A reader contacted me about a form of child abuse that I have not directly addressed on my blog (although I have mentioned it in passing a couple of times). This type of child abuse involved unnecessary enemas, tubes, and object insertion as part of the abuse.
This form of abuse is covered in the movie Sybil. Sybil’s mother would give her an unnecessary enema. She would then tie her up by the piano, play the piano, and threaten Sybil if she wet her pants. Of course, Sybil’s bladder would give out, which would set off the next round of abuse. I know a man who suffered similar abuse by his female babysitter. She would give him unnecessary enemas and then take him out in public without allowing him to use a bathroom. Of course, he would wet himself and be humiliated.
I joined a message board called Making Daughters Safe Again, which is specifically for survivors of mother-daughter sexual abuse. I was blown away by how many mothers gave their daughters unnecessary enemas! I even questioned whether there was something weird about my own mother-daughter sexual abuse experience because she didn’t give me unnecessary enemas. That is how common this form of abuse was in that circle of child abuse survivors.
Tubes are used to force a child to ingest a harmful (or simply gross) substance. It is the same idea as the enema, only the tube is going down the throat.
My sister and I were subjected to object insertion. S, my most sadistic abuser, would force us to play “doggie.” I was the male dog, and my baby sister was the female dog. S forced me to insert objects into my sister as part of the “game,” which was absolutely nauseating to me.
Object insertion involves inserting any object (hair brush, enema, curling iron, etc.) into any orifice in a child. What is especially confusing to the child is the why? The child is getting no pleasure out of the object insertion, so what is the point of the activity? It is about sadistic abuse and about breaking the child’s will and dignity.
If you have endured any of these forms of abuse, you are not alone. I generally hear about them in two types of settings – sexual abuse by women and as a part of ritual abuse. I am not saying that no man has ever used these tactics – I am sure many have. However, it does seem to be a more common practice by a female abuser than by a male one. Perhaps the reason that enemas, tubes, and object insertion are talked about less is because they are more frequently done by women, and talking about female abusers is harder for a lot of child abuse survivors than talking about abuse by men.
Photo credit: Lynda Bernhardt
Blooming Lotus 
Faith, it’s brave of you to write about this. It’s also such a humiliating part of abuse that it’s very hard to respond. But I feel I must because all of this happened to me…regularly….for about 14 years. And it’s such an isolating part of the abuse.all of the abuse seems to isolate us, but the “especially unmentionable” parts seem to put us into a cone of silence that makes us very alone. It seems unfair that the shame of such acts rest so heavily on the ones who suffered instead of the one(s) who did the act(s). So I’m acknowledging this for two reasons.
The first is personal. It’s my statement that, what “they” did, what was inserted, the rapes, the tortures, the things i had to do against my choice, the shame of that is THEIRS not mine. They tried to destroy dignity, identity and even destiny, but…I choose to live, even to find joy and thrive and am discovering who I am and embracing the “real” me. I fight the shame and blame and weight of it all, but someplace deep inside me now, I know that the shame is theirs.
The second purpose is for others who have experienced such things, just to say “you’re not alone” and “you’re not to blame.” You also did not deserve it. People, abusers, made horrendously evil choices and you suffered, but it was never ever your choice.
Ok, am off my soapbox now. Hands shaking again.
Thanks Faith,
Ruby
Thank you for writing this entry, I can’t say much else right now and maybe shouldn’t have read it right now, (triggered…ugh) but thank you any way. It does help when people bring these things out of the silence they are surrounded in.
Not_just_me
I have gone thru that kind of abuse in my childhood by my mother. Enemas many times a week for punishment. Things inserted down my throat with some kind of acid that would burn for a long time,. A so called friend putting pencils into my behind. My mother did many things, and I relate to Cybl in many ways. My grandfather and mother and uncle were my abusers through out my life. I’ve started drawing pictures of these things that have happned to me, but as I do them more comes to mind. The sketches help, they help by me not thinking about them anymore. It’s all in a sketch book. I’m on my 3rd book. But I can’t stand for anyone to touch me below including my husband, which has taken a toll on our marriage of 16 yrs. HELP…..
Hi, Audrey.
I strongly suggest that you find a qualified therapist with experience working with survivors of severe child abuse. You don’t have to live like this any longer. A good therapist can help you heal.
– Faith
Audrey-
Just the fact you can be alive, writing this, says something about the life deep down inside you. That is so messed up. They stole your life from you. My God-and to do this to CHILDREN. These people are so sick. They rob us of our lives. The very people who are suppose to be supportive and build us into women and men…they take that from us. They still the very heart of who we are. They do the opposite of what any normal, loving, human-being knows is right.
Oh, Audrey. I’m with you. Live your life. We are all special people who have been through this. We are always damaged. We can never recover what was taken. But we have insights that no other people have. We can feel things on such a deeper level. We can appreciate things on that same deep level. We can show kindness to others. We can turn this suffering into strength. If we can survive what was taken from us. No other human being on this planet can hurt us. They can try. But we can just stare them back in the face and let them know they are nothing. We’ve walked through fire.
God Bless You.
Steve
Hi I just came across your blog. My father, who is a doctor, use to give me enemas regularly as I was constipated a lot. I actually forgot about it until my mother mentioned it to me. While I know that he was emotionally abusive, controlling and degrading to us, I am starting to have dreams about him molesting. I have had plenty of dreams of my parents chasing me but them seem to be getting more graphic. I am starting to wonder whether the constipation and a constantly itchy vagina were signs of sexual abuse. My parents have currently taken to a small boy who they take every where with them, including vacation. I have blocked out almost all of my childhood. And have been in and out of psychiatric hospitals my entire life. I am almost positive something traumatic happened to me.
I spent years trying to figure out what happened to me, but it was there all along and I didn’t want to admit it. My mother gave me a lot of suppositories and enemas as a child, but I thought it was just medical treatment. I knew that it felt creepy and sexual, but I thought I was the perverted one. If I was such a pervert, though, why did I cry and beg her not to do it? And yet, even now, after I’ve recognized it as rape, I have trouble seeing my mother as an abuser. I find it easier to admit I was abused than to admit she was the perpetrator. I still love her and want to protect her memory. Besides, who would believe me, anyway?
I believe you.
– Faith
I have panic attacks anytime the subject comes up. I’ve recieved enemas, supositories, and rectal thermometers until I was old enough to decide that other punishment was better. I’ll be in therapy for a while, but would gladly take a lobotomy over the memories. Me Too, I’m with you!
I feel the same way you feel, and I understand you 100%. I have suffered the same kind of abuse as far as I can go back with my memory.
My biological mother is stil alive. (We live in different countries) And I realized today that I can’t tell what is the difference between an “Unnecessary Enema” and a “Legitimate or Necessary Enema” just because I could not understand that “difference” when I was a Toddler or baby (she later admitted she gave Enemas when I was a baby…)
I hate my mother. I admit and recognise she is “only” an abuser and she’ll never have a place in my life any more.
Sorry for my poor English
My mother also gave me excessive suppositories and enemas all through my early childhood. It took me into my 20s to realize it was sexual abuse. I’m so glad to find this blog, because I truly thought I was the only one. My siblings (bro and sis) never had it happen to them. I was the only victim in the family, but clearly not the only one in the world. I believe you too Faith.
Yes, Tiffany, you are not imagining things. You were sexually abused by your father and possibly mother – why else would they “suddenly taken interest to a small boy whom they take every where with them, including vacation.”
You MUST protect that boy. Tell your parents that if they persist in taking that child on vacations or having anything to do with him that you will notify the parents of that child and go to the police with your concerns. This is not normal “adult” behavior with another person’s child.
I am so sorry you have suffered and have been hospitalized due to what OTHERS have done to you. You also may not remember much because before the age of four, in particular, a toddler/infant has no way of making sense or vocalizing the abuse….but the brain because re-organized and the phobias come out because the body remembers. I believe abuse is a major reason for psychiatric hospitalizations, very sad. Take care, Tiffany.
Actually, I would inform the parents that you were abused by them and that they’ve probably already abused the litte boy, and lots more to come.
Tiffany sounds like a troll, but anybody looking for serious feedback should most certainly ignore Renata’s lousy advice. If a child is in danger, you don’t threaten the abuser. You contact the parents, the police, and anybody else who can intervene.
I have experienced the same problem with my mother. For any reason she would give me many enamas during a week. I as an adult of 58 cannot standto write the word or say the word, or hear someone is going to get one. Anyone that might touch me in the back area, I freak out and jump and panic, run and feel dirty and wash. It will never go away. If I see the bag in someones bathroom, I cannot use the bathroom and ave to wait until I leave. How do you live in society?
Audrey. Yes, I have panic attacks when I hear the word enema or suppository also. I was so young when my mother abused me, I couldn’t pronounce the damn word and called them “posiforties.” I hate the word either way. I see them in the drugstore and remember mother taking me shopping for them as a child, and the shame of the pharmacist knowning I’d be getting them. As an expert manipulator, she’d convinced the pharmacist and my father that I “needed” them because of constipation. I only remember getting constipated once, but I remember enemas every other day.
Thank you for writing about this. In the past few years, I have been examining things that happened to me and my siblings growing up.
We did have an abuse situation, by a very cunning and charming mother. She was investigated at one point, but she is so well connected and smart , she was able to deflect it.
She was extremely verbally negative about sexuality. On the flip side, she went through half her day in flimsy night gowns, hanging out..and sometimes just her panties. She took care of my handicapped brother dressed like this, until he was old enough to demand his own aide.
She was big on enemas for me. As well as hitting and all kinds of other temper related abuse.
The last time I saw her was after my father’s death. I was the sibling who unfortunately volunteered to stay with her. She walked into the livingroom in just her panties (age 77), sat down and began lecturing me about my divorce (to an abusive man), about my sexuality, about my father, siblings, etc. Then she accused me of ‘liking to stare at her tits’.
I got up, went to the phone and changed my flight and left. I have not seen her since. My sibs are upset with me and suddenly buying into her charm (they all have accused her of the things she did to them). I have never spoken with them about this incident. I refuse to put myself in harms way again.
My mother (who abused with enemas and suppositories) always wore her panties around the house, never wore a bra in the home, always left the door open a crack while changing, and the bathroom door wide open while using the bathroom, always saying she was “too hot” for pants, or that she was “too claustorphobic” to close the doors. That was normal for our house. Glad to see I’m not the only one who thinks it isn’t.
Thank you for this blog. I am moving through my healing very slowly and this blog has just helped me uncover yet another level of my mother’s abuse. I was subjected to enemas, suppositories, and bathing of my genitals up until the age of 8 or 9 – by my mother.
It all felt very creepy and very sexual but I don’t know that I have ever believed myself – or that it was actually sexual abuse before I read the comments here. She also beat me until I was black and blue – so I’m not sure why I would doubt that she was an abuser.
Boy! This is a heavy one.
WOW. That never happened to me, but knowing that it happened to so many others — at the hands of their mums??? I thought mums were supposed to be safe. Im so scared to interact with people after this — what if I meet someone who does things like that?? oh god. The fear is sickening. How do you cope? How do you not have a panic attack? How do you function? I wish I had your strength. Thankyou for your blog.
***trigger warning***
One of my earliest childhood memories is being draped over my mother’s knees getting an enema. I have read the posts where people say they were traumatized by the experience, but to the contrary, I transferred it to a strong part of my sexuality. These enemas stopped in early childhood, but my love of receiving enemas never left me. My mother was very bowel obsessed, and even though she may not give me an enema at any given time she was in an enema mood, I was, even as a small child, aware that she was administering them to herself on an amazingly frequent basis. I was born in 1950 and back then giving children frequent enemas was not considered out of the norm. Polio was rampant, and locally owned Rexall drug stores had a whole row of enema and douching equipment proudly on display. These enemas were never ever given as punishment. It was more of the line, “I don’t think your bowels are doing very good, let’s go into the bathroom and I am going to give you a good hot soapy enema.” And at that point she would take my by the hand and lead me into the bathroom and I would take off my clothes while she prepared the enema, and even though I was very young, I got a sexual excitement out of the procedure, even though I was too young to even know what sex was. To this day receiving and giving enemas is a strong part of my sexuality. I am not sure what I experienced was abuse, because it was never punitive and compared to the frequency with which other children received enemas, not that frequent. As an example, I have a friend that received many more enemas at the hands of his mother than I did and he hates enemas. I suppose that it is just the way some people develop and had my mother never subjected me to enemas I may have developed an attraction to them anyway.
Wow, another profound post. Phil, I like your terminology “bowel obsessed” I’m still debating whether to call it abuse, or just over-zealous Mothering. I mean, I would get enemas once or twice a week, until I was old enough to lie about my bowel habits.
“Did you go #2 today?”
“Yep”
“Well you were supposed to come and get me, so I could see it.”
“Sorry – I forgot.”
That’s it, that’s all it took to end the enemas. After a few days, she stopped asking me.
I want to mention, I read in a childcare book, that small children don’t always go every day like adults do. This has something to do with their digestive systems being very efficient & absorbing more nutrients from the food. They don’t pass the food until their bodies are finished getting everything out of it. My Mother thought that if you didn’t have a bowel movement every single day, you were constipated. (No wonder I was so skinny. She was forcing my body to expel the food before it was done digesting??)
Anyway, frequent – unnecessary enemas can lead to a medical condition called lazy bowel. Wonder if that’s related to my IBS. Anyone else have bowel problems as an adult?
i dont remember being given enemas but i do remember the enema bag we had for hot soapy water…i knew what it was and what it was forand it ‘bothered me’ in my memory i was uncomfortable around it. it was red and thick smelly plastic. i remember it.. so, maybe i just havent remebered that yet. or not. i do remember my mother giving me douches at a very young age to make me clean. i had posted on this post because i needed a place to ask about being forced to climax with my father watching with a hairbrush to my vaginal area/clitoris and that tho he had done it to me 1st i continues to abuse myself with that form of masterbation until i was in my 20’s. it was a compulsion. i still freak out over hairbrushes and have so much shame attached to the hairbrush thing. not him doing it to me. but me doing it to myself and for years. / i did want to ask that question that ponderingpothead brought up. does anyone else have bowel trouble as an adult? i do. i always always did as a child. i can remember being given many many white chewable laxatives to ‘make me go’. and i have trouble still. i have figured that the ongoing problem with constipation ive always had was due to my bodys reaction and way of coping with being forced into anal sex so young and so often and with objects. does that make sense? or am i just reaching?
I think it makes perfect sense for someone who suffered from enemas and anal rape to have bowel issues in adulthood. I am convinced that my infertility is from all of the vaginal rapes as a child. I worked with two different infertility practices who could not find a definitive cause, and my body was resistant to multiple treatments.
– Faith
Hi PP,
In some ways consider yourself lucky. I know of cases where forgetting to show that you ‘went’ whether intentional or accidental resulted in you getting an ‘immediate’ soapsuds enema, even if you just went, so you ‘wouldn’t forget’ next time!
YES I’ve had IBS since I was a kid, but didn’t realize what it was. Could barely eat through my teen years. I’ve now read somewhere that there is a higher instance of IBS among people who endured childhood trauma, as well as a higher instance of autoimmune diseases which I also have had (in remission now thank God). I remember hearing an author speak about how after she wrote about her childhood emotional abuse her digestive problems disappeared – might be silly but I cling to that hope.
I had to google “childhood enema abuse” to find this wonderful place. I am triggered by the previous post and wonder why the person is visiting, why they are posting.
I am also 58, like another poster, and still have body memories and panic when my mind is somehow reminded of the events.
I told my therapist of 3 years briefly, just that my mother used it as punishment. I have always wondered if it was also her sexual turn on. I haven’t been able to say more in therapy, but then I struggle to say much at all in therapy anyway. My therapist is psychodynamic/psychoanalytic and I like her and therapy a lot and someday will get to this, I hope, if I can find the words, if I can talk about this out loud.
I can’t sleep on my stomach. I have to get up and move if I get body sensations. I get nauseas. I shut down.
I am so amazed to have found this site. Thank you so much for being brave to talk about the hard stuff.
Hi, Accidental Tourist.
Welcome to my blog!
I have added a trigger warning to the post that triggered you. Sorry about that. I did not suffer from this form of abuse, so it was not triggering to me when I approved it.
– Faith
Thank you Faith so much for your blog. It helps to know I am not alone. I was subjected to punitive sexual violations by my grandmother from age 3 to 8 while my grandfather watched. I was told I was evil, dirty, the devil’s spawn. At 54 years old the memories have come flooding in after I lost a lot of weight. I feel much shame, dirtyness and loathsomeness. I cannot say, read out loud or write the word.
Nancy
My mother was a nurse. She thought of enemas as a health procedure. She gave hot soapy enemas to me in the bathroom with me lying naked on a towel. I would have to lie still for 5-10 minutes after having been filled to to bursting and in severe pain until she returned an gave me the signal to sit on the toilet. I was maybe 3-5 years old.
I never felt or thought of it as abuse until I began my work as a psychologist learning to help victims of child abuse. Now I think she was re-enacting her own abuse at the hands of her sadistic father. She never hinted she was abused, but I can easily imagine it knowing him.
I am now 75 years old and in the middle of my second divorce. My first wife complained of my not wanting to be touched and having premature ejaculations. My second wife is divorcing me for my having lost interest in her sexually.
Peter,
I think your comments are very astute, i.e. you saw behavior in one generation (your grandfather) and how the behavior was passed on to another (your mother). Much of what now days falls into the category of child abuse was very culturally accepted many years ago and passed down from generation to generation. Children were looked at more as chattel and child abuse laws were virtually non-existent up until about 1970. Subjecting children to severe and humiliating corporal punishment and/or frequent enemas was never questioned. It might raise a few eyebrows with neighbors, but it was more of an attitude of, “Well, that is just the way their family does it,” and there was never any real question of intervening.
I am writing again becauase I am healing with therapy and can now tell my story. My grandmother gave me shaming painful enemas with my grandfather watching from the time I was 3 till I was 8 years old. Many times I couldn’t hold the enema so would soil myself which has only intesified the feelings of dirtiness on the inside and out I have now. She called me dirty, evil, the devils’s spawn and that I should never have been born. I blocked these memories out for many, many years and it was only when I lost a lot of weight that I felt unprotected and the memories came flooding back. I am working hard in therapy doing inner child work. The hardest part is seeing that the shame and feelings of dirtiness and self-loathing belong to my grandparents not me. THanks for writing about this topic.
Nancy
Thanks Phil.
What you say is also astute, it wasn’t conscious pedophilia, it was an innocent and unconscious re-enactment with a healthcare intention. I do allow for some consciousness of erotic sensation. I know her to have been very perceptive and open within herself. In her mind she was being a good mother/nurse keeping with the ethos of the late 1930s.
I do feel abuse. I am late to accept that. I am also forgiving.
Thanks again for responding to me.
Peter,
I , like you, am also forgiving and have to say that although what happened may have been ill advised, I never saw any malice in the procedures performed on me. In addition to the enemas, I was also, as a very young child, subjected to frequent corporal punishment at the hands on my mother who would take me into either the bathroom or my bedroom and remove all of my clothes and spank me with either her hand, a ruler, her hairbrush, or on occasions, require me to go out into the yard and pick a switch for her to use on me. And in the neighborhood I was raised in, a blue collar working class neighborhood (everyone worked for GM) no one batted an eye at this type of treatment. My mother was fairly active socially and I recall, as a small child, hanging around the bridge tables in our home and hearing the women discuss openly how they punished their children with corporal punishment and enemas that they gave themselves and their children. I might add parenthetically that this was back in the days when they still gave the traditional large volume hot soapsuds enemas prior to childbirth and virtually all of these women talked of these enemas openly with a tone of admiration, fear and dread. In other words, enemas were, for many, just a way of life back then.
What the overall sexual gratification was back then is impossible to say, because it was also so egosyntonic with the entire culture that any sexual gratification from and giving an enema or a spanking would have been perfectly acceptable and, sadly enough, considered just one of the benefits of having children.
I am a 61 yo man and my story is almost exactly like Phil’s. My mother was a caring, loving woman who I’m sure meant well and my decision to continue with klysmaphila is my choice. However, I’m also sure that if I didn’t receive so many enemas I never would’ve gotten to where I am today. I have an obsession with douching also as the bag was always on the bathroom door in our House and at my mother’s mom’s house. I am bowel obsessed, using laxatives and suppositories when I feel the urge for enemas and it’s not a practical time to do that. One thing to mention is that I never used any of these with my children except once for my young son’s prep for a medical procedure and I made sure my wife was present. My wife does know that I like enemas from my childhood so when she told me that I had to prep my son (I’m in patient care where I have to help with barium enemas-never alone) I asked her to be with me when I gave my son his enema sothere could never be anthing said. My son did’nt really want her there until see offered to hold his hand. The point being is that I never wanted to take a chance on passing this psychological addiction on to my children. I say addiction because, as you know from your research, klismaphiles very rarely want to be cured of of the desire. One more thing I don’t have lazy bowel because things do move along ok without interventionl, that’
Thank you for bringing awareness to the topic of enema abuse. I am an incest and SRA survivor who received ememas from my father in a weekly repetitive manner – always connected to the excuse that I could not have a proper bowel movement on my own. At times, I was forced to sit on the toilet for long periods of time to “try” to go, but it was inevitable that I would fail. This perpetutated the false belief that the enemas were my fault for being unable to poop on command.
I was in my early 20’s when I finally began to see this as the sexual assault that it was and not some “medical procedure” that I needed because I was deficient at evacuation. Of course, as a result, I was also struggling with extreme constipation which finally cleared up as I began to heal and remember the truth.
While I do not recall my mother’s presence during the enema attacks, I do have clear memory of her going to the grocery store and picking up several bottles of “Fleet” enemas along with her bread and milk. She most certainly supported it, and did nothing to stop it even if she was not around during the assaults. My mother was every bit the classic “denier” with her head stuck in the sand.
There was a period of time in my recovery when I had intense anger regarding this abuse, and I decided one day that I would go and buy a Fleet and just destroy it. So I found a safe place outside and I stomped on it, screamed at it, and took a pair of scissors and tore it into pieces. I told it that it would NEVER harm me again. It might sound silly, but it was a very powerful excercise.
Bonnie, the exact same thing happened to me as a child. Thank you THANK YOU for sharing! It has taken me this long (I’m 40) but I have finally told a therapist about it and we are working through it very slowly. I, too, lived for so long thinking it was my doing, my fault. The poop on command thing made me go “Yeah!! I couldn’t even do that NOW….how can a child be expected to??”. I was so haunted and lived in such shame. I am working through that now. But it means everything to me to find this forum of people who really understand this type of abuse! Was it sexual in nature? Not for me. But the spirit of it (and the particular areas on the body directly involved) affect me in the same shame based, violated way. Thank you for your bravery, and thank you for sharing your story.
This seems so surreal to me. I just happened upon this post googling other issues. I can only remember one time receiving an enema from my mother. But remember really freaking out when she told me she was going to do it…like I knew what was coming. I was only about 6. Remember screaming that I can used the bathroom that day and to please call the babysitter and ask her. She wouldn’t listen. I remember completely shutting down when I realized this was going to happen and nothing was going to stop it. Remember my father watching. Remember looking at his feet while I was bent over my mothers lap. But never thought of it as abuse, just weird. Other questionable abuse from my father…things I “kind of” remember. Oh God!! I wish I knew what was real and not real in my life!!
I am the reader that contacted Faith about this topic. I still struggle horribly with this daily. I didn’t even remember until about three years ago, and that was only because it had become part of my self-injury, which I have done since I was about six years old–I am 39 now. My heart breaks everytime I think about it or talk about it. And everytime I go to bed, THAT is what is I have nightmares about! I want it to stop, to just go away, but it doesn’t, and it feels like it never will! I hurt so much inside–to the point where I don’t want to do this anymore! It wasn’t just the enemas and the tubes, it was objects, and bleach and soap–the list could go on, but I can’t say anymore. My mother was the main person that actually did those things, but my dad was there, and most of the time, he had his way with me, after she was done. And this just wasn’t a once in a while thing–it was several times a day–every day! What am I suppose to do with this? How am I suppose to be ‘normal’ when I feel like I am gross, dirty, freak?
Hi, Theresa.
Are you seeing a therapist? If so, have you talked with him or her about this? A therapist can help you process what you went through and emerge victorious on the other side.
Processing trauma is pretty much the same no matter the cause — accept that it happened, give voice to your emotions, and recognize that nothing anyone ever did to you can change the value of who you are. My big sticking points were the mother-daughter sexual abuse, the vaginal rapes, and the animal rape. As I found my way through the process for one, I was able to apply what I learned to processing the next.
I am going to write a blog entry now to address your questions. Look for it next week. :0)
– Faith
Hi Theresa,
I can relate so much to what you are saying, but I found a way out of the shame with the assistance of professional therapists who helped me to direct my anger, fear, and shame back to the rightful source – my offenders.
It is a long road, and it does not happen overnight, but today I love myself completely, I carry no shame from abuse, and I am raising a healthy family. For me, it all boiled down to directly facing and feeling my pain in therapy, and attending ISA meetings. Hard as hell, but the long term benefits are miraculous.
Hang in there – I have faith that you will also arrive in this place.
Hi Theresa,
I understand completely. The dreams, and when you go to bed at night, it’s all you can think about. I just told my therapist about it. Actually, I wrote it in a letter. I still can’t say it out loud. But I feel so much better already. Please talk to someone, find someone you trust. You’re the only one who can! My thoughts and hopes go out to you, from someone who truly understands! It WILL get better if you just take a small step…..
