When I was 9, my parents divorced. It turned out my dad had been cheating on my mom with a woman who worked for him. She had 3 kids with 3 different men, two of which were adults living away from home and one son who was 15 or 16 at the time. Let’s call him D. From the first day I met D, he employed extreme physical, emotional and psychological abuse against my brother and me, things like calling us names, telling us we were worthless and stupid, pinning us down, hitting us, pushing us, dominating us in every way he could think of. He forced us to lie for him, and threatened us with physical harm if we didn’t comply. He would have angry outbursts over tiny things that were never consistent, half the time he ignored us and half the time he would flip his lid if we spoke too loudly. Among other things of course. He would taunt and harass my brother and me to the point of tears and then angrily abuse us for crying, saying we were “too old” to cry. He had arbitrary rules about what things in the house were his and therefore were off limits for us, such as certain foods and control of the tv. His mother, our step mother, fully sided with him and treated us like animals, we weren’t even allowed to exist around her. We were kept watching television in the basement during visits and weren’t allowed out of that room unless given express permission from her. It’s not a huge surprise D turned into an abusive narcissist, after growing up with an abusive narcissist for a mother.
This is just a little bit of background to give the idea of my relationship with D before the sexual abuse started. He started by switching to a gentle and funny personality, and asking me to massage his back for him. I was 9 or 10, he was 15-17. I, of course, was terrified to refuse anything he asked me, and I was eager to do whatever I could to keep him in a “nice” mood. He then escalated to playing “dress up” with me, where we would go to his room and I would dress in all his clothes. This was always silly and playful for me, a young girl, dressing in a teenage boy’s clothing. It feels a lot weirder looking back as an adult. He then started inviting me into his bed at night, where he would put his hand down my pants and talk about sexual acts and sexually explicit things with me. This eventually escalated to me touching him, after he told me to. I was always afraid to contradict him or to say no to him, and I was always uncomfortable with these sex acts taking place. It eventually stopped when my dad and step mom moved out of the country and I stopped seeing D all together. Throughout my young adulthood, we crossed paths a few more times, with some more inappropriate behaviour on his part, though nothing of the magnitude of the events from my childhood.
I never told anyone this, because I always believed it wasn’t “real” sexual abuse and I was convinced nobody would believe me. This happened 20 years ago, in a place that holds extremely conservative views and honestly is a breeding ground for people like D and the abuse they perpetuate. I never told my mom because I know it will only make her feel awful, and I never told my dad because he’s completely under my step moms thumb and she sees D as a golden child, so who knows the drama I could cause by bringing it up. My brother ended up briefly acknowledging that he suffered sexual abuse at the hands of an older male relative, which I can be almost certain was D, due to the fact he abused me too, but I’ve never found any further details about my brother’s abuse.
Thanks for letting me get this story off my chest, I’ve written about it in my journal but it’s nice to think someone else may know my story too.