Below is an assignment I did in therapy to work on shame associated with sexual abuse when I was a child.

Shame

Mental health people say the only way to heal shame is to say it. I wonder if that is true. I certainly have my reservations about it, but what do I have to lose? My sanity…to late I have multiple people living inside of me that I can hear and see. My body? Too late, it is all scared up. Myself? Too late, I lost them a long, long time ago, in fact I don’t think they ever really were. My shame is so large it is killing me from its weight upon my psyche.

I was molested by my dad. I do not remember how old I was at the time, but I was young. The first time he just took my shirt off and French kissed me. From their it only progressed.

I remember waking up to my dad playing with me in my private area. He would use his fingers, tongue and penis. I remember him putting his penis in my hand and thinking that it was so smooth. He would molest me until it started to feel good and would not let me get away no matter how hard I tried. He would put my pillow on my head and remove all my blankets, so it was very cold. He would take my underwear off and push my shirt up. I don’t understand why he did this to me and why part of me liked it. Maybe I am just as sick as he is. I do not know where my mom was when this was happening.

I remember the reflection in my dad’s glasses when he would call me to the computer, and I would go. He would make me touch him and he would touch me while he watched pornography on the computer. I will never forget that blue reflection. When I see people wearing glasses with a reflection I go somewhere far away. I remember when my parents bought a polaroid camera, so the film didn’t have to be developed. I remember the Walmart guy telling my mom she couldn’t have pictures because of inappropriate ones of kids. She was furious, not at my dad but at the film guy.

This happened so often it seems like every night in my memory. But I had a secret place to go inside of my head with my friends. I would drift into the black and hide there. I didn’t know what I did to deserve this.
As I got older I would wake up and he would be in my room with the door closed watching me sleep while he was jerking off. I tried nailing nails around the lock so the door could not be picked but it did not work. As soon as I graduated high school, I got the hell out of there.

I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I deserved it. I was young and dirty and shameful. I did not deserve anything better. I was nothing as a kid to anybody. I cried alone, I lived alone, and I played alone. I am not worthy of any one’s love. I am not worthy of even my own. I am dirty. I am unpure and I am hated. Even my own mother hates me. I don’t feel bad for any of it because it is what I had coming for being a bad kid. I deserved it and I have earned nothing better.

As I am writing this I really do wonder why. There had to be a reason it was me. I was young and I tried really hard. I would give my parents my things they bought me to return for the money. I would cook and clean and do laundry and take care of my brother and sister. Why me. Was I not good enough?

Everyday flash backs of my dad playing with me start to surface and the flash backs almost drop me to my knees. I have so many questions. Why me? Is it normal? Did I deserve it?… I don’t know the answer to anything, and I am so confused. I am tired and I want to sleep forever. The only thing I do know is that I deserved it. I deserve to carry this shame. I am gross, disgusting and dirty. I am nothing. I am shit. I am impure and invisible. I am nothing. Only worthy to be touched and abused by my dad and hurt and hated by my mom.