My mother gave unnecessary enemas to me and my two sisters when we were small. She stopped giving them to me when I was six and could struggle away from her. In my twenties, I heard there were prostitutes who would give enemas for sexual stimulation. After hearing this, I couldn’t get it out of my mind; and the psychic pressure grew until I went to one of these ladies. After the session, I felt a great peacefulness descend on me: something that chewed at me had been taken away. Every few years, I want this again; and I go to one of these pseudo nurses. I don’t know what sets off the urge; but when it hits me, it gets so strong that all I can think about is a session. If these ladies were not available, I don’t know what I’d do. By the way, I once paid a prostitute to let me give an enema to her. I wanted to see if this was equally thrilling. It didn’t do a thing for me; I was almost bored. I’m heterosexual, and have no desire for a session with a man. My sex life is terrible: I can’t sustain sexual interest in a woman for longer than a few weeks. I know it’s buried anger that makes me go cold, but I can’t stop it happening. Sex is the major part of my life that just hasn’t worked out happily; I feel a terrible sadness about it.
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Okay, what ‘Rob’ just said TOTALLY freaks me out! It isn’t anything against him, it is just SO very different from what happened to me!!! I had no choice–I had no voice! It started when I was an infant, and continued until I was in high school. I always feel like its my fault, and I wanted it to happen, becasue even as I got older, I DIDN’T STOP IT–I LET IT HAPPEN–I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING! For me, that only proves how much of a freak I really am! And it wasn’t just my parents that hurt me, there were others–a deacon from our church, and my brother–who abused me as a kid, and then raped me about 12 years ago. I asked my mother when I was teenager if she knew that my brother had done this–her response to me was ‘yes, but he’s my son!’ So what does that make me???
Theresa, you got a message from the manner in which you were treated: the message was that you had no right to protest when you were abused. Or more likely, you got the idea that people had a right to do anything to you they wished. That’s the subtext to your mother’s “he’s my son.” I must have received a similar message: it’s always been hard for me to stand up for myself. When people are abusive, I feel that I must somehow be in the wrong and therefore they have to right to abuse me. In my case, this didn’t extend to the sexual realm. When I was 13, a man in town groped me and tried to talk me into sex. I pushed his hand away and ran away from him. There was another factor in my case: my father knew what my mother did and he criticized her for it and once wouldn’t let her do it to me. That’s how, I suppose, I felt permission to fight her off. You had no one to defend you or at least let you know that your mother was doing something wrong. I’m sure she had lots of rationalizations for it: she told you she was trying to help you, to keep you from getting this or that disease, to be healthy, etc.
Theresa, your mother was the freak, not you. She was skillful at psychologically overwhelming you. My mother could only overwhelm me with force, and not always that way.
According to what I read, by going to the pseudo nurses, I am repeating the traumas with two important differences. First, I am not out of control. I can walk away. Second, I sexualize the experience to make it pleasant instead of painful. I am repeating what happened earlier, but I’m turning it into something else. This is psychologically helpful. It temporarily banishes the anger I carry.
I read the biography of a man who had a mother like ours. His sisters fought her off at a certain age, but he–get this–realized that she loved giving enemas and he submitted to them until he was almost eighteen. There are lots of ways to respond to this experience, apparently.
Faith, I have chosen my words carefully, but if something I wrote here was to explicit or ? please let me know. I can’t assess if my message needs a trigger warning or not. I think it maybe does. So please feel free to add one if necessary. Thx for blogging on difficult subjects like these.
I’m struggling with this too.
I agree with Rob: there are different ways in how to respond to these experiences.
I have DID. At least two (maybe three) of my inner parts have suffered this type of abuse (amongst others).
They all dealt with this in another way: the youngest one underwent it. She had no voice, no choice (like you wrote, Theresa). She still suffers from it hard. For the 11y old girl inside the intense feelings of shame, of being constantly dirty (and the anxiety that this is also for others to see) is overwhelming, to the very point of OCD. My 16y old teen has chosen to go along with it. She plays the mother’s game. She now (more than 10years away from our abuser) willingly seeks out these abuses herself, has gotten involved in BDSM, repeating the abuses to find rest and peace in herself.
It’s really difficult. For all of me inside. I/we too don’t know how to be normal, how to go past these experiences.
So I too look forward to your following post about this subject, Faith.
I have read and re-read this post hoping to find clues that I didn’t saw the time before, to feel supported in all of this. I have searched the internet, but have found almost no other valuable information on the topic.
I know my mother/abuser used suppositories too with the youngest of me (9y old), but it still isn’t clear why. With what purpose? Pain relief afterwards it seems and sometimes some hours before anal rape to prepare and relax the muscles. Could these memories be real? This is what I understand from what my inner one tells me, but I’m struggling to find validation for these memories. Can someone here relate? I’m sorry if these last statements are somewhat direct, but I don’t kniow another way of asking what I want to ask and what I feel that I need to ‘hear’.
Chloe,
If you are anything like me, you are struggling to ‘find validation’ because you can’t accept within yourself, that these things really happened–at the hands of those that should have loved you the most. Like I said in previous posts, it feels like it my heart LITERALLY BREAKS, every time this comes into my head–which unfortunately, seems like it is all the time. And I DON’T focus on it, or try to think about it–I would really prefer to go back to the point about three years ago, when I first started remembering, and asked my therapist if she had ever heard of anything like this. She said that she had, and even now, my therapist tells me that. But I still FEEL SO ALONE with it all! I want it to be just be gone and out of my head forever! I’m sooooo tired of hurting, and struggling just to ‘survive.’ I just don’t know what to do with all of it (except for the self-injury). What do you do, when you not only have the nightmares and re-live it every night, but you actually FEEL like it is happening over and over and over again?!?
Hi, Theresa.
The answer is to do the opposite of what your instinct tells you to do. You actually need to EMBRACE the memory and allow yourself to experience it once without fighting it. You can comfort yourself the entire time because a part of yourself will still be in the present. (This is called dual consciousness.)
If you will find the courage to do this, the memory will stop haunting you. The self-injury is a way of stuffing it all back inside. You keep having the flashbacks because you are ready to heal this part of yourself. You heal by inviting it out, experiencing it for one hellish time, and then accepting that this really happened to you. I would do this at night and then comfort myself until I fell asleep. By the next morning, I would experience the memory in a different way.
– Faith
Hi Theresa and Faith,
I completely concur with Faith’s reply – healing comes when you embrace the memories and the feelings. To try to ignore it or push it away, only drags out the process.
I think that many survivors are terrified (and rightfully so) to embrace this level of pain – it feels overwhelming and like somehow you will get “stuck” in it forever.
Pain that is fully embraced is pain that eventually goes away. Remember I used the word “eventually” – it is like a diet, you have to be in it over the long-haul, and sometimes re-visit it several times.
I also agree that healing is a natural process, and when your body, mind, and soul is ready, the memories surface to assist you.
I am happy that I found this site, because I can talk about my abuse freely and maybe some things will change for me. My mother was a nurse who loved to give enemas I didn’t realize this until I was older and I thought that it was fault. I started to like having them from her and I have had so much guilt and anger that I finally went for help. I still get the urge to get enemas and I wish i didn’t.
Chuck
Not untill recently my insiders came with their stories about their experiences with this type of abuse and I still feel completely dissociated from these memories. I don’t feel anything about them, I myself don’t relive them. My inner ones do. But I don’t. And when they do, I’m not present anymore.
I’m still only on a rational level looking for the plausibility and accuracy of these inner statements. I know from past experiences with healing from other traumatic (abuse) memoires that this is my first reaction and an attempt to avoid the truth of my past. I search, look, rationalize, debate untill I’m ready to embrace the experiences as my own.
With this part of the story I’m getting from my insiders, I’m not yet in those stages of healing. I’m not ready to deal with it, to embrace it as my own past.
But it somehow seems to tie in with my dependency on laxatives. It’s always been more than just a part of my eating disorder. It causes certain feelings in me that have nothing to do with weight. i cannot mark it yet. But this occured to me some days ago and the thought disturbs me quite a bit since.
[…] my blog entry entitled Enemas, Tubes, and Object Insertion as Part of Child Abuse, a reader posted the following comment: [My abuse] started when I was an infant, and continued […]
I want to thank everybody who contributed to this topic, it has really helped me to read all the comments. I came to realize that my mother was an abuser who was mentally unstable. She was also a drug addict and alcoholic. Because she was a nurse she knew how to fake illness so she could get the drugs she wanted. I feel very fortunate to live in a time when help is availability and we are able to share on the computer.
Faith
thank you for your blog. i came across it while trying to find answers about my childhood abuse. i’ve only read a few of the posts, but in my own way, i relate to so much of what you say. and i thank you so much for your courage in using your voice and being brave enough, and willing enough to talk about even the corners of abuse that so often seem unmentionable. i’m finding more and more of those as my memories surface, and while not all of those experiences are mentioned here, some of them definitely are.
thank you for helping me to feel less alone. your courage to be so open gives me hope. i mean, it just breaks my heart that these things that should never ever happen, are way more common than you’d think. also- in one of the blog posts you said something about how nothing anyone did or had done to you could take away your value. even if so much of me can’t believe that yet, it made me cry because i want it to be true.
thank u more than words can say for helping me/us (did) feel less alone @ a time when we could not have needed it more
Hi, COF.
I am glad that my blog helped you. :0)
Another thing that I say a lot is that, if it happened to one child abuse survivor, then it happened to many. It might be a type of abuse that people rarely talk about, like mother-daughter sexual abuse or animal sexual abuse. Or it might be an aftereffect, such as masturbation as a form of self-injury. Either way, if it happened to you, I guarantee that it happened to many others.
– Faith
hi again. i cannot recall being given enemas. but i do recall my mother giving me douches to make me clean at a young age. my mother so far in my memories has not the leading role in the abuse. she was a supporter i think or a silent one anyway to the abuse. / my father was never the fondling type of abuser and his rape of me centered around any kind of object he could think of to insert into me either vaginally or anally… a hairbrush. chain link metal, icecubes, wood, sticks, cucumbers, flashlights, liquer bottles, hammer handles, screwdrivers, cooking utensils,… any weird thing he could think of./ he found stimulation and his pleasure in that.. and to inflict pain with a hairbrush in paddling my bare bottom or brushing the wire bristles to my vaginal area on the outside and my clitoris…he was obsessed with the hairbrush thing. making it our “special” thing.. making me do it to myself until climax or he would do it to me and then follow with object insertion to rape me or sometimes his penis./ he shared me with 2 male friends repeatedly over the years../ i was never allowed to wear underwear and had to wear dresses when spending time with my father on outings or at home. he also wanted me to have a dress on for family photos at holiday and events.. and no underware. /i was 4 1/2 yrs the 1st time i recall a memory. i was 17 the last time. i am 45 now and dealing with vivid detailed memories and flashbacks with the smell and texture of things. its like being caught in a crazy zoo of horror and demons these memories. i have so many that i cannot find the time to write them all down as my therapist is wanting me to do. i email them to her. i already have pages of this crap. it is overwhelming. i have serious anxiety and ptsd from my abuse. i am dealing and want to heal. i dont know how i ever will tho with so much. so much. malanie
Malanie,
As you can see, I am the one asked Faith about this type of abuse, because I couldn’t find anything about it in books, or websites–which really made me feel even more alone, and more like a freak (please don’t think that I am saying that about you–that is just how I felt/feel).
I, too, have a LONG list of objects that were used, and it has become overwhelming at just the thought of it all. I am really impressed that you can talk about it in such detail on here. I know that couldn’t have been easy. I also understand about not having any support other than a therapist. It is really lonely. I think the biggest problem for me, as far as a support group, is that I am afraid of what people will think about me, because I somehow feel like I am so gross, and dirty, that others will see the same thing. I have such a long list of issues–ptsd, self-injury, depression, severe anxiety, panic attacks……the list goes on. I’m afraid to let anything out–afraid that I won’t be able to stop it. I have spent so long fighting to keep it inside, and trying to hide how much I am hurting–what if I lose it?? I am so close to the edge now, that the thought of talking about it scares me to death–unfortunately, however, I can not seem to stop the nightmares, and flashbacks, and the ‘body memories!’ (I think that is what Faith called it)
theresa, i am so glad and thankful you brought the subject up.i could find noone who could relate and no information. i felt all alone. i didnt see how this could be just me so i kept wanting to believe i was just crazy and that i had to have imagined this. my therapist tells me im not crazy and these are memories. i have vivid vivid details and smells and emotions and textures and body sensations. it makes me feel disjointed and scared like it will all happen again if im not careful. my abuser is dead.. but he feels so alive. i am recently having this zoo of craziness in my mind. i know no better way to describe it. it feels as if i had a crack in my mind and this zoo of amimals trampled in fighting for a place to tell their story. i dont literally see the zoo or hear them but the memories carry sounds and smells and textures and fear. i always always remembered some things. but not like this and it is nearly immobilizing. i am weirded out by what was normal and feel disjointed from being in my body. and fear. and panic. and nausea. and the list goes on. /i had the compulsion to brush myself to climax as early as 7 or 8 and kept it up until i was late 20’s. it was a compulsion i had to do. had to do. no getting around it. it made me feel sick and perverse. i did not remember him doing it to me first. i do now. but i find i doubt that memory. why is it so easy to blame myself and not him. he is the one who made my life hell. that made my sexual desires be mixed with pain and perverse feelings. i used to brush to the point i would bleed. and i didnt care, and if he could not rape me because i was in so much damage vaginally.. he was happiest to rape me anally with objects. oh. i forgot to mention the one that brings me the most sadness. he was angry at me and pulled my dolls leg off and raped me with it. he made me do it to myself 1st. it was my favorite doll. later that nite i slammed all of my fingers in the garage door. they didnt break. but they hurt and swelled and bruised. i found many many ways to torture my own body over the years. and i cannot have hairbrushes in my home. i want to inflict pain and climax. i havent and i hope i wont. but in remembering now that he shared me with others and hurt me in sick perverse humiliating ways it makes me want to cut myself at the very least to inflict pain. i am overwhelmed also. i felt sick and dirty and like there was something fundamentally wrong with me. the hairbrush thing to me is worse than any of the men my father allowed to participate or hammer handled fucking me., etc. because i continued it.. that compulsion for years and years. and i still want to do it. ///i understand. i do. i cannot even bring this up in words to my therapist. i have only written it. i have even written it to her that i cannot speak it. it is too humiliating and embarrassing. i write her pages and pages of abuse. and i read what i write and find it unbelievable. she believes me. i am scared to believe me. thanku for answering. i need and want support. and to not feel so alone in this. malanie aka malandrea
faith, again.. i forgot to check your boxes. i do want to be notified if i have any responses to the 3 replys i have left. i am hoping you will post them. i know you have to approve them. i have minimal support and noone to talk to except my therapist. and no support group in my small town. / as i said in this last reply. i have so many memories that suddenly came back like a floodgate opening. triggered by a sound . of a blind cord hitting a wall that immediately took me back to my childhood bedroom and its drapery cord would hit the wall when the heat came on. please post my replys and check the box for me that i want to hear from anyone who responds or can relate. thankyou so very much. malanie
Hi, Malanie.
All three of your comments have been approved and published. :0)
I don’t see a way for me to select what you want to receive via email. I think the reader has to make those selections.
– Faith
thanks. had u heard of this before with the hairbrush to the outside of the vaginal area and clitoris to have climax obtained pain with pleasure. ? it became such a compulsion even when he did not do this. i would do it to myself. i cannot have hairbrushes in my home. there were many abusive things that went on but somehow this is the most disturbing to me thus far. i appreciate your time
Hi, Malanie.
No, I had not heard specifically about using a hairbrush until you mentioned it, but another reader posted that she, too, experienced the same thing in response to your comment here:
Scroll down to the very bottom.
At the time I wrote this, I had heard of using knives and a hot curling iron. I figured that other similar items would be used as well. All of these objects are variations of the same idea — causing yourself physical harm during masturbation. In some cases, you are using the same object used during the abuse. In other cases, you are using an object that physically harms you as badly as the rapes/insertion of other objects hurt you emotionally.
– Faith
theresa. thanku for being there i am so glad i am not alone. thanku for bringing the subject up. for me the hairbrush to my skin to make me climax was something i always remembered doing to myself. i was young maybe 7 or 8 the first time i remember doing it to myself. only recently do i remember him doing it to me or more often making me do it to myself. he watched. if i became too sore or bleeding in that area it did not matter. he would rape me anally. with objects and then his penis. he took great pleasure in finding new objects. the most horrifying and sad to me that i remember was when he was angry with me and pulled the leg off of my favorite doll and made me fuck myself with it. then he did it to me. he blamed me while doing it to me saying i was stupid and that this was my fault. my mother was behind a door 10 ft away. yet somehow all these years i denied she cld have known. that nite after my doll was ruined. i slammed all my fingers on my right hand into the door. i didnt break them but i caused myself sufficient damage and pain that i could cry. i cried for my doll. not me. i was nothing. i was used to his torture and games. i was already creating my own ways of torturing myself. / i do not know how i survived and am a decent kind person. / i am scared now with this flood of nightmares flashbacks and memories that i find impossible to believe or trust my own memory… i am scared i will go crazy or lose all the careful control ive had in my life. i too have severe post traumatic stress disorder anxiety depression and panic. and cutting is something i crave. so you are not alone either. thanku…… MALANIE and aka malandrea
Malanie,
For me, the actual trigger was the self-injury that I was doing. I was repeating the same a lot of the same things that were done, and it was like something just ‘snapped.’ I do not understand the need to keep repeating some of the most horrible things that were ever done to me! Its sort of like an obsession–I feel like I HAVE to do it! (I mean really, how sick is that?) I was so pissed because I felt like it was my own fault that I remembered, which then translated into ‘it is ALL my fault! If only there was a way of going back to before that day!
You said that your mother was there. I understand how that feels–my parents were the ones that did it. It is a devastating feeling. I have always wondered how I could bring out so much evil in them? What was it about me that made it sooo easy for them to do this? I have a really long list of ‘objects’ just like you do. They also used detergents, different soaps, and bleaches. They would even put tubes down my throat, add medication, and overdose me–then take me to the hospital, and say that I got into it. I wish they would have gone too far once, and killed me.
As far as the ‘zoo’ in your head–that actually is a pretty good way to describe it! It feels like a tornado swirling around! There is no way to stop it–or even slow it down! It feels like I am drowning in my own head.
By the way, I am impressed by the way that you can actually say the specifics of the body parts, and the details of what happened. I can’t do that! I don’t even usually say the words ‘parents’ and ‘abuse’ in the same sentence, much less be able to give the details. When I try to talk to my therapist in that kind of detail I end up getting physically sick in her office!
Hi, Malanie.
You are not alone. We will support you here. Many readers here are also active as http://www.isurvive.org. That is a safe message board for adult survivors of child abuse and can offer you more immediate responses since members are from all over the world and in all different time zones. Feel free to participate in both places. :0)
If you have not already done so, I suggest that you print out your comments here and share them with your therapist. Alternatively, you can direct your therapist to this blog, tell him/her your screen name, and tell him/her which blog entries’ comments to read.
You are not the first reader to tell me about self-injury through breaking bones. I need to blog about that topic — I don’t think that I have. In the self-injury world, breaking bones is considered a different category than “straight”self-injury (such as cutting), but, in my opinion, it just shows the severity of the emotional pain you are holding in.
I am so proud of you for having the courage to write about what happened. I know it is not easy to write about.
– Faith
thersa i didnt mean to repeat myself. i posted two times. i am new to this and learning computers. i needed a support system. so anyways. i did not think my first post went thru. so you have 2 replies. similar. i feel sad and alone. and scared. its a miserable feeling. thanku. malanie
Hi, Malanie.
You are safe here, and you are not alone. You are more than welcome to post similar messages twice. I would rather you do it twice than not post at all. :0)
As miserable as it is to feel sad and scared, you are allowing yourself to FEEL those emotions. That is a big step toward healing — you are no longer numb!
– Faith
I just found this website after realizing in therapy that what my mother did to me was actually abuse. I can’t remember what age I was when it began but I believe it was before age five and lasted until around age 8 or 9. Anytime I was sick in any way (headache, fever, stomach ache-of course) she would tell me I needed an enema and forced me to let her give me one. This was in the 70’s and I have been told that this was something people did much more commonly then. My aunt was in nursing school and suggested it to my mother who apparently really liked this idea. I can remember vividly being on my knees in my basement with my mom and aunt giving me an enema. They would make comments about my genitals while I was receiving it and laugh. Afterward they would tell me to hold it as long as I could and then go into the bathroom. I remember my aunt coming into the bathroom to see if I had “gone enough” and I had to stay in there until she decided I had.
I confronted my mother about this years ago and she said she was just trying to help me and that I was crazy for thinking otherwise. I don’t think this was a sexual thing for her but more of a control issue. She has continued to try to control my life in other ways since this has stopped. I feel so alone and humiliated.
I feel I have been trying to numb the pain with alcohol off and on throughout my life. I am not addicted to alcohol but have drank way too much on too many occassions just to numb the pain.
I was at somewhat of an advantage when I was in therapy — my mother was already dead. That made me realize that any mother issues were really internal and confined to my head. I don’t have to deal with the ‘real’ mother just the one in my head. I wouldn’t expect to be able to ‘get through’ to the actual abuser or get any validation for your feelings from that abuser or at least abusive part of your mother. I wish you well on your journey and I want to support you.
I’ve learned quite a bit by reading these entries. When I go to these enema nurses for “treatments,” they also spank me with straps and paddles. I was never spanked on the behind as a kid, and seldom hit , but these ritual spankings over the knee do relieve some psychic pressure. Apparently, being hurt in any intimate way is close enough to what really happened to be helpful. The spankings are often the prelude to the enemas: they “break my will” and get me ready to accept the penetration. I’ve even been tied down for the nurse to slide a catheter into my penis while I beg for mercy. Agian, this is a displacement of the enemas that were the original trauma. I fear sometimes that the need for abuse will grow and turn into a need for abuses that are truly harmful.
Rob, I share a similar interest and energy regarding BDSM, spankings, dominatrix stuff etc. It tends to crowd out ‘vanilla’ sex and feelings. In my mind it isn’t a good energy to cultivate although I agree that it serves some kind of purpose in trying to deal with the trauma by converting it into sexually charged ‘play time’ where you do have some control of what goes on. Funny how there seems to be a whole ‘BDSM industry’ catering to us (no offense) weird-o’s.
I just wanted to comment to an earlier post from Malanie who wondered if she was “reaching” to associate her current constipation as an adult to her childhood experiences.
I also had chronic constipation throughout adulthood which I directly attribute to a childhood of enema abuse. However, when I worked through my emotions in therapy, I was finally able to get some relief from a lifetime of constipation. Something about “letting go” of the pain allowed me to “let go” of the bowels too.
The body and mind is very intimately connected.
****Triggers
My mom liked to give me enimas too. I say she liked it because of how often she did it, and because of the other wierd shit she did to me. I always felt weird about her just sitting there watching me. I wanted her to go away. She used to masterbate in front of me, under the covers, but I knew what she was doing. It was gross. she would get drunk and pin me to the wall, floor, whatever and kiss and lick me. I have a memory piece of me on my back and I am fighting her. My hand is against her face which is all hot and red with emotion and she is drunk. My other hand feels like it is missing… . The last time she chased me into the bathroom, I had to fight her hard to get the door closed between us. I got it shut and locked. I felt like a wild caged animal, the rage was was so intense. My dad finally came to the door. I could tell by the tone of his voice, and I knew it already. She was doing something disgusting. She was masterbating. I couldn’t see her but I know. I have always had problems with constipation and diarhea. I have a memory piece where I feel like I have to go poop through my pee hole. I am so afraid because it hurts so bad and don’t know how to fix it. Sometimes when I am going to the bathroom I flashback to that… always that fear that it will happen. and the fear of the other memory pieces I have go together.
Hi, Palucci.
My mother used to masturbate beneath a blanket while watching TV with my sister and me on a regular basis. I thought it was weird that she had a blanket all the way up to her neck. My sister is the one who pointed out to me what she was actually doing. Both of us have always had those memories (not recovered through flashbacks). It took me a long time to acknowledge the connection of that with the childhood abuse.
– Faith
When I think about the enema abuse from my mother sometimes I start to get very angry and I have to be careful that this anger does not come out sideways and hurt an innocent person. Since I have made my last post I thought about how I also had a lot of enemas from my grandmother. So I have more thoughts to look at.
Sometimes I have a hard time with words when I am on this subject. So I am just going to try my best and ask some questions. Has anybody been able to overcome their interest in having enemas because of this abuse? I feel very guilty about wanting to have enemas and I wish the fetish would go away or there was some way to stop it. I have tried therapists groups etc. but to no avail. If somebody has been successful I would really like them to share that.
I really don’t know how to do this. I just had a talk with someone today and I told him how my Mother gave me enemas and my Dad was at the foot of the bed watching. I screamed and cried and begged for her not to do it. I never considered it abuse. I never actually remembered it until recently. The person which I was talking with said this was sexual abuse which made me cry and cry and cry. My Mother was always yelling at me and making me feel like crap chasing me around the house with a hairbrush and saying things like I wish you’d never been born or you are going to go to hell! There were religious pictures all over the house. I hated it! There’s so much more I need to say but that will have to wait until later. Thanks for listening!
