexual abuse survivor -- I mean, other girls and boys have gone through so much more than I did. Little have I realized how insidious the mindfuck that comes with abuse can be.
I haven't been able to remember a whole lot about my childhood in general and the period of time I was abused in specific. I have a couple of vague memories, that's all. Not very much! But I was talking with my aunt several months ago, and she told me that my late grandmother (humorless German Catholic upbringing ahoy!) had called together a family conference when my stepfather was arrested, and spent the entire time berating my mother for "allowing" the police to become involved. I was "shaming the family" by telling my teacher what was going on, you see. That conversation with my aunt seemed to trigger a bunch of emotions and memories that only come out in nightmares.
I love my sleep -- I think I was a cat in a past life because I could happily sleep for 20 hours a day if given the chance. So the nightmares (and I could never completely remember them after I woke up, very frustrating) were irritating and depressing and just awful. Every time I try to talk with Dad about it, he gets red in the face and his eyes take on a flat, dead shine to them that frightens me just a smidgen -- I know even after 23 years, he'd still like to kill my former stepfather. I prefer not to jack Dad's blood pressure into stroke territory, so I have given up on talking with him about it. My stepmom becomes hysterical. My mom and I, well, we had our first conversation about it, um, about 3 months ago? And of course she became upset -- she was just as much a victim as I was. (It's weird that no one seems to think along those lines -- the rest of the family is victimized along with the abused child.) So with my craptastic memory and an unwillingness to hurt my family by bringing all this up, I went down to the Wabash County courthouse last Monday to look at the case records from the trial.
Arthur Michael "Mike" Swango -- arrested April 1987, pled guilty to 1 count child molestation (class C felony), sentenced December 1, 1988. He was sentenced to 5 years with three years suspended, with time off for good behavior (of course there was good behavior -- there are no nine year olds in jail!), he served 1 year.
I read the initial police report, the transcript of my taped statement (I didn't remember being videotaped), the transcript of Mom's statement (and my heart broke all over again reading it, she was so hurt and bewildered and betrayed), and finally, Mike's confession. That son of a bitch confessed to molesting 2 other girls back in the Seventies (after he statute of limitations had run out) as well as to my sexual abuse. The awful part was that he made it sound consensual. That a very naive, very insecure nine year old liked what he was doing instead of keeping his hands, his mouth, and his dick far away from little girls.
A bonus was reading the letters of support for Mike written by our next door neighbors, a couple of co-workers, and our family priest. Even now, I am utterly gobsmacked that one of his friends wrote that I was probably confused and maybe had been mislead by the police into accusing Mike, that this friend had no problem leaving his daughters alone with Mike. Another mentioned that I had most likely led Mike on. The victim blaming I read was devastating.
To be honest, I'm still trying to come to terms with everything I read. Between the nightmares, the depression that's been crushing me lately, and the guilt and shame I live with on a daily basis, I've made the decision to reenter therapy. I can't live this way anymore.
I am leaving this entry public for several very good reasons: I have done nothing to be ashamed of, others who have undergone sexual abuse may find it helpful, and frankly, because I included the name of the man who abused me. He's not on any sex offender registry -- my abuse occurred before Megan's Law. Finally, I left this entry open because I want the world to know that victim blaming is incredibly destructive, and revictimizes the survivors.
If you are a survivor of abuse, you did nothing wrong.
I thought for years that post-abuse counseling had done the trick as far as coping and healing go, that I didn't have any major aftereffects from the abuse. I even felt a little guilty about identifying myself as a sexual abuse survivor -- I mean, other girls and boys have gone through so much more than I did. Little have I realized how insidious the mindfuck that comes with abuse can be.
I haven't been able to remember a whole lot about my childhood in general and the period of time I was abused in specific. I have a couple of vague memories, that's all. Not very much! But I was talking with my aunt several months ago, and she told me that my late grandmother (humorless German Catholic upbringing ahoy!) had called together a family conference when my stepfather was arrested, and spent the entire time berating my mother for "allowing" the police to become involved. I was "shaming the family" by telling my teacher what was going on, you see. That conversation with my aunt seemed to trigger a bunch of emotions and memories that only come out in nightmares.
I love my sleep -- I think I was a cat in a past life because I could happily sleep for 20 hours a day if given the chance. So the nightmares (and I could never completely remember them after I woke up, very frustrating) were irritating and depressing and just awful. Every time I try to talk with Dad about it, he gets red in the face and his eyes take on a flat, dead shine to them that frightens me just a smidgen -- I know even after 23 years, he'd still like to kill my former stepfather. I prefer not to jack Dad's blood pressure into stroke territory, so I have given up on talking with him about it. My stepmom becomes hysterical. My mom and I, well, we had our first conversation about it, um, about 3 months ago? And of course she became upset -- she was just as much a victim as I was. (It's weird that no one seems to think along those lines -- the rest of the family is victimized along with the abused child.) So with my craptastic memory and an unwillingness to hurt my family by bringing all this up, I went down to the Wabash County courthouse last Monday to look at the case records from the trial.
Arthur Michael "Mike" Swango -- arrested April 1987, pled guilty to 1 count child molestation (class C felony), sentenced December 1, 1988. He was sentenced to 5 years with three years suspended, with time off for good behavior (of course there was good behavior -- there are no nine year olds in jail!), he served 1 year.
I read the initial police report, the transcript of my taped statement (I didn't remember being videotaped), the transcript of Mom's statement (and my heart broke all over again reading it, she was so hurt and bewildered and betrayed), and finally, Mike's confession. That son of a bitch confessed to molesting 2 other girls back in the Seventies (after he statute of limitations had run out) as well as to my sexual abuse. The awful part was that he made it sound consensual. That a very naive, very insecure nine year old liked what he was doing instead of keeping his hands, his mouth, and his dick far away from little girls.
A bonus was reading the letters of support for Mike written by our next door neighbors, a couple of co-workers, and our family priest. Even now, I am utterly gobsmacked that one of his friends wrote that I was probably confused and maybe had been mislead by the police into accusing Mike, that this friend had no problem leaving his daughters alone with Mike. Another mentioned that I had most likely led Mike on. The victim blaming I read was devastating.
To be honest, I'm still trying to come to terms with everything I read. Between the nightmares, the depression that's been crushing me lately, and the guilt and shame I live with on a daily basis, I've made the decision to reenter therapy. I can't live this way anymore.
I am leaving this entry public for several very good reasons: I have done nothing to be ashamed of, others who have undergone sexual abuse may find it helpful, and frankly, because I included the name of the man who abused me. He's not on any sex offender registry -- my abuse occurred before Megan's Law. Finally, I left this entry open because I want the world to know that victim blaming is incredibly destructive, and revictimizes the survivors.
If you are a survivor of abuse, you did nothing wrong.