Unspoken - Kiss of the Wolf Spider, Part I (11 page)

“I cry aloud to the LORD;

I lift up my voice to the LORD for mercy.

…no one is concerned for me

I have no refuge;

No one cares for my life.”

Psalm 142:1,4

Monday 28 August 1989

I managed to get my dad to
bring me back to school before he could do anything to me.

     Do you know what it’s
like when you have a sore finger? You always seem to bang or knock it? Well my
operation is like that. It seems like every girl in the hostel has bumped into
me. Every time I do something I get hurt again. It’s making me really mad!

We have to do a speech in
English this week. I don’t know exactly what topic to choose, but I will look
in the library.

I hated English speeches.
I never had anything interesting to talk about and as my classmates yawned or
sniggered at my talks, they always left me feeling useless and inconsequential.

One break-time, I wandered
aimlessly about the library picking up books about dolphins and killer whales.
I loved the photography but some of them were too technical for my limited
literacy skills. I saw books on cats and dogs and other pets but I’d never had
one of my own and our teacher had said it would help to choose a topic you
already know something about.

 I looked at history books
with names like
‘Pompeii’
and
‘Hiroshima’
but had no idea how to
even pronounce their titles. Plants and trees were so boring.

I offered a half-hearted
sort of prayer asking God to help me find a topic. It wasn’t as if I thought he
really cared what I talked about but I was lost for ideas. “What about
hospitals and operations?” I thought, suddenly excited. “I could talk about
appendicitis! I know about that!”

I wandered around what I
thought was a medical section looking for books starting with H for hospital
but saw
‘Heterosexual Reproduction of Annelids’.
I could barely
pronounce the three words in the title but the part that said ‘
sexual
’
beckoned me. Shocked that they had a book with the ‘sex’ word in the school
library, I sneaked it off the shelf for a peak. It was full of pictures of
earthworms!

“Yuck!” Sheepishly I
replaced it and wondered if I should be looking in O for operations, or S for
surgery? Of course not. I should look in A for ‘appendix’.  Starting at the
beginning of the A subject books I saw a title that attracted me like iron
filings to a magnet. It read ‘
Adolescent Sexual Abuse’
. Next to it was
another entitled, ‘
ABUSE. Don’t let it happen in your school.’

I’d been speculating about
the word ‘abuse’ since Mrs Martingale used it in her office! Now it kept
jumping out at me in title after title.
“
Child Abuse
”.  “
Dealing
with Childhood Abuse”.
“Abuse and Family Violence”.
  The books may
as well have had flashing neon lights around them and I was the moth being
drawn in – but were they going to enlighten or electrocute me?

With a great sense of dread
and an even greater sense of curiosity, I took several of the books about
‘sexual abuse’ and sat at a table nearby. Feeling slightly guilty, I turned a
few pages. As I skimmed, I saw chapter titles like: “What is sexual abuse?” and
“Why does it happen?” I read the first few paragraphs in horror. Embarrassed, I
replaced them on the shelves but when I realised no-one was watching, removed
them again, added a few more to the collection and signed them out when only
the librarian was at the issue desk. 

Later that day I sat in my
room paging through the books with trembling hands, but I wasn’t a great reader
so it took me ages. Finally I found a book that was easier to understand. The
author, Judith Cooney wrote:

 
“Sexual abuse is a
topic no-one wants to think about or talk about. No one likes to think about
children being forced to do sexual things… Every year in the United States at
least one out of every four girls and one out of every seven boys will be
sexually abused or molested before age eighteen…It is possible that as you read
this book, some things may confuse you or frighten you…it is essential that you
talk
over your questions, concerns or reactions with someone who will
take the time to listen…some people believe that not talking about something
troubling will make it go away. If you encounter this attitude regarding sexual
abuse, keep bringing up the subject with responsible adults until you get
help.”

The book said that
“eight
out of ten times the abuser is not the “bogeyman” hiding in the bushes. It is
instead a parent, step-parent, or grandparent….”
[1]

My heart began to pound
harder and my hands became clammy. I read that sometimes the abusers tell the
victims they will kill them if they tell. That’s why so many children don’t
tell. I read that molesters and abusers are different. Molesters often do it
only once to a stranger, and the children usually tell because the parents are
also upset and believe them.

Abusers, however, go on
doing it for months or even years because most times they know the children
well. The victims often feel bad and also guilty because it involves telling on
someone they know well… someone they may even love.

By the time I went to bed
that night, my heart was aching and my head was spinning.

Tuesday 29 August 1989

I feel sick! I was looking
for a topic for my English presentation and I found books on ‘Child Abuse’. Now
I’m so angry and upset. All the ugly things my father’s been doing to me are in
the books. I need to tell someone this is happening to me. He hits me for
nothing and he touches me and has sex with me and it is all wrong, wrong,
wrong!!!! I knew it was wrong! He has been lying to me about his “special
love”. 

 The books said sexual
abuse doesn’t occur in normal families. They said a family might look normal
but this isn’t normal behaviour. My father always acts like he cares but he
doesn’t care about me, only himself. 

Now I know why my friends
like going home. Their dads are NOT doing this to them. My father is going to
pay. He’s a liar and a child abuser and I am going to tell someone… I hope God
makes me strong enough. My mother has also been a child abuser because she’s
guilty of neglect and not loving me. And Joanne – she’s an emotional abuser and
a bully. 

I wonder why God gave me
to a family of child abusers?

Today I despise God.

