My Story – The Clift Notes Version
I’ve wanted for some time now to start exploring the psychological ramifications of my abuses. I’ve tried before but then I quickly shut the lid on that Pandora’s box when some things were remembered that I wanted to forget or not even admit. I find, now, that it’s a bad move not addressing certain aspects of child sexual abuse because by denying those elements, we allow pedos to accuse us of hiding scientific evidence that they love to twist with their demented, perverse spin. Address those items in a state of full-disclosure along with the honest explanations as to the whys and the hows and they no longer have material to discredit or raise suspicion as to the dependability of the research.
My life is so unique, pedophiles, pedophile sympathizers, and child abusers of any kind don’t know what they are getting into when they try to take me on. Law enforcement rarely has victims participate in actual field work because of the emotions involved; however, due to my extensive experiences as both a survivor and witness, I am a very valuable asset into the minds eye of these criminals.
I was one of those children taken to a molester when his previous target became too old. He was an elderly man who lived two houses down. The girl who sent me to him, dressed in a bikini my dad had forbidden me to wear, was my sister. She was 16. I was 6. My family truly did not want me and this was her way of showing me my place and taking her jealousy out on me.
My other siblings joined in since they hated me, too. Any time I got them into trouble, they found a way to have my mom send me to his house (for a cup of sugar, a cake pan they would claim his wife called and asked for, etc .. ). They knew what he would do and thought I would be too afraid to speak up. Or maybe they believed my parents simply wouldn’t believe me since they never believed me when I told them of the physical abuse my siblings were doing.
One day, though, after about a year, I couldn’t take it anymore and I told my mom. Her response? “Don’t tell anyone. It’s embarrassing.” The instructions of my parents, both die-hard catholic, middle class, Republican conservatives? “He needs your forgiveness and understanding. He is a sick person and didn’t mean it. We have to think of his wife, too. She’ll be alone if he goes to jail, and he is too old to go to jail. He’ll be hurt.”
You’ll excuse me for not giving a fuck about compassion when it comes to them. “Compassion” is their meal ticket out of trouble.
My reaction? Silence and a hard lesson on just how little I meant to my parents.
And when another neighbor molested me at 13, grabbing my breasts from behind while he got off, my reaction again? Silence.
And when my first boyfriend forced me to be “affectionate” (i.e. forced foreplay) at 15? Silence. When that same boyfriend forced me to have oral sex, act out porn scenes in front of him with myself, and forcefully sodomized me until I was 17, my reaction? Silence and learning just what my meaning in life must be. When that same boyfriend stole my virginity and raped me for the next year, until I was 18, my reaction again was silence and a new feeling of worthlessness in this world and to any man since virginity is such a badge of respect in catholicism and being the victim of rape is such a shame on the victim.
And when that boyfriend tried to kill me by drowning me in a pool when I finally was brave enough to demand we break up or I’d go to the police, I awoke to the realization that if anyone was going to save me, it was going to be me.
I became cold, distant, wanting love but believing I was not meant for it.
I remained silent when I was raped by a man who hired me to babysit his son – who was non-existent, again when I was raped by a man my own cousins sent to rape me, again when I was almost raped by a man who slipped me ruffies but failed to make sure I’d downed the drink, and then again when I endured forced BDSM with a man I was with for several years .
In the last few years, my youngest sister – the one who set me up to be molested first – has been able to talk of her abduction and forced participation in child porn when she was 14. The person responsible for that was my oldest sister (yes, I have a loving family), who was 24 at the time. After the younger one was found and returned home, she took out her anger on me, including sending me out in the street to be hit by a car, at which time I clinically died.
She has been able to speak of her abduction and receive sympathy and compassion from all in our family, with no mention of the abuse and attempted murder she waged onto me though they all knew of it.
My oldest sister, the one responsible for all of that, has been allowed to be called a “victim” of her first husband, who she often let drug, frequently rape, make child porn photos and videos of, and pimp out their son and daughter – beginning at 2 and 8 on through their divorce 6 years later.
