antonsotherkey

First of all, let me say that I'm new to Livejournal, so I may not have posted things in the correct format or anything.  Let me know if I need to move stuff around.  Also, this is my first attempt to ever open up even the littlest bit to anyone, and I'm struggling to put my experiences into words for the first time.  Now this is going to be hard, and I’m probably going to write awkwardly, but I'll do my best just pouring it out.

    You know what’s a funny word?  Rape.  It’s four letters, four little unobtrusive letters, none of them particularly rare like x or z.  Yet this little four letter word can completely change someone’s life.  There’s scars, mentally and physically, and self-confidence and security go down the drain.  I mean, rape as an adult is terrible enough as it is.  But as a seven year old?  Do you remember how you got “the Talk” as a kid?  When your dad or mom sat down and awkwardly explained the birds and the bees, and you just listened, slightly bored, because it didn’t mean anything to you yet?  I never got that talk.  I knew since age seven exactly how people had babies, and I knew it in a quite personal way.  Four times a week, sometimes five, depending on his mood.  It’s funny.  I was the most trusting little kid, and I never knew that this was something that kids shouldn’t be doing.  I mean, I knew it hurt, and I cried the first couple of times, but I figured out quickly that that wouldn’t help, and it wouldn’t stop him from coming.  And you know why I hate Barbies?  He always used to come to my room under the pretext that he was playing Barbies with me, so he could lock the door and pretend that he had a real reason to be in my bedroom with me.  I threw out all my Barbies then.  I never throw things out.  Except then.  And you know what else is funny?  I doubt I’ll ever enjoy sex.  I mean, those were my first hundred or so experiences, and now, even as a teenager, I just don’t get aroused or anything.  Maybe it’s turned me frigid.  I mean, that’s conditioning at its worst.  I’ve tried everything, but I doubt I’ll ever get any enjoyment out of sex.  I just see him all the time.  And it wasn’t until I was in 7^th grade that I really found out what sex was supposed to be like, and that what he was doing was wrong.  Well, they didn’t tell me the second part.  I kind of figured that out on my own.  But that didn’t stop him.  He never really stopped.  Last time he tried was over this summer.  And I can’t really stop him, you know?  He’s bigger than me, much bigger.  And stronger.  It’s not like I haven’t tried.  But I gave up years ago.  Oh, he tries not to hurt me as much anymore, which makes it so much harder.  But he tries to make me feel good, tries to pretend to himself that I’m a willing lover, and it makes it so much harder to hate him.  It would be easier if he was violent.  He never talks about it, not even we’re alone.  It’s like he tries to pretend that it never happens.  And every time, after he finishes, he tells me that “we can’t do this anymore, it’s wrong”, as if I had a choice, as if I were instigating it.  I just don’t know what to do.  Did you know I’ve never had an orgasm in my life?  I don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like.  Any time I get the littlest bit aroused, it’s immediately killed, because of the association my body makes.  I’ll never be able to have an orgasm, I think.  Too much conditioning.  Oh well, I can live with that.  It’s certainly not the worst of my problems.  I’d be more concerned about the fact that I can’t stand anyone touching me, and that I’m terrified of a relationship of any sort.  If any guy starts to act like he likes me in the slightest way, I ignore him or avoid him or discourage him, simply because I can’t stand that anyone might want to get close to me.  And I hate that about myself.  I hate a lot of things about myself.  But that one is pretty high on the list.  He always told me I was beautiful, that he loved me “so much”, that I had a gorgeous body and he couldn’t help himself.  He told me that since he started, when my body was still a child’s, and he still tells me that.  I think that’s why I always hide my body under baggy clothes and never show any skin.  I can’t stand that someone would look at me at all.  I’m afraid if they do, they’ll be like him, like they can’t help themselves.  I don’t trust anyone anymore.  Especially guys.  But also everyone else, because nobody noticed it was happening and made it stop when I was still young enough to be saved.  No, if anybody found out now, I’d be blamed for not coming forth before, like I wanted it to happen or something.  But you have to understand, I didn’t know it was wrong until middle school.  And then, I was too ashamed.  Could you imagine telling someone this?  Especially if it was someone that no one would ever imagine would do something like this?

            Know what?  It was my older brother, and he has Asperghers Syndrome.  It’s a type of high-functioning autism, where the person often acts like a normal person but has trouble with social skills.  So they probably wouldn’t even blame him anyway, even though he knew what the fuck he was doing.  You know, when I was seven he started by telling me that he wanted to “practice” for other girls at his school.  I thought I was just helping my big brother out at first, because no one had told me it was wrong.  At least, until it hurt the first time.

            The worst part is that I can’t tell anyone.  No one in my family would listen; they all have their own problems anyway.  My mom’s mentally unstable, and my dad can’t stand up to her.  She took a wood saw to my door when I was 9, because I ate a cookie before breakfast.  And my older brother, the same one that constantly raped me, was taken to a mental hospital when he was 15 because he fired arrows through the window of my house after my mom locked him out (she was scared of him).  I was hiding behind the couch with my little brother, who was 6 at the time, scared out of my fucking mind.  I can’t make this shit up.  And I know that I’m not supposed to blame myself, but I just can’t deal with the guilt anymore of no one knowing.  I hate the idea of sex, and I doubt I’ll ever have a normal sexual experience.  Besides, I’m damaged goods anyway.  I’m just scared he’ll try again, and I still won’t have the courage to tell anyone.