I cannot remember the first time my father molested me, just as I cannot forget the last.
I remember two “last times,” actually, unless they are both part of the same, one. Dissociatively, I “see” both memories in snapshot format, or, “brief video clips?”: in both, I am curled up, asleep, on my right side. Top bunk of one of the two sets of bunk-beds in the room my sisters and I share.
In the first snapshot, my father has pulled my pajama bottoms down and I wake to his flacid penis against my buttocks. I see myself as if suddenly erupting in, furious anger. Righteously, I am so tired of having my sleep interrupted night after night after night! by his wormy thing pressing against me.
I have had it, I am not going to take it anymore. I yell at him, “Leave me alone!” He shushes me, my teeth grit, I am steaming, and I yell again, “Leave. Me. Alone!” (Where did this furious strength “suddenly” come from? Got me. This is a snapshot — I don’t have any of what came before…)
Same scene the “second” “last time” he molests me, only this time, his penis is hard against my buttocks and he/”it” attempts to enter me anally. The pain near levitates me from the bed and I am beside myself with indignation and fury. Once more: “Leave me alone!” “Get OUT of my bed!” I am shushed, but I am steaming and beyond furious and I yell again, “Leave me alooonnnne!” I am shushed again until, exasperated by my failure to cooperate, he climbs down from my top bunk only to climb into, one of my sisters’ beds.
On the one hand, Hooray!, he finally leaves me be. On the other, now begins my anguish that he molests my sisters. Can’t win for losing.
I’m in 5th grade here. My two sisters, 3rd and 1st.
I’m only 10 and, I just want to die sometimes.