But me? When I revealed all I’d been through in a 91 page letter 3 years ago, I was called a troublemaker, a whiner, a martyr, a drama queen, and a liar. Could be because they were the ones responsible for most of my abuse and refuse to admit it.
I am relatively calm in my dealings with child raping jerk offs because I have learned how to get inside their heads. I use their own grooming tactics against them. Allow them to settle down for what they think will be an easy mark to connive and destroy. I am a survivor, no longer a victim, and that is where they lose before they even begin.
My past is not something I tell people I care about because I have always been hurt by those I let in. It’s easier to take the inevitable betrayal if I’ve kept them at arms length. I know that’s a terrible thing to say about people I claim to care about, but it is the survival I have learned in my life. It is most times the only way I can keep going and still have the faith in this world that it takes to get out of bed in the morning and not think of ways I want to die instead.
I have no problem saying I will kill anyone who hurts my daughter. I won’t hesitate. I am not a violent person and I have never intentionally physically hurt anyone. It is in me, though. I can feel it in me and it is there if I ever need it. My daughter will never know the despair of her own mother defending someone who would hurt her. She will never be made to feel silence is the only guarantee to not discovering she is unloved and uncared for.
I’ve tried my best in the last few years to move past the hatred for my siblings. It’s not healthy for my spirit and as long as I can’t move past their abuse, I am still a victim of it. Funny how I can now say I am a survivor of the sexual abuse I suffered by the men who hurt me, but it is the abuse – including neglect – of my family I am still victimized by. Probably because they were supposed to be the ones to protect me and make me feel loved and they did just the opposite.
I could have endured what happened to me by strangers a lot better if I had a family that wanted me and loved me and made me feel I could come to them if anyone hurt me. That is why I lay the majority of the blame at their feet rather than my abusers’ and why I go after that angle of child abuse prevention so vehemently. Child sexual abuse wouldn’t be so rampant if not for the ones who allow it by neglect. Abusers wouldn’t feel so bold and empowered by their grooming skills if not for the parents who set their children up as pedo bait in the first place.
I know that talking about how my experiences affected me and my state of mind then, growing up, and now would be very beneficial to victims, survivors, parents, and others in this war against child abuse. I just had not yet reached a point that I could be so open, and so much of what I would say would undoubtedly be twisted into justification by pedos. Just like the suggestion that a 5 year old girl giggling about kissing a boy on the cheek is one scenario they use to suggest 5 year old girls are sexual. No wonder they fail with adults.
I’ve been wanting so badly to get back in touch with my family to put everything in the past in an attempt to move my status from their victim to a survivor. Not only that. I don’t think I’ll ever be cured of the need to believe I can in some way ever be loved by them and wanted. I come from a very big family. How, then, can I be so unloved and not ever feel like I am part of it? I’ve never been able to accept it even with all they have done.
And this is the cold shell of a survivor, the person abusers don’t want the world to see as the result of their “love.” We know it isn’t love they give the child they abuse. They know it, too. I can assure you the survivors of their acts can testify there was no presence of love in their abuse, and one of the biggest mistakes pedos make is forgetting people don’t remember what it’s like to be children (whether they were victims or not). So trying to convince everyone that it isn’t child rape or that they are only giving children what they want is utterly asinine. Though, you cannot expect much intelligence from adults who can only dominate children.
There is also a big difference between now and years ago. It is that abusers can no longer depend upon children remaining silent. Even their past victims are finding the courage to speak up. Times have changed. Children tell. Adults tell the stories they never could before. Everyone from councilors to talk show hosts expose child abusers every damned day. We are even bringing the Vatican to its knees.
So to all those sick fucks out there thinking you’re going to keep getting away with it and ultimately win this war we are waging against you, please do hold onto your faith, your hope, your false sense of security. Your defeat will be all the sweeter when we destroy all of that the way you try so hard to destroy it in every one of your victims.