Just a guess but it seems like there are more women who abuse with enemas then men. Carla it always puzzled me why this was going on in such a religious family you reminded me of the pictures and statues. My mother used to say I spawned a monster and I can’t figure out where you came from. She also gave me a statue of Ichabod Crane and said that I looked like him, that really hurt it was displayed in the living room. I hope you find some relief from your pain.
[…] did not intend trauma. I see this dynamic in some of the comments posted to my blog entry entitled Enemas, Tubes, and Object Insertion as Part of Child Abuse. While the perpetrators of this form of abuse are sometimes clearly using enemas, etc., with the […]
I have experienced this abuse. However I wasn’t abused on purpose. Although I was young, I knew about sexuality. I was constipated often and I felt very bad when I had to receive enemas, suppositories, or thermometer for medical use. These were used for medical use but I still felt bad. Not pain but mental scaring. It felt like my parents were sexually abusing me and that they were receiving the instructions from my doctor. Now I know that they were not sexually abusing me but that it was for medical reasons. I still have to go to therapy because of this though. For years I have suffered with this thought of enemas, etc. My mental pain can’t nearly come close to those who have been subject to intentional sexual abuse. But I still suffer. God be with all those who suffer from these experiences.
Hi, Nicholas.
I have recently come to recognize that a person can be traumatized even when the perpetrator did not intend abuse, such as in the situation you describe here. I think it is important to focus on your trauma rather than on your parents’ intent because, regardless of what they intended, you still experienced the events as trauma, which needs to be healed. This does not make them “bad” people. Also, by recognizing that trauma can result even when it was not intended, nobody has to “take sides” between them and you.
– Faith
I’m thankful to find I’m not the only one. And totally freaked out how rampant it is. When it happens, as a kid, they’re able to make it seem…normal…or something. And then you go through life so totally screwed up.
My mom already had issues with “male dominance.” I was alone with her that day she gave me an enema. I begged her not to. I was about 11. I had no idea how quickly you could go from being a little kid, to being bent over a toilet bowl with your mom injecting water up your rectum. Totally humiliating. As she left the bathroom she told me to hold it as long as I could before letting it out.
It took me 36-years to process what happened. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I fully understood how my life was destroyed in that one instance from a fucking bitch psycopath who is still my mom. She is still alive at 82. I won’t mention it to her. I don’t give a damn about that shit.
But son-of-a-bitch. I relived it in about 3-separate epsisodes. I’d have to tell my wife (there’s a messed up relationship of 20-years) I was remembering again. I’d leave the room, I have a 3 year old and a 7 year old. I’d fall apart sobbing asking, “why?! How could anyone do that to their own child!” I got enough out I don’t have to remember.
But the damage is done. Waste case childhoold. Wierdo. No confidence. Drugs alchohol. No hope of a girlfriend so descend into self-depricating masturbation.
My life…raked down like coals by one psyco bitch. But…there is a bright side: I mean, my life is still gone. I was robbed of everything that could make a man’s life important and substantial and beautiful. I’m a good person. I show kindness. I AM “master of my domain” believe it or not. And once I understood that it wasn’t me, that I had it inflicted on me, it was liberating. I don’t put up with crap from any man. Or person. Unfortunately, I’ve gotten into being arrested several times…all after age 46! And I’m a nice guy! It’s just kids’ stuff. I’m screwed up. I get by. Knowing I’m not alone helps.
I work 1500-miles from my family. I had an incident where I thought I was superman, so I jumped off a 3rd floor to fly home and see my kids. The ground hit me pretty quick. I decided to get up and jump in front of oncoming traffic, doing 55mph, just for the excitement of it. Got hit, scared the poor woman who hit me. Flew about 40-feet. Shattered my femur. Broke the ball, that attaches from the femur, and goes into the hip socket. Broke the hip. But I rolled real good when I hit the ground. No other injuries. Didn’t even scrape my hands. I was saying “hi” to all the bystanders gathering around me as I stood on “all 3’s”. That was 8-weeks ago. I’ve got titanium rods and screw in me. I’m walking. Riding my BMX bike. I’m doing great! I’m the luckiest man alive. I play guitar. I’m an electrical engineer. My CEO still let’s me work…from home! I own 6-guitars. I’m an artist. I can paint beautiful pictures on sidewalks with sidewalk chalk (of course..what other chalk would I use?) I’m still married in a cold relationship with ups and downs. She has issues.
I would never cheat on her, but it breaks my heart I can’t have a loving relationship with some Psycology or Arts major. I always loved hippies and grass skirts. I’m polar opposite to my wife. Just watching life drift by. Trying to help people where I can. All the lights in my apartment are colored lights. I have fountains, candles. Super Mellow. Big Ol’ Poster of Johnny Depp’s “Mad Hatter” behind me as I type.
God Bless you all. Child abuse is a suffering knot that is so hard to unwind. It is so unfair to have it happen to a child. I am so good with my kids. I just love their laughter. I like to give them safety and make them feel important…which isn’t difficult. They are the most precious things that exist: children.
Wow, i ‘m sorry all of ya’ll have to be here too, don’t know what to say, this happened to me for years, sorta dealt with it in therapy, but….. thought i was only one but they started a thread about it on pandy’s but i haven’t said anything, didn’t start dealing with this for over 30 years just knew/know i am a worthless piece of shit from it sorry, but i’m getting better, just want all of ya’ll to know your in my prayers, anybody who’s been here, i’m gonna get the book ‘blooming lotus, haven’t read it, thanks, and take gentle care all
There is no question in my mind that a good part of a life time can be ruined by enema abuse from mom. I hope you guys get some relief from the abuse and are able to reclaim most of your life. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers.
Thank you so much for this post and all the comments. This is such a quiet kind of hurting but so horrific and damaging. I am very relieved to find people willing to talk about this, soon I will be able to also.
When I was 4-5, a nurse would come to our house and give me enemas in the dining room (!) on a daybed we had there, and my parents would watch from the dining room door. I remember one time she showed up, and when she went into the kitchen, where they kept the enema stuff, I realized that it wasn’t going to be social call, which I’d hoped, but another torture session. I screamed “NO! NO! Plese don’t!”, to no avail, of course. I remember that session extremely clearly after all these years.
I think my parents were genuinely concerned about my health (I had tonsillitis infection and I suspect the enemas were cool and put into me to cool me down. Hello? Put me in a tub of cool water! Put an ice bag on my head to keep my brain from melting!
Anyway, I’m now 69 and have only recently been able to say the word “enema”. I couldn’t even resond — I went mute — when my don, 8, asked me what enemas were. I just was silent. This happened twice.
The enemas sexualized me and I would say every fantasy I’ve had as an adult has involved someone giving me an enema. I’ve recovered enough to develop a kind of fetish about them but expect that to go away when I figure out I’ll always get the cramps, which I hate.
I also believe that I was sexually molested. Certain reactions to things are clues. For example I can’t stand hearing someone whisper, like a narrator for a movie, or on the radio. If they start, I hit the mute button, or, if at a movie, I clamp my eyes shut and think about other things till they stop. This could be a result of whoever was molesting me telling me to be quiet.
All my fantasies also involve sexualizing a child (me). Before my son was born I wondered if I would be temped, but I never was, thank God.
One night my grandfather was babsitting me. I guess I was about 6. He insisted on sleeping in my bed with me, spooning. I remember worrying about whether he would “do anything” to me.
So these, I think, are red flags that mean I was molested. I was also very sexualized & tried to get my little friends to play sex games with me, but nobody ws interested.
This topic came up almost casually with my therapist. I figured I was just weird and bad. My therapist did some research and discovered this blog, which we read together this afternoon. I just re-read it now, on my own. There’s a weight off me—I’m NOT crazy! This happened to other people, too! What a blessed relief! Of course, I still have to figure out how to move on, but at least we know what happened … thank you, Faith, thank you!
E.D.
Hi, E.D.
I am glad this blog helped you. Sorry it took so long for your comment to appear. I have been traveling across the country and just got home last night. I haven’t checked in on the blog for well over a week.
– Faith
Reading these accounts of childhood experiences is both sickening that perversion of this kind happens and also refreshing to hear such bravery in overcoming adversity early on in life. My own experience was of being traumatized at age 3 by a neighbor who fondled me (and I suspect digitally penetrated me as well.) Shortly not long after I had two inpatient hospitalizations at age 4 and again one year later at age 5 for urinary tract infections (urinary tract dilation) that required me to submit to surrendering my genitals to doctors, nurses, or seemingly anyone who had an interest. I remember being poked, prodded, and examined in ways that neither were explained to me by anyone nor was I asked for permission. I remember getting enemas both for cleansing and also for what I think I remember were xray examinations (lower GI series). Both experiences to me seem very far removed to me and are now more reminiscent of an alien abduction to me. I was a very angry child and fought alot. In retrospect I think I was very angry at my parents for “abandoning” me at the hospital at such a young age and just leaving me in the hands of others who would “take care of me”. I was very rebellious as a teen although never got into major trouble, and I developed an affliction for enemas at age 13 when I had bowel problems and later for pornography (looking at women). I had alot of trouble with relationships with guys as I think I was unconsciously homophobic and needed to assure myself that I wasn’t gay despite being very anally erotic. I still love enemas and am very anally erotic. Despite now being a psychologist who specializes in the treatment of trauma (particularly post traumatic stress) in both children and adults, I have difficulty with a normal sex life with my wonderful wife of 9 years who tries to understand me but doesn’t understand my post traumatic stress. I also do not wish to pass on my affliction to my beautiful daughter. I have worked with thousands of children to help them overcome abuse and neglect and help parents to understand that our children are never too young to explain to them, reason with them, or respect them just as we do adults or anyone else.
I have this huge mess of feelings rushing around my head, reading all this.
I did know, sort of distantly, that this exits, that it wasn’t just me and the few small mentions of the topic scattered sparingly around the internet…
But it’s just so hard to get untangled from these huge spirals of anxiety and shame and humilation. Hard to think on it long enough, without freaking out, to reach a point of willingness to read posts like these; seek out some kind of recognition, validation, whatever it is we’re finding here.
This kind of thing was the very first kick off for my PTSD (there were many epic/disturbed events contributing to the catastrophes in my headspace).
(Trigger warning)
I was only four– well, it had to have started younger, I suppose, but I don’t remember any earlier than that– and how it started was always a bit confusing. She gave me frequent enemas– maybe daily– and she would underfeed me, then overfeed me (if I vomited, or tried to throw the food out, I would still be forced to eat it). Some time while I was still four, I was hospitalized for all the trouble it caused in my digestive system, but everything was made so much worse there. At the hospital, they tried enemas (not knowing they were part of the cause, presumably– she told them I was sick with something, I don’t know what) and diets and other things. They also tried two weeks of isolation with a male nurse whose job was to keep tabs on my bathroom habits. I wasn’t allowed visitors, even family (not that it would’ve helped). My nurse… sort of decided his own “treatment” first involving only his hands and then his penis– he told me that I’d never get better if I couldn’t push him out, and that I would die if I didn’t get better.
Obviously, I only displayed more signs of ill health and had become extremely withdrawn; I went nearly a year before I started speaking again.
My mother (I generally refer to her as the Devil) continued following diet/enema/etc. ideas which she took to whole new extremes, creatively fitting punishment into it– it was always my fault I was sick, my fault I wasn’t getting any better, my fault she had to pay for things and put up with me and go out of her way to fix me when I “clearly wasn’t trying to get better” … It took until I was at least 20 before it occurred to me that even if the “illness” wasn’t created solely by its “treatments”, it would still be entirely unreasonable to expect anyone, child or no, to will themselves into better health.
All of her horrible tactics (which often veered to the violent and/or sickeningly creative side of things) continued on until I was thirteen and started running away from home at every chance. Unsurprisingly, when I’d been away for a few months (sucessfully leaving for good at age 15) I stopped being sick. No more terrorizing, invasive and unnecessary medical procedures. No more abuse of that variety or otherwise, and just like that, my body began operating normally.
For the most part, I have an aversion to sex– If I could destroy my sex drive, I would. I can’t get rid of all that… humilated, shamed, terrified, horrified, sick, panicky, angry *everything*– but I have also, to varying degrees, sexualized many of the elements involved in all this.
I’m 23 now, I’ve been in therapy (the mental health system and I go pretty far back, at this point) for five years with my current therapist, who is absolutely amazing. She’s totally my hero, and even keeps up with my cynicism… But I can’t bring myself to get into this topic
.
It’s not as if it doesn’t haunt me daily; it does. But I just CAN’T. I haven’t even been willing to talk about sex, aside from glossing over a few things and then changing the subject.
She’s aware of my hospital issue, just not with any kind of detail. Only that I was there because of The Devil, I was abused (no specification on what kind of abuse) by a nurse, and that the trauma from both was directly and repeatedly made worse for years.
It has drastically fucked up my life. It still does.
I do not know what to do; I don’t know if I could do it if I did know.
I am glad, though, that I read all of that and wrote all of this, because I have never been anywhere where it might be acceptable to go there, touch topics like this. I do so from behind a screen, who-knows-where in the world, with the safety of anonymity– otherwise I wouldn’t think for a moment that I could even hit toward this.
So huge props to you for being brave enough to bring it up without the massive page of supportive comments to start off with.
Thank you for giving me a chance to get this out of my head without fear of ridicule or disabling embarrassment.
-Third
I tried telling one of my counselors about what happened to me (see above) and did tell a friend, but unless the person has been through the same thing — specifically enemas forced on them, and humiliation — they can’t understand and telling them just retraumatizes you. They can be empathetic, but they do not understand why you were so traumatized. I think a person who’s been traumatized in a certain way needs a “sister” or “brother” who’s been through the same thing so they don’t have to feel isolated and like they’re locked in this experience all alone.
I was in group therapy once and got up the nerve to bring it up, and the counselor said “Oh I loved it when my daddy gave me my enemas because he was so loving.” Great therapy! Good for her. I wonder what else he did. Her saying this and not being empathetic just added to my trauma.
It’s been really helpful to me to read other people’s accounts of their enema traumas, finding out I’m not the only person in the world who was abused that way, even if it wasn’t intended as abuse.
Elizabeth, I have only just read your posting about what happened to you and can empathize with your feelings completely (read my post last October). I was traumatized with suppositories at a similar age and ended up with exactly the same feelings that you have as far as the sexualization goes. I find it fascinating how something that was so dreadful, humiliating and shameful can have such a powerful effect on how we think as we grow up. I don’t think those treatments we endured were intended to be abusive and were simply carried out with our best interests at heart, (although having said that, I am not quite so sure in some cases, after reading some of the most recent and sad posts here). Our feelings were completely ignored – because it was for our own good. or so the thinking went back in those days? I don’t thiink they realized that even small children do have a sense of pride and dignity and could feel humiliation and anger at that age from such an invasive procedure! What is interesting is that it was really only when the internet came along that I realized that I wasn’t the only person on the planet who had such thoughts.. For your information, and everyone else here, I have just started a support group called “enema and suppository memories” on Yahoo groups … http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/enema_and_suppository_memories/
It is intended only for those of us who were traumatized with enemas and suppositories at an early age and never really recovered from the memories.
I am glad to find this blog. I am a 53 year old man who was given enemas by my grandmother. It is difficult to remember the details but I know they happened. I remember once being so frightened that I called my mother to come and get me.
i only vaguely covered this with my T, my earliest memories are of this type of abuse and i didn’t know for years how much it really screwed up my life, i was in my forties when i started dealing with it and i still have difficulty facing it,
and have issues that just won’t go away (bathroom issues) third i hope you can one day face this in therapy as it is a long healing journey and we all need help the abuse took control of my life and i’m trying to take control back, i wish i would of started earlier, i too am a 53 year old and always thought i was the only one until just recerntly.
everybody please take gentle care,
walter.
My mother also used/abused enemas as a regular part of her childrearing methods. My reaction was to learn to love enemas and they are an important part of my life now at age 74. I started giving them to myself at age 8 with a fountain syringe I bought at the local drug store and hid in the wall of my closet. My first orgasm was enema related and both my wives and I give and take enemas during our sexual sessions. I take several large enemas a week; when not enemizing, my bowel function is healthy and fine.
I never experienced the enemas as abusive – they were always pleasurable and loving. As a clinical pyschologist, I have thought often about whether my responses are in reaction to an unconscious or repressed set of abuse memories: I don’t think that this is the case.
I write this to establish that not all enema experiences leave
abusive memories or developmental scars.
My grandmother gave me enemas. I remember being terrified of her. My parents would leave me with her as a babysitter. I finally, one night, called my mother, crying asking her to come get me. After that she never left me alone with my grandmother.
Wow, I have just found this blog and feel that I can identify with a lot of what has been written here. I would say that I was also a victim of object insertion as a small child and this was in the form of glycerin suppositories that were given to me by my mother for so called “constipation”. I put that word in inverted commas because I honestly don’t remember ever feeling constipated or unwell. The discomfort I did feel however was when I was given those dreadful suppositories. This was probably made worse by the fact that I resisted them as much as I could by squirming around, crying and kicking in order to avoid the insertions which inevitably took place. Looking back, it did feel like abuse, not just physical but emotional abuse as well. Having said that I don’t want to malign my mother for it because I know now that what she was doing to me was what she considered to be good for my own health. She certainly did have a thing about regularity being essential for my own well being and I think that she perceived, wrongly, that any lapse in regularity amounted to “constipation”, which to her was one of the most dreadful of ailments and was to be dealt with immediately! Anyway, the result was that she resorted to using glycerin suppositories on me and I got lots of them until I was about age six – when I stopped getting constipated presumably! I know my mother meant well by giving me all those suppositories but in her zeal for good heath she ignored my emotional feelings about having to have them. I had been left with searing memories of forced insertions, the crying, the futile struggles and loss of control over the situation. There were also some well remembered occasions involving embarrassment and humiliation and the inability to do anything about it. Children do have a sense of dignity, even at that age.
Where I did get confused was when I began to subsequently ‘sexualize’ some of my most remembered suppository ordeals in my mind and they became embedded in my psyche. I remember that this sexualization started innocently at about the time my suppository ordeals were coming to an end, many years before puberty in fact, when it was in full force. It was only when I got a lot older and, in particular, when I finally started using the internet that I began to realize that I was not alone in some of my thoughts. I guess I am totally fascinated by the psychology of it all and how experiences that seemed so dreadful at the time could, in a fairly short space of time, be perceived in such a different way. I think I would love an answer to that.
specific memory of an episode of unspeakable (at this time) RA abuse… followed by my mother ‘cleaning me up. i remember it in detail on find myself really not wanting to remember this. she found it necessary to over zealously clean my nails with a plastic nail brush with a mixture of methiolate or mecurochrome (like iodine), vinegar, and a cleanser (either comet or borax) mixed together in a bowl. i fought her and struggled of which she told me to “hush, i would only make it worse”. i was about 8 or 9. she proceeded to cut my nails to as short as possible holding me down in the bathroom floor after the vicious cleaning. it all hurt terribly and i sobbed. i gave up fighting at some point. it was followed with a hot bath where my body was scubbed in the same manner and a syringe with vinegar water mixture from a different bowl inserted into me to clean me. i recall her saying “how will i ever get you clean?” “cooperate” “sit still” “be quiet”. and the mixture burned both anally and vaginally. i cried. helpless. fight gone.
i am finding it most difficult to believe my mother did this. knowingly. though i have few solid memories of my mother..i want good ones. struggling. i have recently found out by a ‘slip of her tongue’ true validation of something that validates memories of other abuse by my father..that she knew. but this ..did she also know about or was she involved in the RA abuse? i cannot place her in my RA memories specifically. but, she is the one who went to the womens ‘group’ where they played with witchcraft. and had books on the subject. and her father was as high up in the freemasons as possible. i keep coming back to that.
so, if she at the very least..cleaned me up in this horrific emotinally and physically scarring way (i always sort of remembered some of it)…then, she must have known what had occurred before and why i was so muck smell disgusting.
any thoughts??
***FAITH, did you ever remember what the splinter memory was for you? i still recall my terror when she would ‘remove’ splinters’ . my sobs and fighting with her.
oddly, i only remember fighting abuse by my father or his friends one time. i cooperated always. few tears. no emotion. depersonalized, i now know.
Hi, Malanie.
No, I have not recovered that memory yet. I am sure it will come when I need it. The thought of splinters still makes me lightheaded. :0(
– Faith
Is there a chance your mother was schizophrenic? What a horrible experience(s) for you. Looks like your father wasn’t any help either. I’m very sorry this happened to you. I think one of the most difficult things to deal with is “why???” Why did this happen to me? I know this won’t do you any good, but you were NOT at fault. You were the handy whipping girl. I hope you can find a way to get rid of the aftereffects.
oh my god.
among other bad things, my mother tried to do something with a monistat to me once, i kicked and screamed and eventually she stopped.
it was the worst thing in the world.
but she only did it once.
i felt so sure my siblings were okay because it wasn’t a secret that i was being “treated” with that, and i’d never heard of my sisters being “treated” like that.
but one of my brothers was definitely given a lot of suppositories. i don’t know what to think or say or do because i always thought “at least my siblings are okay.”
I’m only eighteen and he’s still living with her for the next five years. I don’t know how to bring it up or what to think. Please help me deal with this
ann (above). recently have wondered this. schizophrenia. regarding the vicious cleaning of my nails body with a weird mixture devised to cause pain, muttering as she did so. me fighting. all after the RA memory i still cannot write down. too much of a memory to write absorb believe. schizophrenia.. i know very little about it. never considered it. but, odd that you asked..as it only once crossed my mind..and that was a mere few days ago. i saw something in her face demeaner words voice behavior change entirely and suddenly… it was what occurred to me. i had never considered that. i do not know. and my father was a monster. they fed off of each other i think. my therapist says his behavior was just ‘mean’ . she refuses to excuse his unfathomable behavior as a diagnosis to cause the abuse. my mother, i have never ever been able to analyze as easily. i do know that for as long as i can recall all 3 children have had to compare her ‘stories’ , her ‘reality’ of eberything with each other. simple and important things alike. she upsets me.
It was not until many many years after this form of abuse stopped for me that I even came to believe it was abuse. Unlike a lot of the message sharing here, the abuse I received at the hands of my mother were disguised so that even today sometimes think she was doing what she honesty thought was required.
When she was doing these things she would so in a genuinely gentle manor, trying always to gain co-operation, which is something that has played havoc in my mind for long time. If an enema was to be given she would speak softly, try reason the need for it. I of course hated receiving them but not because I felt abused but a dislike of the feel and later embarrassment. She would be gentle and it seemed made an effort to keep them bearable. She would stop flow if I said was having pain/cramping and she would act caring rubbing back. I hated her for this almost as much as the actual act as even now typing and reflecting back to me it sounds like it could be taken as non abusive. She would go as far as to say sorry for things that I found painful etc.
I do now accept that this was abuse when take into account despite the apparent love in it there was no identifiable reason except for her own personal gratification of curiosity.. This form of abuse continued until my late teens and even at that age did not really consciously question her motives. In this situation you are made to believe that this sort of thing with at least one or two enemas a month and vaginal douching was needed. I had total trust and faith.
As I got older it became more regular, any excuse she could think of to see me in some state of undress was taken or for some sort of “care”. If she noticed anything like a small normal discharge in underwear was cause to “check” me and this would essentially always lead to having hot shallow baths followed by having inside cleaned. I would try and clean them prior to putting in the wash bin and remember the panic vividly if I noticed it. A I feel I am close to going into too much detail and do not wish to do so or cause anyone to conjure up memories they had managed to control so will leave it here but I guess I am trying to say that making this known to people that this is abuse is vital as even in adult life have to remind yourself that no it was wrong and abusive even if done “lovingly” way. Thank you faith for attempting to do just that
Sorry i have rambled in a long way, i have tried to be short and concise.
I do not know why I am going to share this most secret of secrets.
Since I was 7 I have been punishing myself by self sodomizing with objects. I am now 47 and once this year I have done this our of rage at my T for rejecting me insensitively when I asked for a hug
Hi, J.
When we share our most secret of secrets, they lose their power over us. :0)
– Faith
When I was a boy I had a horrible problem with constipation which I suspect could have been a consequence of being brutalized in potty training. Does a raging mother threatening “to rub my nose in it” for throwing soiled toilet paper in the can rather than the toilet count? Anyway this subject of enema’s (from my mother, who also seemed obsessed with sticking thermometers in my butt) came up in therapy. I soon had a dream about a dark women pointing a gun at my ass. In the dream I just meekly submitted to this. BANG! I woke up. Working on this in therapy I realized just how shameful I felt at having submitted. I vividly recall one such session where I pleaded for an end and a release on my part. “Just a little more” she kept repeating as the ordeal went on and on. I still have work to do to overcome the shame of not ‘protecting my own ass’ and I also have a problem of being masochistic and sexually submissive to a fantasy dominatrix. I guess like rape, it is about power and the perpetrator forcing the victim to submit. This happened many times to me.
I had to go out just after I wrote what I wrote. The entire time all I could think about is contacting the Admin to have my post removed before it was approved. As time went by the fear subsided. Knowing I shared my secret in a group of replies with others with similar experiences lessened the shame I felt feel about this behavior. Kind of like going to my first 12 Sex Addiction meeting. It does help to not feel eyes on me when saying the words but I know eyes are on the words for not into the future.
