a_small_thing (a_small_thing) wrote in dsafgrrl,

I'm just not sure..

Hi..   I joined this community because I didn't know where else to say all this, so if I don't belong here, just delete this, or something. I wasn't raped or anything, I guess a lot of comms out there don't care if you didn't.

My mom got married to her third husband when I was thirteen.  

He was all right in the beginning, but he started saying stuff that no man should say to a girl, much less a stepdaughter.   He asked me if I masturbated, and about my menstruation a few times.  He said that since I was so creative I could write "some really erotic shit", and that I should get into pornography (not long afterward I discovered yaoi (basically male homosexual anime), and wrote a fanfic-- he took it out of my jeans pocket and threatened to show it to my mother, because "she might like to know what a pervert her daughter was"), and then he said he thought I'd look good as a lesbian, and asked if I had any thoughts about girls  (I'm bisexual and had been, for as long as I could remember ever having sexual thoughts at all, but I repressed it in high school because of this comment).  He called me a whore every day and smiled, like it was funny.

He would lie about things I had done wrong to my mother so that she would punish me.  He would undo my bra under my shirt.  One time he reached down my pants and pulled my pubic hair.  He would pull my nipples and hair all the time while we were 'play-fighting'.   One time, I came home from school and found his pants and underwear on my floor; I think he masturbated or possibly urinated somewhere in my room, but I couldn't prove it.   He would get his sons, my stepbrothers, to try to sneak into my room while I was sleeping "to see if I sleep naked", or put a hand mirror under the bathroom door so he could watch me take a shower.  He would stare at me while I ate food, and then say he wasn't, while he was staring me in the face; he started staring at me all the time, until I was afraid to leave my room.  He would talk about how it wasn't uncommon for the father in some families to "have" the girl children first. 

He and Mom were fighting a lot by then;  I remember having to hang up the phone while I was talking to my friend because, even though I was hiding in the closet at the time, he could still hear them screaming over money-- literally two dollars-- over the phone.   Over time I started to catch wise to what he was doing, it felt like he was feeling me out to see if he could intimidate me into keeping quiet if he ever sexually assaulted me.  I should say here that he was six-foot-four and about 400 pounds (he was a big, fat bastard) at that point, and a seargeant at a correctional facility whose job was to beat up unruly convicts, so he was pretty scary.

I wrote a journal entry on my computer saying that I knew what he was up to, and that if he wanted to rape me or molest me I wouldn't be able to stop him, but I wouldn't stay quiet about it, and I wrote a promise to myself saying that if he did it, he would have to kill me to shut me up.  I promised myself I wouldn't just become another statistic.  I became more afraid when he started coming home drunk, passing out on the floor and pissing himself on the living room rug.  But I promised, and I stayed strong.

A few days later he came to me and said that I should be ashamed of myself for writing something like that; he'd gone into my computer and found my private journal (not an lj or anything, just a Notepad doc) and read it.   He said that if anyone read that, they would 'get the wrong idea' about him, and how dangerous false accusations like that would be.   I said I understood, but I think he knew I meant business.  The stares and the mean words and the shouting got bad after that, calling me names and things, but he never laid a perverse hand on me again. 

So I don't actually know if I was actually abused or not.  I feel messed up inside, but since I wasn't raped or molested, I feel like my problems don't count.  Nobody ever beat me or hit me or anything, so I don't really have the right to complain, do I?   I'm scared f the sound of big trucks because of the one he drove, and I have nightmares where he's found me again.  There's a part of me that's still terrified that he'll show up at my house one day to harass me, even though I've moved far away and have a new family, away from everyone there.   I don't know how to tell my boyfriend of five years, or my best friend who lives with us, or if I even should.  

I've been away from there for seven years now, but I'm still messed up over it and lately I think about it a lot.... somebody help? 

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