My new
knowledge started a raging inferno inside me. I yelled at God from the depths
of my being. How dare He leave me with child abusers? How dare He watch and not
stop them? In the bath that night I accidentally cut myself as I shaved my legs.
I watched the blood run into the bath water, floating, swirling and it felt
good!  After that I did it on purpose, just as I had with the scissors. I
imagined that as the blood flowed out, so did my hurt, my dirt, my anger. I’d
learnt that I was a victim! I had been abused. I was bursting with defiled, filthy
blood.  But this bleeding was cleansing....

When my tears
dried up that night my heart was desolate.  Part of me loved my father but now
I knew he didn’t actually love me. If he did, he wouldn’t have been doing all
those things to me! I’d always been different from the other girls and now I
knew why. I was a freak and my dad was a
stinking liar and a traitor!

‘You have been having sex
with your father for years and years and now you know it’s wrong. Shame on you’…
said the accusing voice
within.

‘Surely, deep inside you
must have always known it was wrong? So then why did you let him do it? It must
have been your fault.’ 

‘The book said it was not
the victim’s fault.’

‘But it must have been. You
never stopped him. Maybe you liked it’!

I agonised over it for
hours. Why else would Dad have done this to me? What if I do tell someone? Will
they think I’m a terrible person? The voice of accusation tormented me day and
night.

 ‘
Of course they
will!
You’ve heard the way the girls talk about each other. They
call the ones who’ve been with their boyfriends names like sluts. You’re worse.
You’ve been doing it with your father!’

For the next few nights, nicking
myself with the razor in the bath helped release my rage as I watched my
father’s betrayal flowing out of me. How dare he? How dare he? 

In that cesspit of agony I
prepared my speech and my topic was
Child Abuse
!

 When it was my turn to
deliver my talk, my cheeks reddened as usual and with my heart drumming a
faster rhythm, I considered for a moment saying I’d left my work at home.
However, since the speech cards were in my hand, and I was loath to lie to Mrs
May, there was no retreat. 

I stood there hoping my
terrified bladder would hold out. Uncomfortably, I pulled at my short socks as
I began, aware of the Band-Aids covering my ‘shaving accidents’ and rather too
many recent ‘falls’ down the stairs. 

“
Child Abuse
!” I
said and my face began to burn.

“… Abuse victims can be
beaten up or neglected or made to feel like they are worth nothing. Some parents
harm their small babies because they cry too much. Even babies and small
children can be victims of sexual abuse. Their parents betray them and use them
as if they are their possessions….”    I went on for a couple more minutes
sharing my personal revelation of shocking fact after shocking fact. As I
spoke, I became aware that I was speaking passionately and emotionally and
amazingly, my classmates were actually listening with interest!

 Suddenly, I was terribly
vulnerable and transparent. It seemed they were all looking with X-ray vision,
straight into my heart, my life and my soul!

By the end of five minutes
(which felt like hours), I had the devastating sensation of a tsunami crashing
down on me. I was deep inside the wave, barely breathing. My heart was throbbing
and my chest was consumed with fire. I burst into tears and ran out of the
classroom, a drowning soul. Would someone hear my desperate plea for help and
throw me a lifeline?

No one followed.

That night in hostel,
Megan bounced a ball to Haley Blair. Haley threw it back. Megan threw it again
and it hit me square in the stomach. I doubled over and screamed out, “You hit
my operation. You hit my operation!” I fell howling onto my bed, sobbing
loudly.

 “I’m sorry Jane, I didn’t
mean it!”

“Yes you did. You hate me.
Everyone hates me. The whole world hates me.” My tears were loud, hot and
melodramatic. 

“No we don’t…” responded
Megan.

“You do, you do!” I
wailed.

“Don’t…”

“Well actually,
I
am
sick of you!” interjected Tinkie. “You are a big cry baby and your operation is
old now. You are being a drama queen
again
, just like Mrs Edgerton
called you in P.E. last week. You’re always looking for attention. Well now
you’ve got it…!”

 Tinkie threw a pillow at
me and I threw it back with a deep throaty scream of rage. Tinkie threw out a
string of abusive names at me and I responded in kind. Other girls joined in
and in no time the dorm sounded like a cattery.

Eventually, I grabbed my
duvet and pillow and removed myself to the passage in protest. I would sleep,
bundled up on the floor facing the wall, discarded, rejected, and engulfed in
my own misfortune.  

“Oh Jane go back to your
room, you’re being so silly,” came some girls’ responses.

“Yes. You’re just looking
for attention.”

“Megan didn’t do it on
purpose!”

“Yes she did…”

“Tinkie didn’t mean it…”

“Yes I did…”

The arguments continued a
while but eventually they ended with someone saying, “Just leave her. Let her
freeze, she won’t accept an apology and she’s just being ridiculous.”

I lay there listening to
the girls, my friends, my enemies. I cried. I wallowed. I prayed.

“Dear God I know I’m being
stupid but they’re all against me. They don’t know what I’ve been going
through. They don’t know that I’m an abuse victim and that my father’s been
lying to me about his ‘special love’. They don’t know how horrid it is for me
to find out how betrayed I am. How could you let my Dad do those sick things to
me, God? How? When you knew it was wrong.

“Lord I really want it to
stop and the only way is to tell someone but what if they don’t believe me?
What then? Last time I tried to tell, the nun phoned and told on me. Dad beat
me up! Surely you remember that! If they phone my Dad again and tell him, then you
know he’ll really kill me. You know he has a gun. I’ve seen it in the gun safe.
It’s that big old collectors’ rifle he’s so proud of.”