Thank you faith for sharing you experiences. Creating a place for me and everyone else to share things that I have never found anywhere else on the Internet. I have looked relentlessly but always found my searches ended here when it came to real people instead of very brief few word mentions on Self injury websites.
Hi, J.
I am honored that you found this site to be a safe place to talk about it. :0)
– Faith
I am glad to see so many people sharing, I was away for awhile because my computer crashed. I just wish that sometimes the thoughts about enemas that takes over my mind for days. I could find a way to stop.
I am in a helping proffesion, early in my career and training. The topic of sexual abuse always interested me in graduate school…and I have had great success in working with survivors. Until recently I did not recall any physical sexual abuse in my past. After reading a section in The Courage to Heal where enema abuse is mentioned, I felt like vomiting…knowing that this was a regular part of my childhood.
But someone please help me to sort through this…my mother is a devout Catholic woman who is kind and good hearted. She went out of her way to make sure that I knew she loved me. And for her it seemed to be just one of her many health fads.
In speaking with my older siblings, they said that their was no reason to suspect abuse and that for them the enemas were self-administered and voluntary.
When I spoke with my younger sis she said that she had some very vague memories about my mother that have made her wonder…but she is not sure.
If I identify this as abuse…this could change everything. should my mom be allowed to babysit my daughter? should I mention it to her? how about the rest of the family? I am not afraid to do the difficult, right thing. I just want to know that it is indeed the right thing before I make any moves.
While you are figuring this out don’t leave your children in the care of your parents. I can tell you that it will eventually become an issue with them not seeing their grandchildren. I solved this problem early on by having active weekends at my parents house were the kids could get to know their grand parents and I could supervised. Then came the issue of my oldest (son) wanted to spend the night. I was almost nauseous at the thought. I gave in one time and told my son to sleep in his clothes. My parents call late that night my son was sleeping in their King size bed in the middle and they were very angry that my son told them he was advised to keep his clothes on. I told my parents that this is what I told him anytime he slept over. They were still angry and I had my husband pick him up. But, this did give me time to talk to my therapist and the decision was made that their would not be any sleep over. I didn’t go into detail with them I wasn’t ready and frankly I think many of us are never ready for that conversation, with our parents. Don’t go into great detail with your siblings that were not abused because they may never understand. Maybe talking to them as a support group after your children are grown, but right now I can tell you it will become a complicated triangle. Their is a book called the dance of anger that helped me allot, The authors name was Harriett Lebow Learner if my memory serves me. Always trust your gut and if you were abused and other siblings were not they (your parents) may follow the same pattern of not abusing the other grandchildren, but abusing yours. For some reason the sickness that makes parents abuse follows some unhealthy pattern. I would be afraid that it could become a continuation of your abuse by abusing your children. I’m not a psychologist but I have been in and out of counseling with two very good psychologist. I never let my husband make me feel guilty for spending money on therapy as it was a investment in myself. In the mean time find a good therapist who specializes in adult victims of child abuse. Hang in there
You might want to find a T that can help you sort things out before you make any deceisions. That would be my suggestion.
I am a Grandmother of a beautiful 3 years old. My son has full custody and the mother has lost even supervised visitation. I first found out about what I termed almost immediately as “anal fixation”. We had my son and his X move in with us before the baby was born under the “we want to help you save money”, because their were so many red flags. We new that she was drinking and didn’t know how much, she was smoking while pregnant as well. Soon I discovered that she was getting prescription medication for nausea. The doctor didn’t know that she was nausea’s because of her alcohol consumption. I also started missing prescription medication. I had taught my children (2) that we don’t steal, that if money is left on your siblings dresser and you take it it will start a cycle of the two of you not being able to trust each other. We enjoyed that type of life within our family, until the X came into the picture, she even called in one of my prescriptions for a long acting Valium, that I needed to help me sleep during my chemo treatments. She called it in on a recorded line, she picked it up with a camera over looking the Pharmacy and signed her own name. Okay all of this to set the stage of what type of person we are dealing with here.
The X had a child from a previous marriage my son raised her from 6 months old she was at the time of my grand daughters birth 22 months old. The oldest child and I are very connected we had a immediate bond. She will always be my Granddaughter. Soon after the baby was born, my son came to me and asked me if it was normal to put a thermometer up a babies butt to stimulate a bowel movement and if that didn’t work to use a suppository and if that didn’t work to give the baby an enema. I told him absolutely not that it was not normal and to prevent the X from doing this by any means. I called my sister and sister in law both RN’s and they both were as upset as me. My sister in law said that a infants anal wall was so thin that she could perforate the anal wall causing blood poisoning and possible if not caught right away death. I first talked to my son, then to the now X, she informed me that this ran in their family that her mother had colitis and she and her brother both suffer from constipation. That her mother had used this method and that her Grandfather condoned it. I told her point blank do not do this to the baby anymore. Later I hear her laughing on the phone talking to her Mother about it. Since that time they have labeled me as crazy. Hum, I retired from the State Police never had to put anything into any of my children’s body cavities and I am the one that is crazy. My son soon after found out that she had been doing this to his oldest (non-biological daughter) since infancy, that she was doing it while he was away at work. It was like a game to her. He would leave empty enema bottles in the trash or have a suppository container in the bed room. I stopped lending the X my car. Because I woke one night to the baby crying and the X screaming at her. I went in and defused the situation and asked her if I could help with the baby. She handed me the baby and I sat in the reclining rocker that we had bought them and fed her her bottle. I had never heard her scream at the girls, so this was something new to deal with, she got up and walled into the wall not even the doorpost, made it to the bathroom came back into the bedroom in time to pass out at the end of the bed. After I put the baby in her bassinet I pulled the X on to the bed and covered her up. the next day in passing I asked her if she remembered passing out. She said no real slow like it was coming back to her. After that I would not allow her to use my car, it was the only way that she could get to a liquor store, she was furious. Within that week she staged a verbal altercation right when my husband and son were due home. Which ended with them having to leave. I told my son in the hallway not to leave the girls alone. But, of course he had to work. The X’s grandmother was more that happy to take in the oldest child, but my son the X and my baby granddaughter had to go stay in a room at the grandfather’s house. It was the worse time of my life, not being able to protect those girls from the grandmother and the mother. They finally split up after the X was arrested (for all thing breaking and entering my son’s friends house while he was away) my son has a high security clearance and she when from mildly bi-polar to a sociopath before my eyes over a period of 3 years. My baby granddaughter is safe, my son is fighting a very up hill battle to get custody of our oldest Granddaughter who for 20 months has been living with the Maternal Grandparents that practice this sick thermometer, suppository and enema regimen.It is heart breaking because I know the girls have been abused that the oldest is probably still and know one seems to take me serious about the abuse that the oldest child is probably still going through, like someone else mentioned these women are very conniving she told a Social Worker (Maternal Grandmother) that the girls have constipation but they have solved it my putting Metamucil in her juice. Because my Son is a Non-biological father or a third party the case is not looking good. My son is the only stable parent that this little girl has ever known, she cries herself to sleep for her daddy and baby sister, and me. Yesterday their attorney told our attorney that they are considering negotiations of letting David see the oldest girl if he brings my 3 year old up at the same time, it would be like these sick people supervising visitation and getting to see the granddaughter that they have completely ignored for the past 20 months. I cry alot!!!! Does anyone now of any concrete publications by a psychologist or higher that recognize this form of abuse.
Just read over a couple of the above post and proof read my above entry. There is a sentence that starts with He that should have said She. I think people can figure it out. Two of the post mentioned Schizophrenia being a possible cause. That has also been my conviction is that her Bi-polar turned into Schizophrenia. Yesterday she under oath stated that she has no conscience which took my breath away as I had been telling my Husband and Son that she was either Schizophrenic or Sociopath maybe both. But I can’t seem to get the attorney to take me serious about this abuse.
The other thing that I omitted was when my grand baby was seven months old he was putting the girls to bed. The x came in the room with a suppository and was heading toward the baby. He told her don’t you dare. He is a weightlifter with a very serious voice when he has to so he thought she took him serious. He tucked the oldest in and turned around and she had this look on her face that he said he couldn’t even explain, she then shoved the suppository into my babies vagina. My Son cried as he called the Blue cross blue shield 24 hour nurse to get help in getting the suppository out. the nurse had him use a q-tip my son told me that there was bleeding. I hate her guts!!! He has tried to get a copy of the phone conversation, they were supposed to mail it out, he called back and now they can’t find the tape. I think someone higher up listened to the tape and realized that they should have called Social Services. this tape would have help in court. They didn’t know that I had already called.
Sad
I have been VALIDATED—-I begged my mother for validation and she yelled and cried while admitting it to me that it really happened. My brothers and I were forced to submit to enemas and suppositories on a regular basis, I remember being a confused and angry child in my crib. I was a head banger on the bars of my crib and I would hum and rock myself to sleep to console myself. I was an infant with worry and anxiety beyond any comprehension which I still carry with me. My brothers do not want to drudge it up when I talk about it. I relate sex with enemas—-still trying to hold the warm water (my orgasms that are warm and burn bring back the sensations of the water going in and out of me–and the memories of my father telling me this is a game and we are going to see who can hold the water longer YOU or your brothers! I was very very careful when I potty trained my 2 daughters– as I had a vague feeling that I was tortured with the enemas by my father. My father continued to sexually abuse me for another 23 years. My mother permitted it and I was battered on and off throughout the years thus giving me resistance to domestic violence and sexual abuse—- and when I got married, my husband was just as abusive—and sexually deprived me on a daily basis. My husband is into S and M just like my Dad was. When I confronted my Dad with the enema sadistic sexual abuse, he said on speaker phone in front of one of my daughters that I was a WHORE from the crib!!!!!!!! I am still reliving the nightmare EVERYDAY!!!!!!! I am glad I found this website to vent my anger–the ANGER seems to never end. Just because someone was sexually abused as a child–DOES NOT GIVE THEM ANY REASON to REPEAT this behavior on their kids!!!!! I was told that my Dad and possibly my husband could have been abused sexually at some time in their lives and I am not so sure this is always the case, as some people are just plain MEAN and SADISTIC!!!! Now it is up to us–the ones abused repeatedly to step up to the plate and raise the bar on how we want to be treated!!!
I am so glad that you have done a number of healthy things, you have confronted your father. You are recognizing that your husband has issues, which I believe on a sub-conscience level, we end up married to people that we feel a familiar connection to, in our cases the familiar was confused with a safety or the feeling of making things right with a person that either subconsciously or consciously reminds you or your father. It sounds like an old 1960’s psychology book. But, if I had time on my side I would have left my husband, when he wanted me to put on a sexy out-fit 5 days after having a miscarriage, in 1978. I was 6.5 months pregnant. If this relationship seems perverted you can’t fix him and you have already been through enough in your life. YOU are important. I was raised Catholic and had it drilled into me that you don’t divorce, so when I found my self in my late 40’s and cheated on with a prostitute, I had my religious freedom to divorce him. I did the stupid unpredictable thing I again tried to fix him, years of counseling and my own personal savings consumed, I am now in the position of not being able to leave him with the economy, the real estate bubble bursting and my comfortable savings gone. I have been diagnosed with a slow progressing cancer, i’m in my early 50’s and it’s not like I’m marketable for dating, because the cancer usually starts with but you look so healthy. I love my husband, but my husband can be a trigger so often. I don’t think that everyone we love is necessarily good for us. I am not a therapist so don’t do anything that drastic with out having a more that adequate secret savings, and a very good therapist that can advise you of your husbands actions and if he is normal or bad for your own well-being. You need to know that you are important, beautiful and have value. I am so glad we I found this page. I wish you the best.
Oh and e-mail faith and have her change you full name to a fake name or initials. I think you can do that. Be encouraged their are a lot of good healthy productive people on this site.
Hi, Sad in MD.
Thanks for the heads up. Just took care of it. :0)
~ Faith
Thank you faithallen for deleting my full name for privacy issues!! At Sad in MD –thank you for your response and also for your support -I am so sorry to hear of your cancer diagnosis–my oldest child is a CA survivor of about 12 years now–she had Hodgekin’s Lymphoma when she was just 15. After my mom suddenly died in the year 2000 my memories started emerging and I thought I was going crazy!!!! My dad would ask me to let my girls come over to the house cause he was “lonely”—suddenly I felt rage like I never had before–but then AGAIN I DID at one time feel this FAMILIAR RAGE- when he inserted the enema tube in me against my will! I remember my mother telling me to suck it up and just get it over and done with–please your father-make him happy-or something to that affect. My PTSD is very severe and I feel like I am reliving it on a daily basis–while everyone seems to be enjoying life, I am feeling very ALONE and isolated like I did when I was being abused during those early childhood years. I do not know which is worse the early childhood memories or the part where I felt forced OUT of my house to marry a man that I lusted for–not loved–I know the difference. He has a Schizoid personality disorder–my husband and he is as cold and ALOOF as can be to me and our 2 grown daughters–unable to show emotion on his face or in character. He battered me with my first pregnancy and I lost a baby girl at 6 months– that I got cropped on my chest to see her after I delivered her– she looked perfect too! He went back to work and seemed happy we lost her while I struggled over my loss and the breast milk engorgement with no baby to feed. So I know how you must have felt when you lost yours–I am so sorry that happened to you and now a cancer diagnosis so sad–life seems so unfair sometimes! I am trying like hell to STOP these flashbacks that I am in most of the day reliving and losing track of time while in and out of it –I am too connected with it–not observing it and this is driving me crazy. My Therapist is nice and all and I could always reach him, but when I explain that I am living the hell again there isn’t much he can do for me–he believes that I should leave my husband because it is strictly platonic and does not help me in anyway for a sexual outlet which could be making me have the rape flashbacks–I don’t know–it makes some sense!! I know my husband has nothing to offer me emotionally but not only that, he teases me about my PTSD and what my father did–like in some twisted way it is a turn on for him. One day I came down to our basement and saw all these journals he had been keeping all about blood, gore and raping woman–his fantasies!!!!! I am a free spirit even tho I was raped as a young child and adult by my father. I do not consider my sexuality to be dirty even tho that is how the littlest one inside me still feels. I really believe if I can leave this marriage I would have a healthier psychy–he does help to trigger the bad memories I do believe!!!! Deb
Hi, Deb.
Your full name and link to Facebook continue to appear with each new comment. I am deleting them as I go. The next time you post a comment, please remove your last name as well as the Facebook link.
~ Faith
It worked Deb you are just Deborah! I have so many questions for you, I hope that they are sensitive and not a trigger. First will you financially suffer if you leave your husband? We both know that the last thing that you need is to be dependent in any way to your father! You daughter it sounds is my daughters age about 26, are they aware of your abuse? Would they be able to be a healthy support group? Possibly giving you a room until you are on your own feet?
When I lost my baby the placenta came out first, so they put me to sleep and did a DNC. When I woke up I wanted to see my baby. I wanted to be able to bury her. They threw her away, just another trauma!! I know it might sound weird but I am glad that you were able to see her. You know for sure she is in heaven and waiting to see you one day. I know this but it is much harder so I wear a ring with 3 blue topaz, so that when someone ask me how many children I have I tell them 2 (I have 2 living children) but as a touch point I always take my thumb to the ring and rub it to let her know that I haven’t forgotten, I guess that it is to remind me as well.
About your husband, first I want you to know that I am very familiar with Schizophrenia, we watched my husbands nephew change from Bi-polar to schizophrenia. By the time he was 25 he was full schizophrenic. However, from what I have seen he is not violent, mean or hateful. His mom is a Registered Nurse and had a severe nervous break down at the time, her perfect family was no longer perfect. She went through electric shock 5 sessions, Thank God we have her back. One of the many conversations we have had together I told her that her perfect family was always just an illusion none of us has a perfect family – none. We made a packed that we would be honest about everything – no more secrets – no more pretending that everything is okay. Her son she was finally able to deal with and except, he is living at home now under a contract that he can stay there as long as she gives him his medicine and he takes it. The contract also states that he knows that if he doesn’t take his medicine, that she will drive him to the hospital for psychiatric institutionalization. Your husband is way to far gone to even think that this would work with him. Your husband I would assume has been outcast to his own family and probably for go reason. Enough about that for right now.
You are like a frog in the frying pan. If you are not familiar here is the scientific fact – if you put a frog in a pan of hot water he will jump out, he will recognize the danger. If you put a frog in cool water and slowly turn up the temperature his body will adjust and he will slowly boil to death. Not a pretty picture, however it is very true. If has a lot of psychological meaning to how our own brains slowly get used to the environment around us and we just slowly except our environment as normal even though it is slowly killing us inside.
Your husband is double sick and you are not safe!!! Now take a deep breathe!! That doesn’t mean to do or say anything to him or to let him know that you are leaving. The books down stairs are proof that you have to leave. Don’t leave with out financially protecting yourself. I would imagine that he is not on the right medicine or has decided to go on and off of it.
It is probably important when you leave to stay at a safe house at first like a women’s shelter, many shelters will also help you with women’s counseling, which might be a good change to see a woman counselor for a while. I say the shelter, because when you leave you need to take the books downstairs, to you local State Police. He is probably in need of institutionalization, possible for life. These writings are NOT normal for his disease, it sounds as though his disease has gone to long improperly treated to be a safe member of society. It’s a possibility, but you can’t count on it that he could be institutionalized for life, even though he is maintaining employment somehow. The writings show a different story. Your local State Police should turn over the writings to the FBI. I am imaging that you husband probably has a set in stone routine. If that is the case the Police may be willing to copy the writings, so that you can return the originals to the basement, so that he is not aware. I am retired from law enforcement. You should probably arrange to meet the commander of the Local Barrack or State Police, they usually have the title of Lieutenant. Let him now what you have found and that you wish to bring then in to be copied put back and then be taken to a women’s shelter where you can be safe from him. It sounds extreme but my concern is that if he discovers that his journals have been taken or violated that he may become out of control. Another concern is has he acted out any of these cruel things. The State Police and the FBI should look at these writings to see if their are any crimes that match what he is fantasizing. In other words if he has acted out any of these things. Act normal around him while you make your plans.
To me this is the first step that you need to take before you can really begin to heal. Right now the relationship that is the most damaging to you is with your husband. If you choice this path or another like staying with one of your children. You should be able to get an exparte’ order or peace order, but they will only help if your husband has the mentality to obey a legal order.
You can over come your child abuse, truly, I believe that a new councilor is in your best interest. I lost my Mother in 2010, my father in 2005, I started my road of counseling in my twenties. Going through my share of good and bad councilors. They are not created equal. One that is great for one condition might not be great at handling and treating Child Abuse Survivor and Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. By the time my father died I was able to forgive him, even though my Mother never protected me, she became my best friend. My point her is not to make you feel like that can never happen for me. Because it might not in your father’s life time. But, even when are parents are gone we can come to the place of forgiving them and moving on with our life even if we are in our 40’s or 50’s or 60’s. I have learned the key to being set free is in forgiving not for their sakes, but out own. Do a google check for a large Christian Counseling Group. It doesn’t matter if you are Christian or not but I have found the most help where the group of counselors can match you with the tight councilor for your current needs. Faith in God or a higher power, for me it is Faith in God. Has made all the difference. It has empowered me to make a difference where I can and to be a better person even if some people find me different, I have learned to be me and to be honest to myself. I will find a way to make my current sadness into knowing that I have done all that I can for my Granddaughters to protect them from any further abuse. One Granddaughter to go. I will make sure she is protected to the best of my ability.
You are going to get to the point that you can live your life as a whole person. We have a lot in common, please stay in touch I will always respond. Your marriage is the first priority for you mental health. You can’t even begin to scratch the surface, if you are going home to an extremely unhealthy marriage. Don’t be nervous, baby steps if you have to, we are all here for you. But, I must stress to you my concern about the journals, that is not anywhere normal.
having difficulty changing my entries with a new name-gonna see if I fixed the problem when this post comes through
My inner child wants to be heard now because during my crib years she wasn’t validated just treated like a piece of meat!!!! I remember ALWAYS being preoccupied with scribbling like a mad child in my coloring books–the only colors I chose to use were brown, yellow, and black–brown was the poop, yellow my urine, black and dark– was my days and nights—I never knew when another attack would come, but not only did I have the warm enemas,and suppositories, but when I was sick and warm and comfortable at night in my crib, ( and I remember sleeping in my crib with a stuffed Panda bear with a vinyl face with rosy cheeks) I was pulled out of bed for running a high fever and given ice cold baths and cold enemas too–yeah and as my memory comes back my father who I have been ignoring for about 3 years now–told me YES you were running a high fever so they were needed–yeah right –I am a RN—– I NEVER gave that treatment to my girls when they ran 105 degrees-and they are fine. Amazing how these weirdos rationalize their sadistic fetishes. My Mother knew ALL throughout my life of 24 years in my home that he was molesting me and raping me also— and try to talk about the facts of life with her when I was about 12 years old—LOL she sent me to Daddy’s arms where he not only told me the facts but would fondle me and touch my private areas during a so called tickle match. I would get aroused and run to my Mom who would say keep away from Daddy he might rape you—right –I should keep away from Daddy-we live in the same house–HELLO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He victimized my Mom too–so there is some forgiveness there–but looking back HE was the nut job anal fixed idiot with an agenda to break me in young and then slowly continue in a Pedophile way– groom me as the years went on to sexualize me –he even went as far as gifting me with perfume and makeup after the deed to reinforce the behavior even more–he really should go to jail–but he is 80 years old now–hopefully G-d will judge him and punish him for being incestuous with his only daughter–what a SLOB he was!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HI Sad in MD!!!! First off I am so damaged by my the incest and early confusing enemas from infancy to about 4 years old— my dad gave them too me– Mom watched–like a peep show for her–that is how I felt at that time –they felt humiliating and degrading and some sexual pleasure I think I got at certain times as my age got older. Dad was given ALL rights to my body, while I always protested that i felt uncomfortable around my father to my Mother–it was my way of life that I should just give in to my Dad–Mother in total denial–MADE ME FEEL ALONE and AFRAID ALL the TIME–ALWAYS ANXIOUS when I would be attacked first in my crib until the time I got married. I felt dirty ALL the time, ran a shower until we ran out of hot water all the to try and wash my Father OFF of me. My Mom seemed asexual and never talked about sex with me–turned that task over to my Father who she knew was raping me–ALL MY LIFE ALL I HEARD was “WHY CAN”T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR BROTHERS?” My Mom cut my hair in a pixie ALWAYS to make me look like a boy and try to deflect my femininity–giving me another identity crisis–if i wore high heels when a young adult, she would say i look like a whore!! My G-d, I would NEVER treat my girls like that if my husband went there with them–he would have a gun in his ass!!!!!!!!!!!! My Dad’s common–law wife knows nothing of my dads abuse towards me and why would she care–when dad dies he left a nice FL condo for her to live in. I am filled with hatred towards my Dad and now with hatred towards my husband . i am a RN who has been out of nursing for about 30 years–i was a stay at home Mom, soccer Mom, babysitting mom for others kids and pets, dog grooming, basically held the fort on the home front mowed the grass, took care of them daughters of mine–that one had the Hodgekin’s Lymphoma also has Aspergers and anger explosive disorder like her dad who is Schizoid– not to be mistaken with schizophrenia the one who has the disgusting journals in the basement about raping women. He has no interest emotionally in anything accept pornography and masturbating for 30 years of this marriage!! I am trying like hell to get back into nursing and take a step out this door–or throw him out FIRST. He has no relationship with his Dad, sister, his children, or my own brothers–he is a morbid loner!!!!! My father– in law is a jackass too–always belittling me!!!! I am very close to my girls and he seems quite JEALOUS–the hubby. One daughter is living under Occupations Inc. supportive care cause of her anger issues and Aspergers she is now 27. My other daughter is suffering Bipolar 2 disorder and is the most functional of my family, but she is into permiscuity and is depressed most of the time. She dropped beauty school when almost done because of severe depression. Sometimes i just want to go away from where I live–get on a plane and never look back, but my girls are so needy–WHAT ABOUT MY NEEDS? I am looking for someone to put me under their wing and help me take baby steps back into the nursing profession–there must be someone out there who can use me for that. The last job I had was working private Duty for an elderly lady as a nurses aide not RN-she went to a nursing home that i may try getting a job at. With so much drama in my life, I wonder sometimes if i will lose my concentration at some point and if I do get back into nursing, I have a fear i might accidently kill someone if i have too much on the plate and cannot concentrate. I have had nightmares about this lack of confidence I feel and the anxiety levels I feel are very high cause I always feel like a piece of shit. My Mom died suddenly overnight in the year 2000–my dad is a pharmacist and psycho–I know my Mom was abused by him and they fed off of one another this abuse—I know in my heart of hearts (she had a degenerative spine and was always in pain and suffered a lot) this big suspicion that he slipped something in one of her pills and killed her! He was sadistic (my dad), and as you were told so is my husband—you are right I have a concern to protect my ass so history doesn’t repeat itself from one generation to another–namely mine–the present!!!!
