Musca domestica – Housefly, Author Nico Westerhof (CC BY-SA 4.0 International)
WARNING: Graphic Images
My father helped uncounted strangers. He gave directions, fixed tires, delivered groceries, shared tools, shoveled driveways. He lent money that went unreturned. He cleared debris, cut down unwanted tree limbs, and cleaned the home of one elderly man for years.
My father, also, molested me. I have struggled with the scars of that incest my entire life…
People who have just learned of the incest will – after a distressed pause – often ask how it first began…I cannot recall the first time. I simply do not remember a period when the incest was not a part of my reality…
Certainly I was acting out sexually by the second grade, a sure sign I was being molested. I knew the basics of sexual intercourse by that point. My father had conveyed that information in the interest of furthering my education. So he repeatedly said…
I have no words to convey the horror my father’s assaults produced in me.
Imagine a cool summer’s day. It is early morning. You open the screen door and stop out onto the porch, kissed by a soft breeze. The world is green and new…After a few moments, you turn reluctantly; go back indoors to chores and the real world.
It is only than that you see. A hoard of flies somehow entered the apartment while the screen door was ajar. You are at first stunned by their number. There must be eight or ten. How can this have happened so quickly? Then disgust sets in. Your gorge rises, but there is no relief at hand. Somehow you have to deal with the situation. Continue reading
ANNA WALDHERR A Voice Reclaimed, Surviving Child Abuse 