Lisbeth says as she begins to tattoo her rapist: Lie Still. I’ve never done this before…and there will be blood.
This is a touchy subject for me to write about. The event kind of shaped my life and made me who I am. After watching The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo last night it really got me to thinking…. It was hard for me to sit and watch the rape scene. Mainly because it is something that happened to me when I was a young girl. Not as violently of course, but it happened all the same. And it really doesn’t fucking matter if it was as violent as it was in the movie. It just was. I was raped by my babysitter’s son when I was three years old. He stayed with me and the other day care kids while she went to the grocery store. You say how can remember? You were only three. Honey I remember it like it was yesterday. Have someone violate you and tell me you don’t remember every, damn, detail…. I remember it because it hurt. Because I was scared. Because I was protecting my little sister, so it wouldn’t happen to her. He told me to stay quiet, and I did. I did everything he told me to. And I never told anyone either. Not until I was an adult and I finally told my mother. She and I were quite drunk one night and I just let it pour out of me. She was heartbroken that she never knew. How would she have though? I never said a word. I never said anything because I was scared but I was also protecting my little sister. If it happened to me, then it wouldn’t happen to her.
I’m so damn angry that it happened. But what makes me angrier is that I was too afraid to say anything, to anyone. I think about all the other girls that this probably happened to. I want so badly to remember who he is. I want to find him. I want to know what happened to him. I WANT TO HURT HIM! I’m kind of hoping he died in a fiery crash. That he got terminal cancer and every part of his body rotted off. I’m hoping that another girl spoke up. I’m hoping that another girl fought back. I’m hoping against all hope that he was found out. I also hope he choked to death on his own dick. Or that someone cut if off!
After finally opening up about this with some close friends a few years ago. I found out that this has happened to some of them. I’ve had friends that were abused by their own family. Friends abused by other “friends”. What’s so strange is that it happens with such frequency. And that it very rarely happens with a stranger. That’s what gets to me. Members of my own family have done it to others in the family!!!!! I can say it was in the past, but it still happened! I know that the predators are in hell, where they should be. I don’t know how so many of us have endured the pain, the struggle, the shame. The shame gets to me still. It kind of followed me around when I was young. Made me rebellious and sexually promiscuous.
What it also did for me was make me diligent with making sure it never happened to my kids. I told my dear Grandma B. one time that if anyone ever touched, molested or raped my child I would kill the person that did it. Grandma was shocked when I said that. She was worried that I would go to jail. I told her not to worry, no jury would convict me. And if they did, they’d have their dad to raise them. My children would also know how much I loved them, because I killed the person that took their innocence. Grandma just shook her head and looked at me like I was crazy. I wasn’t crazy, just committed to my beliefs of what I’d do. I mean what I say, and I say what I mean.
I’m not really sure why I wrote about this but I just had to get it out. I see people in my life that are still struggling with what happened to them when they were children. How it still hurts them. I want to take that pain away from them. To tell them to protect that young person that is still inside of all of us. The child that was hurt. It may have happened a long time ago but it can still come back to haunt us. If you have young children, protect them the best you can. Tell them that you love them and not keep secrets. Tell them to fight if they have to. Most of all tell them not to be afraid to speak up.