I had come to think I was the only person that had such an experience until I came here. My mother is dead now but right up till the last time she spoke to me she told me that she gave me the enemas, because she had to. She insisted they were not rape or for sexual gratification. And no one was accusing her of anything~ I remember that as a school aged child I really didn’t poop… in fact I remember needing to poop at school and being so scared to poop or let anyone know that I needed to. I was freaked out by other girls obviously pooping at school. My mother called it “dirty” she called my vagina a “shamie” and my producing poop all the time was my sin (i came to think). She had started giving me enemas when I was 9 months old. She told me this when I had just had my first baby; like she thought this was something I was going to do to MY baby too! She told me that she never had to deal with me waking her up to a dirty diaper again. By the time I was in school she was giving me an enema one a week or so and other than that I was just scared to poop and tariffed of the enemas. She HATED giving them to me or at least I thought she did, cause she was so angry and scary. She’d fill the big red douche bag with as much water and dish soap as she could and fill me will the entire contents. Telling me that I better not get her dirty or she would spank me too. She would pinch the cheeks of my butt shut while she would shout encouragements to keep holding it…keep holding it and finally she would sit me on the toilet from where I lay on the floor in a fetal curl looking like one of those children dieing of starvation with the huge distended bellies. Upon sitting on the toilet I would exploded into the toilet… the pain of collapsing was as bad as the force of all that water in my little body. She would hold my arm to keep me from falling off the toilet. I must have passed out at these moments cause I thought of it as going away. And then I would wake up in bed later. When I was 9 I was put in the hospital for Leukemia. I didn’t have that. I had a lingering strep infection, Rheumatic Fever and a duodenum ulcer. They kept me for a month of observation and ran the tests on me again for the ulcer. They could not figure out why I had a bleeding ulcer. I was so scared in the hospital that they would catch me pooping or give me an enema, I remember lying and telling the nurse that I had had a BM and I hadn’t in the next couple of days she wanted to see it and finally I produced a poop for her to see and I was so scared she would give me an enema. It was such a delema for me. I remember hidding and pooping out side one time between the houses. Such a hopeless delema I was bound up with~ No one ever figured it out when I was a kid to my knowledge, but I can tell you what it was. What that was and what caused the projectile vomiting!!! That wicked wick horrible woman … I called mommy~ was forcing the enema up in to me so hard she ripped my duodenum. And kept it bleeding every week… that’s why I was severely anemic. It took me till I was in my late twenties and after having had three babies before I got to where I have correct bowel movements. I was 12 the last time I remember her giving me an enema and I hadn’t been able to go to the bathroom in a couple of weeks at that time. She was working by then and distracted with other things like her divorce. She handed me a fleet enema. I asked her why we couldn’t use that before and she just shrugged. I didn’t know what to think at the time, just thought life was freaky crazy and I must me nuts cause I didn’t understand. When I was in my 20’s and having babies and had childhood regression therapy I recalled the enemas that I did but did not remember~ and created instead of understanding and learning more of what I had remembered, an alter EGO type personality or something. All that Happened to IronE the Iron Enigma. Which held the clue but not the answer. Now my mother is dead. She wrote me out of the will and had everyone including all three of my children not tell me of her death and I may have been able to put a good spin on that in that I was facing life saving surgery at the time myself. I faced it alone and came out fine after a total hysterectomy and removal of an 8# tumor. I was told three months after her death that my Mother died with cancer up the ass. Seems so appropriate now. Thank You God.
Hi, Vicki.
I removed your last name and Facebook link before this comment was published. Please be sure to remove both from future comments to protect your privacy. :0)
~ Faith
I have found that I was able to reclaim my bowels by eating a prune or two everyday and avoiding anything white, but going great guns eating bulger, brown rice, whole wheat anything like breads and cereal etc. as well as fruits and vegetables (raw is too hard for me to digest, but cooked are good roughage and nutrients you probably need too). Drink lots of water and stay active. It takes as long to return to normal as it took to mess you up. Just everyday do the right thing. I also had to give myself permission to use my fingers in my vagina to give myself the support to push it out. My body over so many years could pile such a huge …having a BM should not feel like childbirth~ so you have to accept that about yourself, before you can deal with it. Dr Oz I think it was said that a BM should be soft enough to curl. Since I have become able to maintain that daily I do not have constipation any more. We can put the worst behind us!
Vicki. Wow i can relate to much of that. My bowel issues never have straightened themselves out.my body can literally wait days days a couple weeks before before i even consider it a problem. Sadly i know it is. I also realize i avoid eating so i dont create the need to have a bowel movement. Its amazing to me how many problems my mother has created in my physical health as an adult from simply this crazy behavior she had to keep my bottom and vagina clean. Not “dirty”( her words). .knowing that my father would rape me both places. Not sure if my mother actually did not do more emotional abuse that is like a fracture that will never heal in my very spirit. I know that i did not ever feel anything but unwanted and “dirty” by her. It is fotever hard to accept that “I” feel this way about my mother. But i do. Being around her makes me literally want to die. My father sent me horribly mixed feelings and messages. That is immeasurably hard yes. But i do believe my mother making me “clean” for him is beyond any words i have to describe.
Maybe one day my bowel issues as an adult will resolve. I dont know.
But i sure could relate to the red enema douch bag. Yup. Remember that. School being afraid to poop. Anywhere and fear. Etc etc etc.
Had toilet and bowel filthy water dreams for probably a year before i “remembered” *why* she held me down in the bathroom.
I hate my mother. Sadly i wish i didnt. But i do and i also wish i did not wish that i loved her. My tgat is so messed up.
Faith, I just wanted to tell you thank you Dear Sweet Angel that you are. I wish you all the best in all you do. This kind of help I have been looking for all my life. I’m frigging 56 years old and NOW! find I am not alone~ Thank you Thank you Thank You! You are doing a good thing! ❤ LOVE U ❤
I am 54 years old now Vicki and have always remembered being afraid of the enemas my Dad would give me while my Mother watched and told me to cooperate. I too was afraid of pooping in a pubic school bathroom not to mention even farting while doing it—I am learning how to let go now and understand now, looking back on a natural childbirth, why I was afraid to PUSH the baby out when I was told to do so. I had enema theme dreams until I was about 18 years old. The enemas started in my crib and went on for about 4 or 5 years along with suppository insertion and a good greasing anally of vasoline from a huge jar! I was spanked too when I couldn’t hold it and also remember blacking out. You are not alone sweetie–I am glad you found some support and comfort on this site that Faithalan has provided us with. my Dad is 80 years old now–I will let G-d decide his fate–I do believe in karma!!!!
Deborah. . You also are not alone. Do you remember chewing gum laxatives? I do remember those both my mother and my grandmother (her mother) would give them to me.
Do you recall those? The laxatives were supposed to taste good. They did not. . Nothing like chewing gum. To this day i hate gum. Lol. (not funny).
My mother is 76. She has re-found church and God and made lady friends. Even going on christian womens retreats. A pentacostal type church. Shes very content with her life it seems. I wonder about Heaven and God. How will that work if forgiveness is granted and she is tgere if there is such a place. I cant seem to find forgiveness in my heart for so much. I talk with God daily . .Very spiritually connected. But. Why could she not receieve forgiveness? Then if i do. .
Will she be in “my Heaven” ?? I read the book “Lovely Bones” . .I like to believe we have in our Heaven the things and people we love. I dont want her in mine.
So. Will i truly be forgiven that that i cannot seem to find forgiveness in my heart? I just cant.
It scares me to live. But it scares me to one day die.
how I wish my mother had used suppositories or a laxative or even some fiber or something. I don’t understand resenting taking something other than an enema to help you poop if it is actually helping. It was the Münchhausen By Proxy thing that really twisted my head. But one thing I am seeing in all of this is that THE abuse was not just in giving the enemas. The enemas are just this really BIG twist that makes everything else seem normal ~ and also she insisted that she HAD to give me the enemas. I thought I would Die with out her and her giving me the enemas. When I told my therapist that, she said, “You do realize that it was the other way around?” I said, “Yeah.” at the time, but the realizing it is like mourning! It comes in waves of realizing that I played the game of “you can’t kill me” all through my childhood and at the same time worshiped my mother all her GD life believing that If I love her/loved God (same thing) enough that I could be included in MY own family. I’m not afraid to die. I used to be. I thought when I found out that my mother had died and everyone kept it from me that I had died. I gave up. I just pretended and played safely alone in my house while I recovered from major surgery myself. I am so thankful that I had the ability to do that. We can re-parent ourselves. I take this life to be as school on a spiritual level. I see this life as a course of study that i chose before I came here. I believe (cause it works for me) I came here to learn. All that I have in my life came to me for my highest growth. During child birth.. and I didn’t see how this could have any connection till now… I surrendered. I mean really… Watching a late night show on Strange Sex was the only time I ever heard of anyone ever having the same birthing experience as I did the first time and even hers was not quite as extreme as mine was. But I think all the enemas may have even brought me to the place where I could submit to pain and still relax that most everyone isn’t able to.
I had NO pain killers. Didn’t even have prenatalvitaminss because of a whole other abuse of my mothers but that is another story in its self. It was Wednesday that I went to the doctors office only to find that I was dilated to 4, but he didn’t want me to go to the hospital yet. It was my first baby and I was going natural all the way. Really Scared to go any other way. Friday we walked the mall to get my labor going. Went to the hospital and they sent me home. Sunday morning I called the doctor and told him I lost my plug, but I wasn’t coming to the hospital…he said, Oh yes you are and I will meet you there. So I went and was in labor by now for 8 days. I was passing out between each pain or actually I was passing out with each contraction because the pain between them was all my body could stand. I pushed… STOP the doctor said…
I stopped and just totally relaxed against all else and had the most glorious in body/out of body climatic orgasmic experience beyond anything I can explain with the child fully in my vagina! out of my uterus!!! and she was born after one more push.
The nurse took her in her arms and held her in her in front of me as she unveiled her from the amniotic sack and laid her bloody body to my breast. At that moment we looked deep in each others eyes and our souls locked. “I have known her before I will know her again.” I trembled as I for a brief moment felt the magnitude of reality. Then they took her to clean and the doctor had me push the after birth. It was then that the lower half of my body went into convulsions. I could feel them, but had no control over my legs jumping all over the table. My husband asked the doctor what’s wrong with her whats happening. He said, it’s okay it happens sometimes. I was feeling NO pain nothing but this after glow of ecstasy.
There is a point to my telling you this. Life/God is bigger than any of our religions or mythologies. I believe that ALL of it is for our greater good. If it hadn’t been for my learning to just relax and take the pain as a child I may not have had such a beautiful healthy intelligent daughter. As it was she had a cerebral hemorrhage at birth and a cone shaped head for her first year of life. I remember taking her to a the mall and having silhouettete artist cut out the shape of her head so I could put it in her baby book. She has it to this day~ the book I mean. The pointy head is round now.
Imagine if in the next life you were the parent and your abusive parent is your child… re-parent yourself as you would parent them. The best revenge is living your best life.
At Malanie —instead of gum I remember being given chocolate granules of a laxative called Senacot –not sure if the spelling is right, but I remember it tasted OK when given to me during my bedtime while the enema things were going on. I was a very nervous child with sweaty palms all the time and if someone went to hold my hand, I was always embarrassed about that–I also had some rashes from nerves also stemming from the abuse– red itchy bumps in between my fingers– looked like poison ivy. My Dad was a disgusting slob–when he was taking a dump in the bathroom, he would require me to go in there with him to sit on his lap while defecating in the bowl and have me rub myself on his knee–during my youngest years. My Mom would tell me to get out and my Dad would argue with her that I could stay–that defecating was a natural thing–looking back now–yeah it was creepy but so was the enemas, suppositories, and anal rape,—- mom had my hair so short — the PIXIE haircut— that the only way one could tell I was a girl was by my gold ball earrings I wore. She hated I was a girl ALWAYS saying “why can’t you be like your brothers?” I loved being a girl, and Daddy loved me being his “little girl” the short hair he would later tell me “turned him on” He treated me like we were a couple and groomed me well for more molesting and sexual abuse as the years went on. My mother and I were always at odds with each other–she favored my 2 brothers and my father favored me. My brothers and I are close, but they are letting sleepy dogs lie–on the other hand, my Mom forced me out of my childhood house and onto a man I found very unsuitable for marriage but every relationship I had with men were sabotaged by my Dad because they were not Jewish or some other excuses. Looking back now, he just wanted to continue the incest I was blocking out, and my Mom was treating me horribly cause I guess she felt I was getting more ATTENTION than she was!!! The enemas were always in the back of my mind, but I was too young to know that was were the sexual abuse started. The Jews do not speak of a Heaven or Hell in their teachings, but I have witnessed MANY miracles in my lifetime that have proven to me that G-d does exist!!! He will be the one to delve out punishment for those deserving–I BELIEVE that with ALL MY HEART!!! We were children who had our innocence taken from us because of selfish neurotic needy people who couldn’t give a rat’s ass about our feelings!!! I have faith, and I am not afraid to die when my time comes–we the ones abused will be in G-d’s hands and His hands are the best place to be to receive the comfort we did not have during our childhood–we had a bad start, how could we possibly have a bad ending with His hand extended to us? My husband battered me and I lost a little girl at 6 months–I delivered her knowing she was going to be dead. I got back at work a few weeks later on the OB/GYN floor–I am a Reg Nurse. That was depressing floor to work on after losing a baby. The baby girl was to be named Shana–meaning beautiful in Yiddish but spelled Shaina the Yiddish way. I took a lunch break when working on that floor many years ago and that lunch break changed my life. I had extra time to go to the gift shop that day to look around–and in the display window was a pillowcase with SHANA written all over it–I was shocked that it was actually there in the store window–I picked it up and brought it to my cheek on my face and felt as tho G-d was telling me you will have another girl, and she will be named after the one you lost. I bought that pillowcase and still have it and the second child was a girl and I named her( of course) Shana. Now here is something else—-last April I went to a Passover Seder, and I met a woman there named Shana–spelled like my daughter’s name. I introduced my Shana to her and told her about the mystical pillowcase that G-d put in my path many years ago in Vassar Brother’s Hospital when I was looking around in their gift shop. The woman looks up at me and says “that was the pillowcase her mom used to make 30 years ago for that Hospital” because “my mom loved me so much she hand made those pillowcases after her–to honor her name and birth!” I told her when she got home to let her mom know just
how much joy that pillowcase has brought me throughout the years–a pillowcase given to me, by G-d, who showed me promise for a daughter to come in the future 30 years ago when I was working as an RN in Vassar Brother’s Hospital. I have my Shana, and she is 27 years old now–the same age I was when I had her!!!!
Oh. No words right now. Made me. Us. Cry. We have been crying all day.
That is beautiful.
I will respond when i can.
Oh Deborah I love you. You are an angel too. I have met soo many here just in all I have been reading. What a beautiful experience you’ve had with your daughters, thank you so much for sharing this. I know we have been kept alive for a reason. So many times I should have died at both my mothers and my own hands and yet I am here and alive.
I have a question I would like to posse here. When I was in my teens I had recently been raped by three strange boys and made a ward of the court. My parents blamed me. I was living in a girls home at the time and my mother and her boyfriend came and got me to take me to see a movie “The Last Picture Show” I for some reason recalled this and that we had to leave the theater and they took me back to the home. I had becomehystericall during the movie almost as soon as it started. I remember a woman saying “sex is over rated” and my mother laughed and I guess I went off the deep end at that point or something. I tried just to watch a collection of clips from the movie so that I might remember something more. I don’t remember anything about the story or movie and couldn’t make head nor tails even of what the clip was telling, but I was sobbing. Drenched in tears sobbing and I don’t know why. Why?
KEEP THE FAITH Malanie–G-d is listening EVERYDAY!!! I am happy to meet you here on this fabulous site that faithallan has provided–after 30 years of a very cold marriage it is time for me to see what else G-d has to show me–I will first legally separate from him and then divorce him and I will never look back!!! THANK YOU faithallan for helping me meet people on this site who were tormented and sexually abused in such a cruel and disturbing way as I was –it makes me feel less alone now–G-D BLESS YOU EVERYDAY!!!!
At Vicki–I never saw that movie you are talking about, but just when that woman said “SEX IS OVER RATED” and your abuser laughing at you, I would assume would put anyone over the edge and into a state of hysteria– in a dark theater–it jarred the PTSD in you of your EARLIEST years of abuse and the FRIGHT you never really dealt with BACK then-we can never be completely whole–but we CAN go on with a slight limp and learn ways of nurturing the little girl in us–you said it— REPARENTING ourselves with the guidance of a site like this or with a qualified Therapist–(my Therapist is falling asleep listening to me lately time to drop him or find a new one)–I definitely had enough abuse from a weirdo husband who has deprived me of sex during our whole marriage –only to tell our Therapist he dreams of f*****g MEN!!” WHAT A SLAP IN MY FACE!!!!! Vicki–you are AMAZING –keep in touch with your inner child–you know what she needs!!!! I will be constantly checking this site Vicki–let me know what is going on OK? Faithallan is wonderful to let us share our experiences safely on this website–THANK YOU AGAIN faithallan!!! <3/ OH, and describing how my PTSD feels on a daily basis–some of you described it as a zoo in your heads–I have told my Therapist I feel like a watering can with holes, and the water-the contents of my past KEEP LEAKING OUT–WOW we all feel the SAME!!!
Just thought Vicki-your Mom died of Cancer in her butt–KARMA– and my Mom died naked in the bathtub–I am sure my dad killed her— cause she complained ALL the time– from the time I was a little girl until the day she died he was abusive( and he had the Pharmacist degree to hush her up) a simple good night overdose and an instant death–NEVER investigated— anyway, she died trying to cleanse herself and was a anal freak with her cleanliness– cause she couldn’t clean her house enough because her only daughter she let be ruined by her Dad-talking about me—she knew I was being molested repeatedly by Dad until the night before I got married–she also used to ask my girls” who do you love more–your Mommy or Grandma?”–how insecure is that question-LOL! NOT FUNNY! But she died in the bathtub with a good poop floating around her—LOL–KARMA–I got the last laugh sort of–but still have to deal with her letting me be sexually abused by my Dad on a daily basis! G-d has a plan for us Vicki–I believe he is constantly there for us– we just have to have faith and find the signs!!!
Deborah, Hi having been meaning to write you have been sick for a month after only 4 chemo treatments had to stop, bronchitis, and all the related anti-botic infections. I think that I’m going to change my name so, I can’t stay Sad forever, when I do I will let you know. My Son’s custody is a mess his Attorney doesn’t want to listen to the fact that Elizabeth has been abused, her response was so I was abused we all are in one way or another. Duh, no, one abuse doesn’t equal another. The things that is so disturbing to me is my Son’s x would say mean evil things to me that I would have never said to my Mother in Law or my Mother. She was very abusive, her mother was her abuser, which the X testified to under oath, when diverting attention off herself. Her mother has been verbally and legally abusive to me, she tried to put a peace order on me on bogus harassment charge, That I was repeatedly calling her house. She forgot that the burden of proof is on her, and that phone records are easily obtained. She tried to keep my from my own Granddaughter and my Non-biological Granddaughter. I hope she the Grandmother is shaking in her fat ugly boots, that she may be finally investigated in full, we are just waiting for the transcripts to take to Social Services. Maybe their will be victory for one little girl. My Lizzie. My Granddaughter was abused as well, I thought it had stop, after my Son told me what was happening. Wouldn’t you think if the other Grandmother knows, that I know, that she would talk to her daughter, wouldn’t you think from hearing it from an outsider you would 100% have to think hey there is something wrong here and stop in case reported and investigated. This heinous Bitch was mad at my Son one night, he was tucking the little girl they say is not his child in bed, she came in the room pulled up my babies legs and on purpose or because she was drunk shoved a suppository up my grand babies vagina. We are trying desperately to get the 24 hour nurse hotline to find the tape, were my son called in in tears I nurse talked him through how to use a Q-Tip to remove the suppository. She bleed. I swear that if my Granddaughter suffers infertility a couple of decades from now I will not hesitate to hunt her down and all I can say is God help me! Please anyone reading this it is May 2012 PRAY FOR LIZZIE! PRAY! It doesn’t look like it but maybe with God’s help we can stop this for the Non-biological Granddaughter left behind, she is 5 and I love her with all my heart. The Grandparents themselves told me they did this with both their children one of them is my son sick and twisted X, even though it happened to her, she made a choice, she chose wrong. I can’t wait for her to fall off her wagon and high Horse, she has never been sober this long that I know of. She actually thinks she is going to get my Granddaughter back. Not over my dead body. She is a witch and so is her mother, they have painted me in their minds as crazy. And you know as far as they go they better think of me as crazy, CRAZY AS A FOX. Just waiting to see them brought to justice. The gross thing is its their whole families dirty little secret on Son who is a Attorney, one Dad who is a Higher up in the Air Force, a lazy fat Mom who drinks herself to sleep every night along with her husband and my Son Crazy x. These parents of hers have this poor little girl, my granddaughters Sister and I’ll not stop until I get her away from them so yes they should think that I am crazy, I am definitely their enemy. I can’t tell who the attorney we hired is representing but if she is double dipping heaven help her. So for making this all about me and my problems, but maybe we will all be able to celebrate our own inter- child’s victory, if we can get a miracle here. I would love to write you all and tell you we got her back with her Daddy, the one who did his best to protect her.
Sad
In your corner Sad, TAKE CARE of YOURSELF–I am PRAYING for your 2 Granddaughters —G-d PLEASE give custody to Sad’s son!!!! Let the DRUNK FLUNK at getting any rights to these little innocent girls–I would like to put my foot up her you know what!!!! Deb
Thank you Deb, today things took a change and it seems that the Grandparents are now realizing that David has full Custody of the youngest all ready and it they are not going to negotiate about the oldest, they will never see the youngest one again. The mother is trying to represent her self in this four way custody. The bio dad has not come to any of the court dates and he never filed his interrogatories, so he is out of the picture. So is the mom, as she just got out of jail for domestic assault, robbery and DUI, both the grandparents Attorney and my son’s attorney have said that there is no way that the court will let the Mom have her back. So it is really between my Son and the Grandparents. The grandparents took Lizzie from David when the mom was arrested 20 months ago and our attorney has not been pushing the anal fixation as a form of Child Abuse, seems like she is embarrassed even to address the issue, because sitting across the table from them you would never think that they did these Hannis things. Even the Mother their daughter confessed under oath that her parents had done these things to her and her brother. Like Grandmother like Mother. My son is a nervous wreak because he knew that she would give the oldest these enema’s and recalls her laughing as the poop gushed across the room. It wasn’t until the baby his first biological baby came along and he saw her do it to the two week old baby that his full instincts turned on. I can see how this can become a dilemma of denial for the other parent. David came to me Thank God. So at least he was able to stand up for the girls, they stopped at least while he was away. I know that my Son is a good man, because I don’t know how he didn’t punch her in the face when she came into the nursery, half drunk with a suppository in her hand he told her she better not, he is a weight lifter and when he is serious he has a very demanding voice, she went over to my seven month granddaughter pulled her legs up and shoved the suppository up my babies vagina. We are still praying for the tapes from Blue Cross Nurses Hotline. Right now there doesn’t seem to be hope that he will get custody, because his attorney will not play the child abuse card. When David threatened to drop out, I think the grandparents realized that they would never see the three year old again. And, that David could pursue a law suit against his X for child abuse which would only prompt the x to testify again under oath that her parents had done the same thing to her. The Grand Parents like to pretend that they are high class, when they are really nothing, they would be humiliated to have this on public record. Please say a little prayer for the oldest, even visitation would give him the opportunity to ask her if she was still getting enema’s.
Someone directed me to this website because I am dealing with the diagnosis of DID. I also was abused with enema’s and was anal insertions among other things. One thing that I was wondering if it could be the result the abuse, even tho it ended so many years ago is this. I have always had diarrhea growing up, however lately, it will hit me and I have no idea that I even have to go. Literally, I will be sitting or standing, and it just comes out. It is very embarassing. It is like I have no feeling. The other thing that happens is that I will know I have to go, but it is like I can’t hold it in, no matter how hard I try. Either way, I have a mess to clean up. I have started keeping a change of clothes with me at all times. After so many years, does anyone think this could be abuse related?
Hi, LFL.
Yes, this could be related to the abuse. I have had uncontrollable bodily responses to flashbacks. As an example, even though I was completely healthy physically, when I recovered a memory in which I vomited, I absolutely could not stop retching until I physically vomited. I am not saying that there isn’t a possible medical explanation, only that trauma can have the power to cause people to lose control of their bodily functions.
~ Faith
LFL I am so glad you like rest of us have this site! I feel like your journey might just be beginning! There was something that deb said that the little girl inside her needed to be recused. This sounds a little bit weird I know. I had a picture that I had on my bedside table. I so strongly believe that when my healing truly began… well I am not going to get ahead of myself. I believe that it is key to regaining ourselves in a way. One night after a very hard day. believe it or not, My first career was in early child hood education (the internal, rescuer) I ran a family day care more because, I didn’t trust anyone else to raise my child or leave them open to child abuse of any kind. I guess for years I was the vigilantly of saving as many children as I could. I then went on to another career with the MM St. Police another job of doing as much as I can to be helpful, and to shake and suppress by memories. I did have occasional suppositories and I remember by siblings did too. But, I need you to know upfront that that was in now means by primary abuse..My primary abuse came from my 5 almost 6 year older brother. He tried to rape me on several occasion, I was seven my little sister was only 3. The last time I molested and attempted rape I was seven. i did go though years of other type of abuse, by my mom and dad where angry for a while at Jack, but then I changed to me. I was the family squealer, the trouble maker, and someone to keep my little sister from, so that I couldn’t ask her and further questions
Any way back to my point, One night It hit me that looking at this picture that I bugged my photographer Grandfather into taking. It was that year. I guess I wanted to have some sort of documentation of this Period, of my life, so I wouldn’t forget the me as a savior. Which in my twenties I learned that, her abuse didn’t end but was far worse. My parents a year later sent by Brother who they though of as the scholar, to a Catholic High School, in the City. He quickly discover every drug available. My parents abuse was a total negligence of the situation, and they would beat me, often. I am here on his website as a survivor of child above, but also because my Grand children one three and one five where abused this way any the oldest is probably still going through at the hand of her Maternal Grandparents..I found out calling them and asking if what was being done to the girls they laughed as they tolded me that constipation ran in there family and they had to do the same thing with my son’s X and her brother.
