Monday, July 31, 2006
Don't Touch Me There
I have a very serious confession to make.
This may come as tremendous shock to those of you who know me because I’ve been in denial about it for a very long time, but the time has come to let the truth be known.
When I was a young child…. Wow, this is harder than I thought it would be.
I was the victim… of not being sexually molested.
God, it feels so good to get that off my chest!
For years I’ve been hiding this fact, claiming constantly that I was molested on an almost daily basis by random authority figures…. Doctors, camp councilors, family friends and what have you. But actually no one ever laid a hand on me to abuse me; sexually or otherwise.
It took me years to even admit the ugly truth to myself, but after many sessions of regressive therapy, endless soul searching and objectively dealing with the cold, hard facts, I realized I just couldn’t keep lying to myself. No one ever so much as felt me up my whole entire childhood.
It’s a really unpleasant fact to have to face. Sexual abuse has been such a sweet excuse for almost all of my creepy/self-destructive tendencies. Now I’m left with the daunting task of finding something completely different to blame all of my inappropriate behavior on.
Take a look at the symptoms of childhood molestation and you’ll see exactly how much of my life I’m going to have to completely renegotiate if I don’t have childhood molestation as an excuse anymore….
* Sexually precocious, inappropriately seductive and promiscuous at an early age.
“Mr. Truman, I’m really sorry about telling the maintenance guy to pretend I was a clock and screw me against the wall… but in my defense, he was kind of asking for it.”
* Attempts to make self unattractive.
“Yeah, so I cut all my hair off with cuticle scissors and plucked my eyebrows so thin even Puerto Rican chicks look at me funny…. but now I’m thinking that the look won’t really be complete unless I couple it with a neon green lycra jumpsuit and some body glitter.”
* Radical mood swings, depression and regressive behavior.
“Hey Josh, sorry about telling you I love you, then throwing that glass vase at your head, then telling you we were meant to be together, then curling up in the fetal position and sucking my thumb while rocking back and forth.”
* Apparent boredom with peers and age appropriate activities
“This tea party sucks, Jill. Your teddy bear’s excuse for conversation is completely inane. Go invite your dad, and tell him to bring up some of that Chardonnay while you’re at it.”
* Tendency to lie and/or steal.
“Oh my god, I totally do not even know what jewelry box you’re talking about! And what would I want with your old wedding ring, anyway?”
* Encouragement of peers to engage in age-inappropriate activities.
“Isabelle, I don’t care if he IS two years younger than your dad, you are coming on this double date with me whether you like it or not! Now go get dressed and I’ll explain to you what an “eight track” is.”
* Intolerance of intimacy and inability to trust.
“Look, Jason, I know we’ve been seeing each other for almost a year, and it’s not that I don’t WANT you to sleep over… it’s just that I worry might accidentally strangle me in my sleep and then steal all my stuff. Oh, and please don’t introduce me as your girlfriend again, ever.”
No matter how many times I denied it, I think my mother always suspected that I may have suffered from lack of sexual molestation. I guess it was just too painful for her to talk about.
Sometimes I ask myself “Why me?” When so many other children are molested everyday in this country, why was I so bitterly neglected?
My parents claim it is because they maintained a vigilant watch over me and all those who came in contact with me throughout my youth. I’d like to believe that, but deep down I know the truth.
It’s because I was fat.
Posted by Carmela Machiato at 2:57 PM