One night I saw the picture there on my night stand, I stopped and picked it up remembering the time period. I began crying uncontrollably, While holding that picture, I went back in my mind and told that little be. That if no one else would take care of her I would keep her and protector her. I promised her that know matter what I was there for her and I would fight for her. It was something that a councilor could not teach me to do. But, that day my real healing began. I was empowered I could protect me and that little girl. Of course in normal adult life we can not protect our selves from everything but that little girl was always going to be protected.
Cindy
beautiful growth Cindy
LFL
Oh my, sometimes the typo’s we make are so embarrassing. I need to clarify a few things! In one of my sentences I am saying the last time I was molested. I put the last time i molested. Wow the difference a word makes. The rest of the sentence should have said he attempted to rape me.
Next sentence I said, my parents who were angry at Jack (not real name), but then their anger turned towards me. Several sentences later I talk about my granddaughters who have been subjected to the type of abuse talked about here. I should clarify that the oldest is my Non-biological, my son raised her from 6 months. When the mother, my son’s X was arrested *unrelated” the maternal grandparents demanded the oldest child my non-biological Grand daughter. Turning their backs on the Grandchild that we shared. My son is very seriously considering dropping out of the custody case, (for the oldest. Most states will allow a third party or Non-biological parents to be party to a custody case for the child) that he has been fighting to try to get the oldest daughter back. I know that he is afraid of having to talk about this abuse. He knows that the grandparents would love to turn the table on him. And, make it seem like he was party to this abuse, which could jepordize his custody of his daughter ( I try to tell him that it is easy to prove that it has been an on going pattern in their family, but I trust his judgement and try to let him be the one to decide). He know the Grandparents will lie and he could having the tables turned toward him as being an accessory. Because this abuse that his X was doing until his biological daughter was born didn’t click as wrong, because he didn’t witness it, he was always either not home or in the other room. It’s not that he loved one over the other. When he saw his daughter born his maternal/paternal instincts kicked in, and when the x did this to the new baby at 2 and half weeks. It clicked that something was very wrong with this, and he came to me. Which is why the other Grandparents hate me, I know their dirty little secret. It is very difficult for him to talk about it. He feels like he should have known that what the x was doing in the next room was wrong. I think that still today for survivors the most difficult thing of why didn’t my other parent save me. I believe that if more people of this abuse were to take a survey that we would find that the spouse was going through some type of abuse as well. We don’t normally think of men as being abused by women, but my mom abused my dad financially and my dad abused my mom. My son’s x threatened him regularly that if he didn’t do this or that she would leave and he would never see the oldest again. She also verbal attacked him regularly. When she started drinking, she turned into a person we all hated. But, David stayed to protect the oldest. Then his own daughter came along. He realized the routine anal fixation was not normal.
The rest of the above you have to read between the lines I was writing in the middle of the night. I also failed to mention that the picture on my bed side table was of me and my little sister. We had a family of seven kids. But, I wanted this one picture of me and my little sister. I was dying inside, at seven, there are so many reasons that I psychologically needed this picture, but I will not try to pin point why, I think I needed it for several reasons, In the end years and years later it healed part of me.
Another thing I would like victims to remember that if their other spouse picked up the phone and called the police. The abusing parent would more than likely not be arrested, they would make the non abusing parent look foolish, that the child was constipated and that they took care of the child.
In my son’s case his own attorney will not take the situation seriously as abuse. This is the whole reason for my son to fight to regain his (in his heart adopted daughter). Even his attorney doesn’t understand the severity of this abuse. It should be the whole format of his case against the Grandparents. My son has been told that the best he can hope for is visitation, The Grandparents want his visitation to be supervised, they have told our sweet innocent Granddaughter that David is not her real Father, even though they whole hardheartedly indorsed it from the time she was 6 months old. Supervised visitation is for Un-stable parents, My son is no where near unstable, he is a great single dad to his 3 year old daughter.
The grandparents separated the girls and would not allow my son or the baby to see the oldest.
The hardest thing is knowing that the Grandparents confessed to me that they did this to their own children one of which was my son’s X. They tell them selves that it is heredity constipation. The grand mom told me that her parents did the same for her.
That she has colitis. It’s scary how normal they talked about it like it was normal behavior. They have my Granddaughters half sister who is Five. The Five year old has been my heart Granddaughter, which really doesn’t capture the closeness I feel with her. She is and always will be my Granddaughter and I fear there is nothing I can do to help her. Except be there for her when she is eighteen and dealing with her dysfunctional life. The baby I can only hope will have no memory of what happened to her she was 17 months old when we got her away from the mother. I believe in a previous post I told of the X being mad at my Son when the baby was 7 months old, she came in the room and shoved a suppository into the babies vagina. Even with this everyone wants to make excuses, like she was drunk and got the wrong whole. Total B.S.
SAD
At Sad–been away from this site for awhile–praying ALL goes well with your HEALTH and the LEGAL ISSUES of custody your son is battling!!! I found a library book called” Fingernail Moon” in the nonfiction section of the Library and couldn’t put it down– it is by Janie Webster–the mother’s true story of becoming a fugitive to protect her 6 year old daughter from her husband –who was a prevalent doctor and was molesting his daughter!!! I cried and laughed while reading this AMAZING story of a brave woman who fled the state of San Francisco Ca to save her daughter Ellen from her( HIV positive) father— who again, I will say was a BIG SHOT DOCTOR very well liked, but had a dark side to him. How I wished someone again could have rescued me!!! I will always remember crawling up to my mother’s ankles when she left me with my dad, and crying for her to stay and would hold onto her ankles–the anxiety separation was unbearable when she left me alone with my sexually abusive dad. Like you said Sad–I am responsible for that inner child now and working on her independence from what I described as an abusive marriage I am taking steps to leave behind–the abuse from my dad and husband has hardened me, but I still have HOPE of a brighter future–HOPE is what keeps us going along with FAITH in G-D!!! Also I found 2 pictures of one of my brothers and myself and they appear to be some kind of trophy pictures my dad must have took after a torture enema session– cause I do not have any pictures of my daughters with such dismay and sadness on their face as my 3 year old brother and I look at age 2–WE LOOK SCARED TO DEATH and SPACED OUT with CONFUSION–I remember the contest my Dad played who can hold the water longer– ME or MY BROTHER and I remember his cheeks puffed out and reddened face as he struggled to hold the water–the same face as in the picture I found!
Renata,
I know you wrote in about your parents taking a liking to this little boy, all the way back in March. Hopefully the situation has been taken care of, if not though most States require you to report even expected abuse. I have had a problem with educated people not recognizing this as child abuse, and the adults are almost always fall back on it being medically necessary. I imagine that Faithallen would not disapprove of you referring to this website as a source of information. Since none of us use are real names here it might even be better to copy this strand and let them see first hand that it is abuse and that people can and do suffer sometimes for the rest of their lives.
Deb, So glad to hear from you! The First thing that I absolutely need to say is, who is your source of faith, where is it coming from, you can’t get help from G-d, Somewhere along the line you became embarrassed, disenchanted, afraid, only you know!! To say GOD! I believe I remember you saying that were raised Jewish. I was raised Catholic and left the Catholic Church in my early twenties. Most of my church experience has been Non-denominational Christian. We currently go to a Wesleyan Church that is closer to non-denominational. My church keeps me going, not in the way of they know my problems, but in the way of drawing closer to God. Let God help me when I don’t have the words to say. We have a great praise and worship before the service. The bible and Old Testament (which is the Jewish bible) the New testament is the Christian part. But, anyway the old Testament tells us to enter into his house with Thanksgiving and praise, which is worshiping God. Throw down your walls and say it God Loves me! He really loves me! G-d doesn’t exist. As you know the ten commandments tell us to have no false God’s, G-d is hiding you faith. GOD he is your God! Yours alone! By Own! Write his name on the back of the picture! GOD in big letters. The picture of my sister and me was a happy pretending everything was okay moment, taken on neutral territory at my Aunts house. My sister saw the picture once and asked me about it, and she felt very honored that out of a family of seven I had a picture of me and her their on my bedside table. She asked why it was there and not out with all the other pictures and I honestly didn’t know, I told her that it was just a good memory of our childhood. It wasn’t until years later that I drew the picture near to me. And, I cried for the little girl who was me, it was the first time that I could see that it wasn’t just my little sister that was unprotected and abused. For the first time I acknowledged her pain, the little girl named me, I cried for a long time, when I pulled it away, I looked deep into those seemingly happy eyes, and I told her that from now on I was her protector, that I would always be their for her and that I loved her. For the first time recognizing my own pain. God knows every pain you feel, he did not want these horrible things to happen to you, or your brothers. His hand is out to you, grab hold and don’t let go. He can’t undue the past, but he is your future. Their is only one commandment with a promise, ironically it is honor you father and mother and all will be well with you! That’s a hard one to swallow. Please know that it is not dishonorable to talk about what happened to you. You honored them by not becoming like them, not doing those things to your own children. I love the book of Psalms, were King David spoke his whole heart out to God and then later repented for the things that he said that were just his feelings, but not in line with the way that God wanted him to be. God would often send prophets to David. These prophets would let King David know what his sins were and David would fall on his face and cry. David made God his best friend, and God delivered him from many messes. God doesn’t love King David more than he loves you. Lean on God, when your alone in the car talk to him about everything, he will deliver you. Sorry for the sermon, but I really felt that you needed it. I can’t say that you will one day grab a picture and go back and rescue yourself. But, I can tell you that if you Let the God of Abraham help you, he will help you. Sometimes we get lost in our misery. I would really like you to keep a journal, probably a good idea to hide it. Everyday write three things that make you happy, they are there. If you want write about those three things or people, but no matter what write three great things that you are Thankful for and or love. It’s in the christian bible faith, hope and love and the greatest of these is Love.
To Faith Allen, There must be a way that we can educated people about this abuse. I wish that Social Services would read these accounts and see the abuse and see that it still exist today. Through the custody battle I think that my Son’s X is now seeing that she was abused. When she stated under oath in front of her parents, when asked about the thermometers suppositories and enema’s she said those are thing my parents did to me! Just saying it out loud I hope that it registered that she will never be whole until she has sought help. Although she didn’t admit to doing these things herself, I think admitting that her parents did it might help her not to do it to any other children she might have. It is completely possible that she will have more children all with different fathers. In this day and age this should not be happening anymore. We have the resources to proper nutrition and they even make Gummy Fiber chewable.
I will do what you have said Sad–try to find 3 things that make me feel happy or good about myself EVERYDAY–I am a reformed Jew and have never really intensely studied the Bible so I am glad you quoted me some Psalms–I NEEDED THAT!! For the first time in my life I can remember even having a little body let alone a childhood if that is what it was back then–the baby doll PJ’s that I had to actually strip off to bend over and be anally RAPED– was on my knees with my butt out in the wind waiting WAITING FOR I DID NOT KNOW WHAT! Seems like just yesterday–the MEMORIES are SO VIVID–blue baby doll PJ’s with pinstripes and little bloomers and on the top was a Dachshund’s LONG body that wrapped around the waist of the baby doll top–she was me–the innocent frightened LITTLE girl–I CONNECT to her everyday–NO ONE ELSE CAN but me– and G-d–cause He remembers those days as well as I do!! THANK YOU Sad—I am trying like hell to stay a grownup but it is difficult with those memories haunting me everyday–feels like a train wreck–wonder how it is my brothers function better than me, but I guess that would be that it STOPPED when they were young and my Mom and Dad continued to use me as the fall guy until I was 24–because my dad cont. to molest me,– my Mom started HATING me as well as him and herself! I wanted a Mommy–now she is dead–died in 2000–probably at the hands of my Dad! Well he is 80 years old now and living comfortably, while I am struggling with an abusive husband I would not have had to marry if he had not been raping me until the day I married! It was only when I turned around 50 that I started to remember the unusual sexual conditioning he did to me in my crib years!
Hi Deb, It has been awhile since posting to you. I started chemo again last May after a month of treatment, I developed a bladder infection (which go hand in hand with chemo) and bronchitis. I finished the first anti-botic, two days later was sick all over again with the same thing. The doctor put me on another type of anti-botic only for the same thing to happen. So 22 days wasted. He started me on a rare type of anti-botics 10 days later, for of all things parasites, and then two days later I was fine. 34 days wasted, in bed and weak as could be I started the Chemo again the last week of June. My cancer is basically of the immune system some of my white blood cells mutate in to cancerous t-cells there final destination is the skin after searching the entire body for infections. The doctors are very bad at explaining all this and I have found that my web board for my rare type of non-Hodgkin Lymphoma is more educational than the doctors. It is also overlooked by a moderator who monitors for mis-information. She has a panel of Doctor’s experts in this type of cancer to turn to if she needs clarification on anything. On July 6th I went in for treatment, I told the nurse their was something wrong that the wrong set of lamps were on. She told me that it read UVA out side of the machine. Wires were crossed and I got a pretty good sun burn. I went home to no air conditioning I thought that I was turning red form the mixture of the heat and the treatment. After the second day I checked my self in to the Hilton for two nights. I wanted to bring my granddaughter with me and out of the heat but I was to weak to take care of her and my son who is thirty would have had to rent another room to take care of her. I suggested this to my husband that he and David (my son) also get a room to get Scarlett out of the heat. They were both like were fine Mom you need to get out of the heat though now. It was midnight my son drove me over I go a special rate. My son carried my bags up. Made sure I had what I needed. He then went to Wal-mart and got turbo fans to add to the fans we already had. That was a Sat going into Sunday, on Sunday afternoon they called me to tell me the A/C was back on and working better than before, that I could come home. I told them that the room was already paid for until noon the next day, and asked my son to pick me up then. Of course by then I knew what had happened and that they gave me the wrong type of treatment which caused a full body sun burn. I should have know to trust my instincts and demand that the machine be turned off. I have lost yet another 12 days of chemo time as the technician has not been able to fix the chamber they put me in yet. They called my husband on his cell phone while I was still at the Hotel and told him their would not be any chemo treatments that week. That they would call me if the machine wasn’t repair by Friday, no call this past Monday I took my 5 disgustingly nauseating pills and went in for treatment no one had called me the chamber was still not fixed, I had taken chemo (toxic) medicine for nothing. The usually mean receptionist said most people would be yelling and screaming jumping up and down, your handling this pretty calmly. I told her I found out a long time ago that I could scream all I wanted and that It wouldn’t change anything. Of course she had no idea what I was referring to, she patted my hand and she said I know what you mean I wish more people could learn that. I have learned to let things roll off my back, because it is a waste of my energy to get mad at what I can’t control. !) I thought Wow you learned not to get angry, but you haven’t mastered not being mean to people that obviously don’t feel very well. She told me that she would call be if when the machine was repaired. Since the closest machine is an hour away I’m hoping that the machine will be ready by Monday next week, which will be a total of two weeks off course at this rate I will be lucky to be finished by September. The pool is pretty much out of the question. The chemo medicine that I take makes me so sensitive to the sunlight. I have learned several things from this experience number one, after having four rounds of chemo in less than a decade. My husband and Adult Son can be very caring one day and forget I don’t feel well the next. Mom come out and eat dinner with us. First I don’t want to eat, second my mouth hurts from my bleeding gums, (basically it’s a systemic yeast infections which no one wants to talk about like it has a sexual con-nutation – it’s just part of your immune system being lowered and lowered), At least I have this small break in treatment to take fluconazole, I think that is the right spelling. So my gums are on the mend and I have stopped it from going down my digestive track, so I can always find something positive out of everything negative. Thirdly, I’m to tired. The second thing that I learned is that everyone should rent a nice hotel room for at least two nights alone. It was the best rest that I have had in a long time and didn’t have to apologize for sleeping in the middle of the day. If I woke up at three AM I didn’t have to worry that I wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep, I didn’t have to worry about waking anyone else up if I turned on the TV until I was sleepy again. It was heaven, even with the sunburn. Another thing I have learned is that there is a lot of crap that can happen to us in life and sometimes people can be very kind other times not considerate, but that I have the power to speak up for myself, I have learned to have compassion to people that are being inconsiderate. That I am stronger than I think even when weak. That for all the crazy messed up things that I have gone through and still not dealt with I will when the time is right. I know that just like cancer, child abuse was not in my control, but to be a better person was. I have two children that have never been in trouble and that is a blessing. I would teach them with real life events the sad facts about drug use or alcohol. That being honest was the most important thing unless your arrested call an attorney first. Truth mixed with reality. I’ve learned that mean people are hurting people and every now and then they let you in. And like the song Dance, I’ve learned that it is alright to sleep as well. I’ve learned that right now I don’t have a responsibility to do the shopping to be in public and that it isn’t a matter of not being mentally healthy to stay inside and away from people, I don’t even go to church right now. I am not going to let anything keep me from finishing this round of chemo. People carry germs that can hurt me, people when I was young hurt me because they were sick or taught to be sick. The only thing that we or I really have control over is where do I want to spend eternity. That right now is enough for me. To help when I can, to care when I should, to forgive because it takes it out of my heart and free’s me from following that same road. I know that when I am stronger I will be thankful that I spent this time sick and tired. Because even though it doesn’t give me a remission it slows the cancer down for about two years or more where my skin is not broken out (like psoriasis) I will be stronger next Christmas than I was last Christmas. When I was a child I thought like a child but I wasn’t innocent that was taken from me, I am an adult and at the age of 52 I have less and less triggers. But just like chemo it has taken 3 decades or more of hard work to get were I am today with the PTSS. So I don’t get to have a curable cancer (I made that a little c on purpose) I have chemo to look forward to for the rest of my life, but I have a life and that is a good thing. I maybe having chemo every three years through my 70’s, but I can still look forward to growing older. I am in no way saying that I have reached the pinnacle of understanding of why my father was abuseful or my mother only able to handle just hanging on by going to work in 1969 when most mother’s stayed home, she did what she could to hold on to her sanity and she that if she left Dad he would stalk her and that someone would get hurt most likely her. My Mom honestly thought that everyone is sexually abused in their childhood to some extent or another. It wasn’t until she was much older and her grandson was molested by my brother’s X’s boyfriend that she understood the pain that it could cause a child. In a small way I am thankful that both of my parents were humbled late in there life’s to realize that they were wrong for their actions or inaction to ask us individually for the abuse that we suffered. It doesn’t make it right, it doesn’t take it away, but just like the nurse putting her hand on mine, let me see her in a different light. I see my parents in the day and age they were in, I can see them in a different light. And I am grateful to God that he showed them the pain that was our individual lives. I can honestly say that my parents were not the same as when they were young. I know from talking to them that they would have done things differently. But that is just my story. Not everyone is so lucky to have been able to make peace with their parents before they died. I still have an injured sole, I know that it is over yet. I have been diagnosed with multiple PTSS. The last being just 7 years ago when my husband, feeling sorry for himself at my diagnosis, cheated on me got drunk and flipped his truck 4 times on the beltway. He had 7 years of amenisa and a traumatic head injury. The painful thing about having a spouse with a traumatic head injury at least in my case, my husband couldn’t keep his lies and truth separate so I found out everything.
I have wanted to leave him ever since, but can’t afford to. I will some day. He made promises that he couldn’t keep and I can never trust him again. I spent a fortune of my retirement money for his counseling only to later find out that he can’t retain anything for longer than 18 months or so. He is back to looking at porn on the internet and I hate him. Six months in to counseling when his therapist found out that I had been sexually molested as a child and that he had compounded it by what he did with prostitutes. I think that his Christian Counselor was finally disgusted with him that he turn the counseling to me. I am glad for that time about eight months of counseling to not ignore what my husband had done to me. So story not over understanding people and what they do to each other not over. But hope is their. I to have aged well look pretty good for 52 and I don’t think my life is over. Just like when I was a kid I had to wait for the right time to leave home, I am in that situation again. But, I will stay moral. I will find someone else after I am divorced. These things are hard to talk about I’m glad we have a safe place. Deb sorry for not keeping in touch. The last letter was full of typo’s that I didn’t notice because it took all my energy just to type it. Thanks for overlooking my typo’s. Do I feel sorry for my husband that doesn’t know that I am going to leave him as soon as I financially can? No, I was a great wife to him for 28 years when I found out all of his dirty secrets. I took care of his dieing brother for 8 years. I had and raised two wonderful children with out his help. Even after knowing I had cancer he was still cheating on me and could have given me any number of diseases. So no I don’t feel sorry for him then, now or in the future. Another type of sexual abuse to overcome and I will. FaithAllen thank you for this site. And to so many others post that I have read I’m there with you while I read your stories and I know that It is healing for you to just get it out and be honest. The definition of sanity is holding on to reality at all cost, we are all brave because we share our reality. As we grow our reality of our situation changes too! So I could end this with a all is well with me. But all is well with parts of me and I put allot of focus on that. While I deal with new hurts, pain and anger. I shall survive!
At Sad–did ya know G-d— the Jews spell it with the dash in the middle as we were taught to write it that way as He is the Almighty and it is our way of showing Him respect. I am not saying it is wrong in anyway to write it out, as most people do–but the Jewish people were taught it is part of our way of putting Him on a HIGHER level than we are and to show Him we are humble before Him! I ask questions to G-d everyday, and I know He loves me–I gotta learn to love myself–that is the big one!!! Love ya too Sad–I am always looking here to see what is going on with you and the Grandkids–let us HOPE and PRAY JUSTICE will prevail in the child’s BEST interest!!! I think I could forgive my Dad, but my deceiving Hubby—-NOT!!! He is a deceitful sexually frustrated and twisted minded sadistic man who should have concentrated on a relationship with a man instead of ruining my womanhood during our marriage–used me as a window dressing to make himself look like a heterosexual man!!!
Deborah, Thank you so much for educating me about G-d and the Jewish belief. We are never to old to learn, Thank you! One of the weird things I remember from my Catholic childhood, was that you never let the Bible touch the ground, this always freaked me out, and made me afraid to even touch the Bible in fear that I might drop it.
I love that teaching, not necessarily not spelling out God’s name, but that God is truly bigger than anything and that mere words can not encompass him and his greatness. My daughter has a bachelors in photography, in her second year of college she was telling me that in photography that the colors don’t work that same as in Art – the basic Red blue Yellow that make up all the other colors. In the prism of the camera if you mix all the colors together you would think that you would get some horrible color or brown. When all the colors are mixed together the result is clear, they mix together to become incredibly clear. I started crying a little and my daughter didn’t understand. I told her that it was so like God, that one day all of our experiences all of our colors will be mixed together and everything will become crystal clear.
You are very intuitive the distinction that you made about your Dad and homosexuality. That is probably why I believe that it is alright to be in a long-term happy non-heterosexual relationship and I believe that they should be allowed to marry. All the scandal in the Catholic Church centers around anal rape. Why do they not let priest marry or Nuns. I don’t personally believe that it is right for me and my beliefs, but who am I to say that two other people can’t be happy.
I couldn’t wait to be able to leave the Catholic Church behind me. My father taught that it would be a good idea to put me in Catholic Church in middle school. The nuns, also called Sisters were the cruelest people that I ever met. I thought they were supposed to be loving and kind. I was so afraid of them that if they called on me I physically could not speak. I would feel nausea when the bus pulled up to the school. I didn’t have to go back the next year. The part of the bible that people like to quote about turning a city of people in to Salt was because they were having sex with just anyone, multiple partners and were corrupt. My sister has been in a relationship for 25 years. After her repeated rapes from the age of three I can see why a heterosexual relationship is impossible for her. I don’t like her significant other much, but I do like that you Sister still believes in God, knows that he loves her, and that she has stayed in a committed relationship, not just going out and having multiple partners. I believe that her and my experience has forced me to think out side of the box. Everyone deserves to be happy. And, if you can find it after such a messed up life I’m happy for her.
My daughter went to Art School so many of her guy friends are gay, didn’t mean for that to sound stereotyping. I learned a lot from them, if they had not come out of the closet especially with their family. They would hang out with girls that knew they were gay. Even bringing them home to meet the parents just so their parents would stop looking at them funny. My daughter told me this is called being some one’s beard. Meaning you are hiding their gayness from the world like a beard (a covering), so that no one would expect that they were gay.
I have had two close friends (one my Sister) that were married to men that were gay and hiding it. It is so sad to think of someone wasting 10 or 20 years to someone that was just using them to be their cover. My sister’s was particularly painful as she found pictures on the computer of him cross dressing and making out with guys. Sorry if this didn’t stay in the subject, but we all know that the subject at hand is very confusing and yes I believe that people not coming to terms with their own sexuality, are very capable of becoming twisted and abusive.
I had to write this in a separate space. My son has chosen to drop out of the custody battle. Not, because he doesn’t love Elizabeth. It has been hard to except, but I told him that I was behind him what ever he decided. The case was going in the direction of we will let you have visitation, if you let us have visitation with his biological daughter (who is also their granddaughter). As far as that goes we are all in agreement that the youngest will hopefully never have to met her Grandparents. My Son, like most men, there I am stereotyping again, can’t bear to talk about what his X did to the children, he is afraid that they will turn it around on him as if he knew and didn’t say anything. To give insight to any of you out there that wonder why your uninvolved parent didn’t do anything to stop the abuse. My son never watched her do this practice with the oldest, he was either at work or in the next room. He was told that the oldest had the same medical problem as she and her mother. I know this sounds horrible but it wasn’t until his biological child was born that he saw her do this to his 2 and a half WEEK old baby. That the walls came down. If they tricked him in to wording something in a certain way it could endanger our youngest Grand baby and we can’t let that happen.
As far as I am concerned I will keep reporting it to Social Services until some takes me seriously. I wonder if this is a abuse that an abuser can control, because the looks on their faces when their own daughter admitted that they did this to her. The look was like two trapped mice. I guess I have to hope that Karma will catch them.
I also want to make the point to everyone that this is still happening out there, there are little lives that are being broken, and I don’t know if we came stop it.
In the beginning the attorney told us that she would not let this happen that she would remind the other counsel that this case was about the oldest child whom he had raised, and not about the youngest. My son also realized that he was not going to get fully custody, the Grandparents would and that he would have to be happy with visitation and take what he could get. The attorney was not even interested in exploring the child abuse. For God’s sake my Granddaughter had a suppository shoved up her vagina when she was 7 months old in front of my son, because she was mad at him. Abuse of one child is supposed to be recognition that if a person abuses one child they are capable of abusing the others.
All I can hope for is that the testimony that the x made under oath, will be taken seriously. She in deflecting a question about herself and what she had done said “those are things my Parents did to me and my brother”, For Goodness Sake, the x’s parents who did these things are going to get custody of her unless someone speaks up. There is only one attorney left that represents the Grandparents, the x has no money for an attorney. I am going to check with the courts on Monday if I am allowed to submit a letter on the child’s behalf.
Right now it’s looking like I am going to have to live with my name Sad in MD.
Sad or Cindy–YOU ARE TRYING your BEST out there and trying to MAKE A DIFFERENCE in the lives of children who cannot speak for themselves!!! You are an ANGEL–you were ALWAYS out there trying to PROTECT everyone you could that needed help and you are still going at it strongly–I SALUTE YOU Cindy for always sticking up for the ones who cannot speak up for themselves!!! My husband is as WEIRD as they get between his schizoid personality disorder and a TOTAL lack of intimacy during my 30 years of marriage–after he started raising his hands towards me with aggression and telling me I am a WHORE and will get it when he wants to give it, I no longer sought intimacy with him ever again–but he was a SMOOTH operator during my dating years–but I always sensed he was OFF the deep end when it came to sex–with B and D subjects ALWAYS coming thru–never just plain ordinary sex–ALWAYS WEIRD STUFF! I feel bad your sister went thru some of the same crap in her marriages!!! I have no problems with gay people at ALL–just SADISTIC ABUSIVE PEOPLE!!!! But because my dad battered me when I dated, and was raping me cause he wanted me for himself, I had to settle–(at least at that time I thought), for who I am with now and trying to SEPARATE from!
Responding to the subject if “people not coming to terms with their sexuality” as brought up above in comments. . And that it can cause abuse towards children and or spouses.
I totally agree.
***TRIGGER WARNINGS*** graphic
My mother years ago told me of a female relationship she had prior to marriage and how innappropriate and unacceptable that was then. I tend to believe her about thst ( i dont most things she says). .as she had a picture of the girl that accidentally got destroyed and she was upset.
And she repeatedly over the years has said how she wishes she had never married or had children.
As for my father. . He was very fascinated by other mens penis and watching them have sex w me. Generally anal sex was what he obviously got off on the most whether watching it or using objects in my bottom or his own penis.
He and my mother were openly *swingers*. .it was the 1970s. We children knew this.
I think both my parents were gay and simply did not deal with that.
I also however think they are both simply mean psycho child abusers.
But i always always felt they should not be married either of them to anyone and certainly should not have had children. I thought that at a very young age.
You are VERY INTUITIVE Melanie- whatever their sexual preferences or out swinging openly, they NEVER should have EVER laid a hand on us children– OUR SO CALLED PARENTS— SIMPLE RULE! A child is not old enough, especially when in diapers–to be mature enough to hold a soapy bag filled with warm water-PERIOD!! It was done for punishment for what–not making on command? These adults are frustrated and sick, and not really living in REALITY–not neurotic, but psychotic–wires in their brains have to be screwed up somewhere along the line, either at birth or by their own parents. I feel like 2 people– a damaged child and a grown woman –the child still wants protection and to be rescued, the woman fights to be independent and successful at whatever I do as far as my job in Nursing goes–my haunting memories interfere with my everyday life and seem to never shut up in my mind and going thru menopause is not helping either–I am starting to see that when I have those hot flashes, and my face flushes, the body memories and scary memories of the early sadistic enemas are coming consciously to my mind, because the body memories are comparably the same–the body memories then trigger the torment all over again and depression seems to be getting worse too these days–I feel as tho I have no interest in the things I love to do anymore!! I love sex / I hate sex–I do not know what I want anymore—I seem to cry at the drop of a hat these days!!! Just have to have FAITH–yes praying to G-D for some relief–I TRUST Him!!! You take care— Melanie, Cindy, Vicki, LFL, and everyone else on this site that WONDERFUL faithallen has provided us with to vent our frustrations.
Deb makes a very good point about how how parents’ seemingly psychotic behavior by resorting to the use of enemas on their children could be the result of what they went through themselves at the hands of thier parents. I am not trying to make any excuses for what they did but this is a learnt behavior from how they were probably brought up. The other thing that I think needs to be taken into account are the medical treatments for constipation that were commonly accepted as ‘beneficial and essentail for maintaining good health’ back in those days, including the widespread use of enemas and suppositories, even on very small children. I think the thing that upsets me the most was the total disregard of any sense of dignity that we possessed while those treatments were carried out. Our feelings about what was being perpetrated upon us were totally irrelevant in their minds because it was for our own good, so the theory went. In my case, it wasn’t even explained to me what was about to happen. I think my mom’s rationale was “let’s just get this over and done with as quickly as possible because you are going to fiercely object anyway”, which I did of course. Like Deb, I am consumed by memories of what I went through (in my case it was suppositories) to this present day. We all handle our thoughts in different ways in order to cope. For me it was a very early sexualization which I recognized and ultimately used to my advantage. The psychology at work here is complex as we have all been affected in different ways from what I have concluded from reading all these posts. Accordingly, I have just started a support group called “enema and suppository memories” on Yahoo groups … http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/enema_and_suppository_memories/ It is intended ONLY for those of us who were traumatized with enemas and suppositories at an early age and never really recovered from the experience. Everyone here is welcome to join who fall into this category. In my view maybe the most important factor that was at work in those dreadful ordeals was the loss of control over the situation and that sheer sense of helplessness. I think that topic alone and how it manifests itself in later life is well worthy of discussion don’t you think?
Hi Mike T., and all others on this site. I was abused with suppositories as well as my six siblings. Stump your tow get a suppository, stomach hurts get a suppository. Because I grew up on a Horse Farm, with many other animals as well, my mother was also obsessed with worm medicine and checking our anus for pin worms. The medicine was the worst tasting thing you could imagine. All seven of us had to line up in birth order, the oldest first. The medicine would make us sick for the rest of the day. I believe you might have been addressing me with the only those who have had this happen to them and have not recovered, because I speak mostly from my perspective of a Grandmother who knew this was happening to my beautiful little girls. One of which may still be undergoing this torture. Their abuse is much more evil than what I went through, because of my memories of torture, I knew right away when my son told me. That it was wrong and not a medical procedure. My sweet granddaughter was only 2 and a half weeks old and it probably continued until she was 17 months. When I attempted to talk to her the X about this she became angry and defensive. She had also started back on her incredibly high amount of alcohol consumption once the baby was born. My son had talked her into moving in with us to save money when she was in her third trimester. She was a deeply abusive person not only to the girls but to me when my husband and son were away. She had no boundaries. My son’s motive was not just to save money, but so that I could keep an eye on the girls for him so he could have peace of mind while at work. He was not going to leave her and then never see his child. When she was not drinking or anally fixated, she was a good mom, but we all know that does little to soften the confusion of having things stuck into our body cavities. It doesn’t matter to what extent a person was abused, how often, and how deeply troubled we are in our adult years. It was not my only abuse, I had worse, I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Which I was diagnosed with in my late twenties. Seven years ago my husband almost died in a car accident on a major beltway, he had a severe closed head injury, and has lost several years of memory. I also found out at that time that while I was fighting cancer he was having affairs with high risk prostitutes. My immune system is very weak even when not on Chemo, and he was exposing me to STD’s and possibly AIDS. The thing about a head injury is in his case he wasn’t able to keep the truth separate from his lies and it all came out. The cheating, the being mad at me for having cancer, and the fact that he was sexually abused as a teenage by a male catholic teacher. After the childhood that I had experienced, I married someone who had his own fetishes, lingerie and what I was wearing where more important to him than me. After losing my first child when 6 and a half months pregnant. A week later he wanted me to put on this whorish outfit, from then on I refused. So lucky me five years ago after spending half of my personal savings on his therapy, I was diagnosed with dual Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. When your a child of sex abuse of any type and then sexually degraded in my Marriage I had triggers for anxiety from both. Even though I refused to play the kinky lingerie, he still constantly begged me, and wanted deviant sex at times. Because, I have an incurable cancer, I can’t afford to leave him. But, I avoid sex, because what he did to me sickens me.
Most of my conversations about myself have been about my Granddaughters. AND, it is relevant to hear from someone on the other side. From an adult that knew that this was going on, and my limited ability to stop it. My Son’s limited ability to stop it. Social Services is not the great savior. We couldn’t prove anything to them. Her parents laughed about it, said that it was a inherited condition, that they had to do this to both of their children too. So the trend does carry on from generation to generation because their is no one educating people that this is wrong. From the other grand mother I found out that her mother had to do this to her as well because she had constipation, she said she now has crones disease. There was no arguing with them about it. No way would she would have listened to me tell her she probably has crones disease because of the thermometers, suppositories and enema’s that her mother put her through, interesting enough is she hates her mother and has only seen her once in twenty years. That was about two years ago during a rare time that her mother was on her schizophrenia medicine. Her mother probably had this done to her as well. Their are four generations of Bi-polar women I am told. Including my Granddaughters Mother who has lost all parental rights. Surprisingly not for this abuse, as a matter of fact our attorney didn’t even want to hear about it and wouldn’t use it in the case to try to get custody of the oldest Grandchild. My son went against the X and the grandparents to try to get his Non-biological Daughter away from the abuse, (it’s called third party intervention into custody) she is my granddaughters half sister she is five and is living with the Grandparents that admitted to doing this to the child’s mother due to genetics. My Son raised the oldest child from 6 months old (with the grandparents blessing – my son had a high paying job and one of the highest security clearances) and had very little knowledge that his X was doing this to the first child. It was when he witnessed it with the new baby, his first biological child and saw the excitement that the X got from poop shooting out of her behind, that he knew something was really wrong. Even when coming immediately to me and me telling him that he was very right that what the X was doing was sick, and dangerous for an infant with her thin anal walls. We were still in a very hard situation to get the children away from her. It was ultimately her alcoholism and substance abuse that forced her into DWI’s and robberies, that got her arrested. When my son would not pick her up from the police station after an arrest for robbing his best friend, that she said that she was going to kill herself. She stated this repeatedly on the recorded line at the police station. They took her from the police station to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. She was committed to two different mental institutions over the next six weeks. I had the girls when the X was arrested. Two days later the X’s sick parents demanded the oldest child, they had their daughter sign a power of attorney over her to them for her (which for the record is not legal to have someone sign a legal document while institutionalized. They knew they couldn’t take my son’s daughter, because he was a fit parent. I still to this day consider the oldest to be my granddaughter, their was nothing that I or my son could do, they had more legal rights to her than David. All I could do was call the Grandparents six weeks later and ask them to keep an eye out for Tara using Thermometers, Suppositories and enema’s that is when I learned of the family connection and the generational mental health problems and the sexual abuse from the “treatments” From that time on, because I had opened the door to something that was their own secret, I have been considered crazy by them, they still contended that what they did was right, and as far as I know they are continuing the practice with the oldest grand daughter. The youngest Grand daughter is just as much their blood grand daughter as the oldest, just two different fathers (FYI the first father completely unfit meth addict). They have not acknowledged the youngest at all it will be two years this August. I think that their are multiple reasons for this some of which may be unconscious, they don’t have complete control of the youngest, they can’t enema her, because they know that we will not over look it. My son has been denied the right to see the oldest, we believe because they know either outright or subconsciously that he will ask her if she has had to have an enema. He raised her for over three years.
Why is it important to hear from the perspective of someone who this was only a mild part of my abuse. Because I am shedding light on an area untouched. Why did the other parent due nothing, or seemed to be doing nothing. Did Grandparents or Aunts or Uncles know, and did nothing? These things matter. I think it is extremely sick if it evolved both parents. I believe that it is an important perspective that I have for those of you that wonder why their other parent watched from the door. Why didn’t they help you? It took 17 months for my son to be in the position to walk away with the girls. My Granddaughter is one of the lucky ones she is away from them forever. My oldest Non-biological Granddaughter, lost her mother, her father and her baby sister in a two day period. There was no abuse from my son, he put a roof over her head, supported her, and loved her. After coming home after a 11 hour work day to have to cook dinner for the girls, give them a bath read them a story and get them to bed by eight before the X was completely sloppy drunk. He was stuck, if he had left at any other time before her arrest, his custody battle would not have been cut and dry. She would probably have gotten custody and him only partial custody. The courts don’t have a clue, if the other party has a doctor say that this is medically necessary procedure and the right treatment for constipation. Then what is the other parent to do. They lose the ability to stop as many “Treatments” as they can. I am valid on this web-site. I have lived both sides. I have watched my son verbally abused and unable to protect his girls while at work. Things are not cut and dry when it comes to many of the other people on this website as to why did their parent do nothing. I hope I can shed some light, that their other parent was being abused by it too!!! I had a nervous breakdown. Between the issue of these treatments, to the verbal abuse that she put my son (and me through), her stealing from me, her spending all of my son’s money on booze and ruining his credit in the process. To her drinking while pregnant, taking other peoples prescription pills while pregnant and getting RX’s for Nausea medicine in her third trimester because she was vomiting all the time, she was vomiting because she was drinking. Thank God my baby granddaughter seems to be healthy, she is 3 now and beautiful, happy and content. When she lost her sister she regressed for about two months. One day she came up to me and said L. gone (will not put her name out there) I held it together and I said no honey you will see L. again. At this point it might not be until L. is 18. David has dropped out of his very expensive custody battle because they wanted to barter time with the youngest for his having time with the oldest. It tore me up inside for days and then it hit me, that he did what he had to do and that during depositions the X admitted under oath that her parents had done these Treatments on her and her brother. She didn’t confesses to doing it to her girls. But with her criminal history which started stacking up after that initial arrest, she will not be able to get custody because of the nature of her charges and prison time served for domestic violence to breaking and entering. The grandparents will get custody of L. and we are waiting for the copy of the full deposition which includes that under oath testimony from the X against the grandparents that will get custody. We will go in person to Social Services and make them take it seriously. We will push for periodic visits to her school from a social worker. It’s a lot more than we had years ago, when our parents flew under the radar. The grandparents are not going to have it that easy, because we will stay on top of it. It’s not fool proof, but for now it’s all we can do for my Son’s first child, not his blood but his heart. I would like to add that people that abuse, abuse on so many levels, the taking of Elizabeth from the only father she ever knew, to the taking her away from her baby sister, that is the most heart breaking thing that they have done, they through their daughter let her be abused by the “treatments” (we don’t know if they are doing them or not) then isolated her from everyone that she loved. The final insult to her little psychic was 5 months ago at 4 and a half they told her that my son was not her Daddy that he was only Scarlett’s and that was why he didn’t come to see her. Vicious. We will be looking for her in thirteen years and we will let her know she was loved and not thrown away the way they have made it seem to her, we will have the proof of the custody battle and we will get her counseling if she needs it. We have pictures of her early childhood, her happy days with her sister, who I know she will never forget. Every card we buy to mail to her we will by two one to put in a catalog for her in case she never see’s the one mailed. What any one on this website has to say is important, faithallen manages professionally and it is a blessing and a secure place to feel safe, sharing our stories, helping or attempting to help each other out. The encouragement from anyone is important, the acknowledgement that people never knew this was abuse. The people that accidentally pass through this individual web and walk away a little bit more educated about how children should and should not be treated. For Goodness Sakes it’s education for anyone and that is what we need, because clearly it is still going on I am living proof of that. So it is not just about us. If someone who was not abused this way has a question, they should ask. Ignorance grows in the darkness. As long as faithallen allows me to post I will post!
Hi Mike T–all I have to say is if the enemas sexualized you in a positive way–G-D BLESS YOU!! Sad/Cindy is right we are ALL affected in some way!!! My brothers were tormented with enemas/suppositories and choose not to discuss the embarrassment as much as I would like to. It ended with the enemas at an early age with my brothers but my father cont. to sexualize me throughout my whole life living with him! Twirling thermometers in my butt when he took my temps–smirking when I looked back at this odd behavior, wrestling with me in his room with the door shut during until about 10 years old and fondling my breasts, vagina, and sucking on my earlobes and breathing heavy in my ears, showering me and fondling me during my pubescent years, coming into the bathroom and staring at me when showering thru the curtains when I took my own showers, asking me if I need a spoon and want help when I stayed in the bathroom too long while defecating –older years,– during younger years even asked me to join him on his lap while taking a dump, SEX, SEX, SEX, all fetishes for his SICKO SELF!!!! WHO CARES IF THIS WAS A FAD–the enemas—for me it was the beginning of a perfect sexualization of me to meet my dad’s selfish needs–grooming it is called–conditioning!!! Bought me perfume, makeup, copied photos for me of our pets, bought me jewelry, jewelry boxes, all so I would be his little WHORE for his sexual needs–innocence taken away, childhood taken away—–NO CHILD NEEDS an ENEMA or anything stuck up their ass–my kids didn’t and this was just a sick deviant way to either stop expensive diaper service, keep the kid from pooping during the night, IT WAS JUST PLAIN MEAN, CHEAP THRILL, CONTROL over another’s body, and IF it was done to the one’s who did it, they KNEW how it felt, so WHY WHY HURT ANOTHER???? I asked my father to come to my therapy session–told him I have PTSD and he immediately e-mailed my brothers asking them what he should do- said to my brothers-“-Deb consented to the sex”–REALLY? I was so scared of his beatings when I went dating, that I watched myself getting raped back then–but now I do not separate myself from it anymore, my mind is now remembering the horrors he inflicted on me–now I could finally see clearly why I married a sadistic asexual man who has raped me during our marriage–and now I know why I need to leave this marriage now that my memory has come back!!! Hey Sad/Cindy –the SECRET IS OUT!!!!!!!!!! The world should know how damaging early sexualization with enemas/suppositories can be to a child and their self esteem and early sexualizing in this sadistic way will cause unnecessary anxiety carried throughout one’s LIFE!!! I was taught, “little girls are to be seen not heard”–NOT ANYMORE–and you could copy and paste this post for proof in any courtroom. My father is a professional Pharmacist and PEDOPHILE with a enema fetish twist of COPROLAGNIA/COPROPHILIA–first one means sexual arousal that is produced by the thought or sight of feces–the second one is a person with an obsessive interest in feces!!!!
Mike T – the last thing that anyone wants on this site is to hurt each other. I’m sorry if my speaking my mind hurt you in anyway. Don’t let it keep you away from the support that you can receive here.
God Bless you Deb, you are on your way. It hurts to confront the pain and violation that little Deb suffered. Your father it seems wanted to ruin you sexuality as a teenager, I think in his sick twisted mind, he didn’t want you to ever want anyone else. You are an overcomer in the making! Have you ever considered hypnosis to help separate what happened to you and your own sexuality. I don’t think it’s healthy to use hypnosis to block memories that could mess you up even more than your father did.
You are that little girl, you are that teenager, but it’s time to start your journey with a well qualified therapist to help you move into the realm of you are that Adult now and you are strong. I pray that there are no grandchildren being left with him. Also, not sure about the statue or limitations in your state. But, I believe that almost every state has a unlimited time frame for child abuse. I have a feeling he wouldn’t want it to go to court. Think about talking to an attorney, the first consultation should be free. If you go straight to the police he will be prosecuted, but you might not ever be able to sue for monetary damages, if he is in jail and not able to work. Why not go for a out or court settlement. Of course, your attorney will not tell him off the bat that you don’t want to take it all the way to court. Let him approach your attorney with a settlement. This is money that you need for counseling and starting over as a Independent Enabled Woman. The more steps that we make toward being whole the stronger we become. Just a strange word of encouragement, my uncle re-married at 82 to a vibrant 78 year old. Our sexuality doesn’t have to end because we are 50 60 70 or 80. I know you just want to work on you right now, but their is always hope that somewhere down the road God has someone waiting in the wings – for a recovered you. F.Y.I. I have tried to do the G-d thing, I can’t do it, it makes me fell like I’m saying God’s name in vain. So if it is alright with you we will just honor each others ways. He knows who he is, One of my favorite verses is “That God will lift you up with wings as eagles” “You will run and not grow weary.” “You shall walk and not faint”. In the Christian Faith we believe that God’s promise to one person is also a promise to us all. I have signed up at church for a teaching on all the wonderful Jewish traditions and there meaning I’m looking forward to it, but I will have to wait until the end of the year. Starting my chemo again and I am going to have to stay away from people this time, so I can complete the course with out catching anyone’s summer cold or what ever, so I have plenty of time to talk and write. You know I just was getting ready to push the comment button and I realized that life with it’s good and bad, health and illness, curable illnesses and in-curable, don’t just go around us because we have already been hurt. It’s how we handle it that counts, but let me explain what I mean. When first diagnosed with an incurable cancer, my sister told me to handle it with GRACE. Well I don’t want to handle it with GRACE, I’m not going to pretend that it’s okay, it’s not. I want to handle my life letting people know that how we feel is how I feel, they can’t take that away from me I plan to enter into heaven one far off day as a warrior, not a victim. How about you?.
Mike T–I apologize if I got a little fresh and edgy– I am so sorry if I spoke in any mean way towards your sexuality and how you handled those suppositories when a very young boy–we are all hurting here, and handling this stuff in our own ways–maybe cause my abuse lasted for 24 years I feel different from the rest here–all I know is daddy did a good job on me–he deserves pervert of the year award for that!!! I have to start thinking of the positive things he taught me like how to swim, playing scrabble, taught me chess, taking the vocabulary tests in Reader’s Digest, encouraging me to be a Reg Nurse, taking us on vacations every Summer, Carnivals, etc.. I talked with a hypnotist recently, and he told me I am, “one of the very first woman abused this way by their father who actually has said to him that my body thoroughly enjoyed the sex”–not the part that he was my dad though–said it is surprising that I could actually admit that–which is a step for healing!!! My body responded to the rape–my body gave in–it is nature!!! But so many lies–sex is for when you get married and not before, men should chase woman–woman should be playing a less dominant role when comes to sex, mom told me if I put a tampon inside me at 13 years old I would no longer be a virgin-LOL! mom seemed to be a prude-never talked about sex with me–told me to ask my father–sent me into the LION’S DEN!!! I was so confused by what I was told and what mom was allowing to happen to me–the house became divided–my brothers were her favorite, and I was daddy’s little girl–LITERALLY!!! He made me feel pretty, sexy, –I wanted to please my father cause I loved him unconditionally–cause all little girls look up to their father!!! I told my mom when it happened and my grandmother, but they played it down–guess he must have had too much control financially and other ways–who knows maybe he sexually abused my mom too!!! At Sad/Cindy– you keep fighting your cancer OK? Let G-D handle whatever you cannot–I am praying for you Cindy-hang in there–been down that road when Shana had cancer at age 15 and it was NO picnic–she has been in remission for 12 years now–my nursing skills came in handy but when it is your own child–well I do not even wanna go there now!!! I am SO HAPPY you are going to take a course on Judaism– I think you will find it very interesting! I am very Reformed Jew–not orthodox or strict–I still enjoy my faith and what I was taught. I am SO so tired of the thought of separating myself from Mike-my husband– but he became only a stepping stone until I was able to remember ALL of my past and just how far back it went–I AM WHOLE and that is ALL that matters–not to mention I got some brains too-LOL! My father can go on believing whatever he wants, but when he dies, he will have to answer to G-D for sleeping with his only daughter. I just need to find some PEACE within myself and go on with whatever –G-D gives me next! My girls think the world of me–more than I could say for myself, they are perfect, and I have given them wings and freedom to find themselves–more than my selfish father gave to me. I hope and pray they will choose men that are not abusive towards themselves as I did with their father. It will be scary, but as you said Cindy I have hope that someday I will be able to find Mr. Right –I am 54 years old and have 30 year old men hitting on me–was told by many that I look 39/40–I cannot complain about that–maybe all that horseback -riding/Dressage has paid off–it is more healing than therapy–seriously!!! The horses have given me strength, a feeling of peace and contentment, confidence and endurance along with a special bond–and I am one of the few that can ride the horses with PTSD from their own abuse and mistreatment–HOW ABOUT THAT? YA ALL GET BACK AT ME YA HEAR???
Deb, I want to let you and Sad in MD know that there is no apology needed in any way and no offence has been taken. I feel so desperately sorry that you were abused in such an awful way by your dad. The suppository ordeals that I endured as a little boy were, I guess, really quite trivial compared to what you went through. For me I never felt that I was sexually abused at the time (but abused non the less) and I am sure it was not my mom’s intention either. No, In my case I attached a sexuality to those forced suppositories myself and it became permanent by the time my mom stopped giving them to me, which was when I was about six. For you the abuse itself was sexual and you were therefore not responsible for that sexuality. You had to handle it alone and without any help from the one person who should have condemned it and put a stop to it, which was your mom. I get the impression that she was very much under the control of your dad, am I right? I think that maybe your way of handling it was to mentally detach your dad from the sexual emotions that were developing within you naturally and that allowed the situation to continue? I have no doubt though that the core of our sexuality though goes back to those early childhood ordeals involving enemas and suppositories. The forced insertions and submissions involving a very private and sexually sensitive area has to have a profund effect on a child’s developing mind. (the author Anne Roiphe described these emotions beautifully in her childhood autobiography Torch Song in which she gives a very graphic account a large and painful enema given to her by her German nanny when she was a child growing up in New York – if you want to read it the excerpt is in the files section of my support group that I mentioned in a previous post). We all have to carry and handle our memories and the emotions they evoke in order to move forward. I know I became fixated on re-living my suppository ordeals in my mind from an early age. I can picture certain scenes in incredible detail as though they took place yesterday, from how hysterically I tried to resist (quite futile of course) right down to such things as what my mom was wearing or the type of container the vaseline came in! That seems weird doesn’t it because I was so traumatized and in a highly emotional state, squirming around and bawling my eyes out, and yet I can recall certain details so vividly. I would have thought the opposite would have been the case under such conditions?
Mike T not necessarily–sometimes when trauma is taking place certain things will just come back to detail–the mind is an incredible thing!!! I have already described above the details of the baby doll pajamas I was wearing in my enema given days and remember them so vividly on my little body. I remember toys I had, the way my bedroom was set up and being in my crib. As far as the way you described how I handled my dads rapes as I developed sexually, I remember feeling very sexual and aroused, my body reacted, but somehow I separated from myself–like an out of body experience–guess it was the only way to protect my mind so I could handle it at the time. My mom would be just a room away in the kitchen doing whatever–she knew what was going on–she had my memory until I finally could no longer repress the memories–SHAME ON HER for letting my father treat me that way–the police were only a phone call away while she let him rape me. He started me so young I was totally submissive and anticipated it after awhile—it got worse when I started dating at 21 years old. I wasn’t allowed to date as a teenager in High School. The books and studying were my job. I felt different all my life–a freak–incest became just my way of life, as I said he started me so young. Dad taught and trained me well–was all about pleasing daddy and as i said he gave me gifts left on my desk in the morning. i would retaliate on my mom when dad was gone–cause she was’t helping me, and we were always at odds with each other–she would sometimes slap my face or pull my hair. Worse yet, she would tattle to my father when he got home from work that i was being mouthy to her and he would batter me– telling me not to treat mom with disrespect–GEEZ I GUESS THAT WAS HIS DEPT. No matter who I dated, my dad would sabotage it and eventually he would make it impossible for me to date and they would wonder what was up with such a strict and belligerent tyrant father. Now that my memory has come back, I even remember my dad brazenly grabbing me in front of my mother and fondling my private parts telling her how disgusting she was getting as she was aging and that “Debbie is much more sexy” –he must have ruined her self esteem during the whole marriage-but still doesn’t give my mother an excuse to turn her back on me. The last time he raped me was the night before my wedding—I remember staring into space and looking at his face– I was still and quiet as can be with just my body reacting and tears flowing down my cheeks– I felt like I didn’t know who this man was anymore–I felt SO ALONE, dirty, betrayed, I wanted it to be my future husband or even a stranger, but it wasn’t it was my so called father!!! Looking back, my mom was childlike and had a very low opinion of herself-she had self hatred that she put onto me, for not being the mom she should have been –she was afraid of her husband!
Deb, I have this feeling that Karma so to speak, caught up with your parents in the end!
Being from a family of seven it’s amazing to look back and see how we were all abused in different ways! I have no idea what happened to my two brothers but my one brother will never be functional, the one that attempt to rape me and the one who did rape my sister. That brother suffered from dysfunction, inability to hold down a job, before that he was sent to a Catholic Boys School in the late 60’s and the early 70’s, he found his way to every drug he could get his hands on.., he burnt his brains out on drugs. It is only recently that he found a doctor that would prescribe him a high controlled substance for back pain that he could take daily with out having to do street drugs. My sister will never forgive him for she went through so much more. My anger like yours has been against my parents for not protecting me and allowing my younger sister to be continually abused. My feelings were deep deep disgust at my brother. I had no idea until my Twenties that my younger sister’s abuse didn’t stop. My father was obsessed with my older sister and sabotaged all of her relationships. The sister one step older that her has claimed that dad would come into her room and fondle her. My oldest sister claims that never happened that, the other sister is a liar. She protest to much she told us all that their were such things as false memories. As the oldest she was allowed certain privileges. My mother went to work when I was ten and it was like my oldest sister became the new spouse. My sister saying that Dad did things to her and my older sister’s reaction was bizarre it was like my older sister was defending her man. By the time my sister was a teenage she hid herself under a hundred pounds of overweight – protection. She also went out of her way to not dress like a girl. My grandmother lived next door and had to take over raising my cousins. Mom and grandmother were best friends and shopped together every weekend. They would buy my youngest sister (the one who had been raped from the age of three) and my cousin the same clothes, which wouldn’t be right even if they were in agreement. It was a way from my vantage point of pointing out on a weekly basis that Elizabeth was fat and Susan was not. My sister would tear up most of her clothes and was the only one of us who would cuss my mother out, (horrible cussing and words that I still today can’t imagine someone calling my Mom – Mom recently died, I was very close to her) On top of that my cousin became my father’s new obsession after my sister got married and he couldn’t obsess over her anymore. They (my father and cousin) went everywhere together under the pretense of Dad teaching her how to be a commercial artist. Which was the family business on my Mother’s side and my Father’s side. My father would only teach and take my two brothers out to work with him. My younger sister always begged for dad to teach her and let her go to work with him, he refused. So taking cute little cousin that was my sisters own age was further abuse and non acceptance tor my baby sister. Who now dressed like a boy hiding her self even more. My cousin was lavished with new clothes from my father. One Christmas my mother gave my cousin two pairs of sexy lingerie, she burst out of the room crying. It was like my mom telling my cousin that she knew something was going on in front of my Dad. Their was so much confusion of what in the hell was going on that my baby sister and her friend ended up trying to kill themselves at a graveyard. Because my sister was heavier, her friend became unconscious first she could revive her, my sister dragged her friend to the rectory and had the priest call an ambulance before my sister passed out. They both survived taking an amazingly serious amount of pills. Her friend within the year killed her self. Much later I found out that this was My sisters first lesbian relationship. My mother was in a no win situation, she knew from early on that if she tried to leave him he would stock her and someone more than likely Mom would be hurt or killed. Mom was from a rich family, not even that could protect her from the mad man my dad could be. Strangely enough my father had triple by pass in his seventies, and it changed him. He had a tube down his throat for three months and was in intensive care. He had nothing to think about except dieing and all the things that he had done right. After recovering which they were not expecting, he could walk very well. He needed knee transplants and was not a surgical candidate. So he spent the next five years mostly in a wheelchair. During that time he tried to make apologies to each of us for the individual mess he had made in all of our lives. Which forgiveness was impossible for some of my siblings. My cousin avoids our part of the family. I can’t even talk about what my Mother had to go through after my father died, she died five years later, one day I will share.
The most important thing that I wanted to tell you Deb is the memories that we held on to like our life depended upon it so we wouldn’t forget were important to keep our self’s sain. We lived in the reality of what we were going through so that some day we could figure it out, that makes us strong not weak, I believe that triggers are directly related to memories that we tried to hold on to but some of them we have forgotten. Much like the reason post of being triggered by unrelated to our memories. It’s facing these memories and triggers that enable us to tackle each one with reality. Because it is in reality that we can conquer that memory or lost memory causing a trigger. Once our primitive child brains catch up to our adult brains, we either run from them or make sense of them and categorize their inappropriateness not having anything to do with us, that we can put them away. So to everyone I say run into your memories as you can, because as you do you are standing on top of those memories with clear understanding and they are then appropriately under your feet wear they can’t hurt you anymore. There have been times that I ran from the memories. I believe that sometimes all we have is the pain and we are not ready to let go as if holding on to the pain is our only way of holding on to our anger. Each time you address a memory straight on you are on the road to letting other good things in your life. I believe because we can choose to stay jaded or give ourselves permission to move forward and face those childhood memories with our adult knowledge. We allow our child to let go of them to, because they know that you are trustworthy to protecting them and yourselves too. I now have to go out of my way to remember the vivid detail that I used to hold on to so close. I almost wonder if my childhood holding on to visual things was a wonderful blessing that our complicated mind gives to us, because if left in our sub-conscious couldn’t we go on to be just like our abusers. I have almost no relationship to my siblings now, because they are all at different places of being abusive themselves, being judgmental or
feeling a misplaced feeling of being better than the rest of us. My brother my abuse I finally realized went through much more torture than I did, and that it has caused him to have a wasted life. My parents didn’t get him help like they didn’t take care to get my little sister and me help. (not like their was much help at that time) I no longer get disgusted to be around my brother but only want to check on him a couple times a year and make sure he has work to feed himself and his son. The only thing that keeps them from being homeless is a failing apart trailer. This comes at a cost my younger sister who has remained verbally abusive will not speak to me because I’m at a different place that she is, she holds on to her anger in a very abuse-ful way. I choose to not carry it with me as much as I can let go of the more beautiful my Granddaughter is and little things in life are. I’m sorry that my seven year old self wasn’t able to rescue my three year old sister. I paid dearly with emotional abuse for trying. I have to hold on to what my little seven year old self tried to do was brave not effective but brave. I think our triggers that we don’t no why we are being triggered are the most important ones to seek more therapy on, because somewhere in our self-conscious their is a clue, even hypnosis can possibly help us understand and remove ourselves from that trapped inner child and set him or her free. It’s an amazing thing that I have so many wonderful memories of summertime at the beach with my aunt, I remember the first time I saw the ocean and the powerful waves with the moonlight shining on them, it was a breath taking sight. I don’t have any firm vivid memories during that time, just remembering how much fun we had, and wanting my children to have that same feeling. I want to hold on to my mental health and find more and more to enjoy, so that when the day comes that my first granddaughter is back in my life, I can help her to step over and on top of her abuse. I pray to God that the things that came to light in court depositions will haunt her grandparents that got custody of her into not repeating the same with Lizzie. Their own abuseful daughter turned on her parents and said they did all of that to me and my brother on a weekly basis. She did not admit to her abuse against my grandchildren, but she shone the light on her parents. Our incompetent legal system will give custody of the oldest grandchild to the grandparents, because she is not my son blood child. She is my Granddaughter’s sister. We will every so many years call and remind social services to check on her at school. We will see her again. We do know that the mother will never be able to get custody of any of her children. We know that she will never forget her sister and will come looking for her one day. The best thing I can do for my oldest granddaughter is to keep working on my own mental health, so I can be there for when I see her again.
I know this original post is a few years old now, but – it’s still garnering plenty of attention, and I am thankful for that.
I’ve been in counseling for almost two years and am just building up to a point where I can articulate what it is that I felt and experienced as a kid, as it pertains to this post. I’ve always thought my sexuality was deviant and had to be hidden, and I began humping pillows from a young age (6, maybe?).
Do you mind if I put out bits of my story here, because they’re too difficult to talk about in person sometimes…?
I have a cousin who has fetal alcohol syndrome and is mentally handicapped. He was adopted and raised by my aunt and uncle, who were probably worn out by having to keep tabs on his whereabouts at all times. During my childhood, this cousin (maybe 13 to 15 years older than me) was caught running off with children, purposely isolating them. He invited the kids to go for a walk with him and would eventually coax the kid into bending over his knee to be spanked. If he was daring, he’d pull the kid’s pants down. I was recently told that he tried to isolate me even when I was 6 months old, although my relatives stopped him then. They didn’t always stop him. I have distinct memories of being over his knee, pants down, with him hitting me – but not too hard. I’m almost positive that he inserted a toy thermometer (bigger than a regular one for sure!) and was always trying to push boundaries to see how far he could go with this game. These memories are from when I was young, under 7 most definitely. Life has always seemed edgy to me, especially when with that half of the family. I always felt nervous – about what people’s intentions were and/or what they were thinking. And if that cousin was ever around me or other younger children, I was on high alert for his whereabouts at all times. When I was 7 or so, I was essentially told that I was in part responsible for making sure he didn’t go off anywhere with kids. What a burden for a 7 year old who felt totally unprotected in her own right!
Then came the memories of my grandmother.
I recently found out that my grandmother had been sexually abused, and that, when she told her mother about it, she wasn’t believed. So my grandmother’s whole life has essentially been about being a victim with no sense of justice, sort of stuck in that age of her life. She was always obsessed with shows about missing children and was very interested in collecting dolls. She has what I consider to be a bit of an obsession with children – wanted to hold them, take care of them, etc….. in my childhood, I was often left in her care (parents divorced when I was a baby). I remember in kindergarten when a friend came over after school, my grandmother told me that I had to come into the bathroom to have my temperature taken. I objected – I told her that I wasn’t a baby and that I could hold a thermometer under my tongue. She told me that my mom had asked her to do it (GUARANTEED LIE – Mom never did that). I kicked and screamed but ultimately had to submit. My poor friend was just trying to tell me from the other side of the door, “It’s ok, my mom does it like that all the time.” While over my grandmother’s knee, she rubbed my bare behind as she waited, which felt just plain weird to me, and moved the thermometer around. The sensation was strange. That just added yet another strange instance of being over someone’s lap. When this memory came back to me, several others did as well, including those involving suppositories and enemas, and memories of lying on the cold tile floor with a towel underneath me. Two other scenarios: around 4th grade, I got really sick and ended up being allergic to a medication that had been given to me. That meant coming home sick from school (to grandmother’s house) and then a visit to the doctor’s office (where my mom worked) with my grandmother. When I came home from school sick that day, I was lying in bed, and my grandmother tiptoed into the room and inserted the thermometer while she thought I was sleeping. At that point, I was too ill and tired to argue. And I had thought that we’d passed that phase for sure….then she convinced the nurse to also take a rectal temperature when she brought me to the doctor, even though she was all set with some digital thermometer…..seriously? Even MORE humiliating. She told the nurse, “Go on, take it rectally, it’s more accurate.” This was infuriating to me, especially since my mother never went that route with me, ever (and I now wonder if that is because she wanted to protect me from what she’d felt as a kid with her mother….).
Now for how this has affected me: I was obsessed with the idea of spanking and developed a medical type of fetish at an early age. I moved around age 12, so I can distinguish between pre and post-move. As a kid, I remember sitting on my floor, looking up “spank”, “whip”, “paddle”, as well as “rectal” and “enema” in my dictionary and looking for books that depicted this in the story. My mom was a nurse, and I used to read her medical manuals. I think around age 12, my grandmother gave me Flowers in the Attic (and she pulled it off the shelf where she had lots of other VC Andrews books). I got hooked but wondered what was up with my grandmother and questioned why she would give it to me to read. I think I was definitely too young for me to be reading that, too. I could have been older, no idea. I read a lot of VC Andrews and was essentially exposed to my first written pornographic material – a great many of those books involve sexual spanking of children and rapes….basically sick and twisted families depicted through crazy plot lines. I was most definitely aroused by what I read. The writing was no doubt geared to arouse the general reader, but I went right for the “good” parts every time.
Because of my obsession, if someone mentioned spanking to me or another word like it, I went completely silent and was UNABLE to speak. I came out of the silence when a dear friend busted me for looking at pornography (and reading stories related to my own experiences). I told her a good deal and worked out a lot of the shame then, and started a short course of counseling. That was about 8 years ago. I started seeing a different therapist about two years ago. I try not to think too much about these taboo topics, but it’s impressive how profoundly they affected me. I have to wonder – did something else happen to me as well, or was what I went through enough to warrant such a strong reaction from me. I wanted nobody to touch me. In pre-school or kindergarten, I developed a case of scabies in my private area and had to bare my behind for a doctor’s inspection. More humiliation….
Even in a committed relationship now (of almost 3 years), I’m just over 30 years old, I feel re-traumatized nearly every time we are sexual. At least once after sex, I cried, feeling violated, angry, and confused, even though I had consented. I tend to end up with men who are manipulative and verbally cunning. It’s as if I have to be chased in order to feel anything sexual. It’s about the submission. When I drink alcohol, I tend to share more details of the spankings (etc…), and a desire to engage in the darker fringes of sexuality. Occasionally, I succumb to a temptation to look at related pornography out there….and there’s a lot of it. But I always end up feeling more messed up and preoccupied than I was before. I fear adults’ motives with kids and always worry that I’m going to mess up a kid if I have one.
PS – An aunt finally put her foot down and declared that if the mentally handicapped relative is at a party, she would go (neither would her children). That cousin is now in a state-run facility under careful watch away from all children, because the state knows and has seen that he shouldn’t be around children (and both of his parents died a number of years back). Knowing that made me feel a bit better, but I still struggle with feeling worthy of being protected. In those situations that I was left alone with him, my grandmother was the caretaker. I can’t help but wonder – did she let him coax me away? Did she find some sick pleasure from that? That may not be the case, but – either way – I was left completely unattended.
Thank you for letting me share this story. I have wanted to share it in a safe place, without saving it in my computer. There are more tidbits, but you’ve now seen the structure of the story. My therapist hasn’t outright said I’d been abused, but he’s asked me to confirm that I FELT abused. Most definitely.
You will all be in my thoughts and prayers as you journey toward healing. Faith, thank you for those post. It makes me feel a little less crazy.
Everything you have said Cindy makes PERFECT sense-my memories are very vivid to every detail that I suffered when being sexually abused from my crib days to my Elementary School days, then my Jr High School days, then my High School years, College years, pre-wedding day years–ALL SCARRED with sexual abuse–had a very hard time with suffering deep depressions ALL my life-now I understand the relationship of the depressions to my sexual abuse–they are ALL directly linked–my father imposed his beliefs and sexual abuse onto me–when I have tried telling my present day friends, they all say it was just sex ” MOVE ON” with your life–the people on this website UNDERSTAND it wasn’t just sex–it was abuse–breaking ones spirit, raping one’s mind, controlling one’s orgasms-which should have been shared with someone I was dating–NOT WITH MY FATHER–those friends do not care to listen–so what kind of friends are they? My sexuality will always be tainted with the sexual abuse of my first 24 years of my life–and SICKO Hubby who can only be a sadistic piece of crap, seems to be trying his hardest, to keep me living in my past with his controlling sadistic uncaring ways–by selfishly withholding sex from me during this WHOLE marriage–does my father give a shit I married the wrong man to get away from his abuse–YOU BETTCHA HE DOESN’T GIVE A RAT’S ASS! Part of me wants to try to salvage some kind of relationship with my dad–that is how lonely and BAD my marriage is–but am I ready to make up with a father who is still in denial- saying that I was a seductive daughter– he claims I was when he had all the power over me at all times and he also had power over my mom too!! He caused a BIG RIFF between my Mom and I–she cared about me–but not enough to listen to me when I told her I am NOT in love with the future husband–in lust yes–in love NO!! She just wanted me OUT of the house cause she couldn’t control my father at all!!! My 2 brothers and I are 15 months apart–WE SHARE the early sodomy memories of enemas and suppositories–THEY REFUSE to delve into the past with me–they told dad off when I told them how daddy raped me all my life, and told him it was wrong, but they will never understand how much more abuse I got than them—- cause he stopped the sodomy with them and continued for 24 years to rape their only sister–and even tho they say they did not know it, I know that they knew–you know how alone that makes me feel? I am not as lonely tho as it seems– I have Faithallen’s site-THANK YOU– and all the rest here that have traveled down this hard road of abuse and most of all, I HAVE G-D–He is still in my corner too–the most IMPORTANT ONE OF ALL! Thank you for responding to my posts Sad/Cindy I feel very connected to you–I will be OK–just as soon as I can free myself from my JACKASS husband who cannot relate to a porcupine–the rodent with the erectile spines–LOL!
At KT–you are NOT crazy at all–the way your early years of sexualizing that took place, they are still burned into your brain–we all have to somehow learn to rewire our brains— the pain and pleasures are mixed up—- example–the warm enemas –releasing the water from the rectum would feel wonderful to a child if aloud to be released–but the controlling SADISTIC charge person would spank us or humiliate us if we had done that–that abused adult (us)— could subconsciously mistake an orgasm with the rush of warm water being released from the pressure built up in the bowels –causing the same shame and humiliation you had as a child–the memory playing tricks on you so to speak–your conscious and unconscious mind at ends with each other–when working out the most primitive sexual experiences–we are all tainted for life– but therapy and understanding of our memories is what makes them less effective–bringing the subconscious to the conscious mind–but this must be done carefully–as flooding can occur–too much coming back at one time can be detrimental to ones mental health. Do not feel ashamed of wanting to go back to the weird early sexualizing–you are just trying to master what happened to you–I read in a book specializing in PTSD it is not unusual to want to go back to that early state going over and over again what happened–it is the minds way of trying to make sense out of the trauma–you are trying to relive it so you can master it in some way cause as a child you were left HELPLESS by the ones who should have never done it to you, or protected you from others doing it to you!! My father used to twirl rectal thermometers inside me also, and I had a creepy feeling from it–when I looked back at his face, he looked delighted and weird when doing that to me–YUCK!
I had a strange reaction to getting a “new” Old refrigerator delivered to my house yesterday. It’s a double wide with an ice maker in the door~ Logically I guess it isn’t what I wanted, but it isn’t as bad as it hit me. I mean I went off the deep end all yesterday and couldn’t even go to sleep till 3:30 in the morning and that was after taking double medication for sleep. (that is within instructions) I started crying and yelling, telling the delivery man that he was not bring that crap in my house. I called my spouse and told him I didn’t like the refrigerator and he thought I was so distraught he left work and drove the 20 miles home to ~help~ me? I wanted to HURT the refrigerator. I still am crying just writing about it. I remember in my ranting about it last night, I yelled the fu8king thing makes me feel devalued and violated. What? I said What? That’s what I said, at the time I was saying this is bothering me WAY more than it should, I don’t understand Myself! Then this morning I was vacuuming and thinking about all of that yesterday and why? And then it accrued to me that this refrigerator looked just like (could have BEEN) my mother’s refrigerator from my twenties. About the same time I created IronE the alter that remembered all the enemas that I could not and I shut off all that and those memories until mother died. And then I suddenly remembered the IronE the Iron Enigma that was caused by the bleeding ulcer that was caused by momma’s enemas! And I had forgiven and forgotten and had let her just TAKE my children from me without a fight and spent the rest of her life begging her to let me back in MY family. Is this what Faith was talking about as TRIGGERS? I keep thinking I’m over it and then something weird like this makes me all PTSD for the next 12 hours~
To Vicky,
You mother not only abused you. But you greatly fear she abused your children as well. Yes, things like animate objects can really cause a freak out if is a new memory brought to light. Could be that Mommy dearest kept those dam enema’s in the fridge, it was very likely that if suppositories were used that they were in the refrigerator. She might have even had you go get them. My Son has full custody of his then 17 month old baby. Their was an older child my Son’s other daughter while not his own blood, he raised her for 4 years and she was his daughter’s half sister. The Grand mom did everything she could to make sure her daughter did not receive the help she needed for her Bi-polar, nor would she offer any help for the mother to get a job. Or to help with the children. The Grandmother who abused the Mother of these little girls is now awarded full custody of my son’s non-biological child. They have written their other granddaughter (my granddaughter) just to ensure that they have Lizzie and all their secrets to themselves. Lizzie’s grandparents would not get help for their daughter who fell off the wagon. The mom has a long criminal history now ensuring even further that they will be able to continue their sick games with full custody of the oldest child. It’s heart breaking for you and for my Son’s X. But the Grandparents (her Parents) messed her up so badly that she will never be a safe care giver. The X learned the same pattern of abuse when she had her two girls and my Son to support the family, he was enraged when he found out about this practice. He has full outright custody and she doesn’t have any rights to see her. Neither do the Grandparents Thank God, Happy ending for my Grand daughter. But it doesn’t stop the heart break of not being able to protect my heart grandchild Lizzy. It was always embarrassing when I would have a trigger in front of other people. But you have to let go and remember you will probably never see this man again. At least you know one of your major triggers. I used to sit and try to think of all the possible triggers that may lay in the future and deal with them like they already happened, so that I could know a better way to deal with them in the future. Hope that makes sense to you,
Cindy
darn it it posted my name in full again and I can’t get THAT back~
Hi, Vicki.
I removed it for you. For whatever reason, your posts keep linking to your Facebook page, which is likely the problem. I removed the Facebook links for both.
~ Faith
thank you
Ok so I know this post is fairly old now but it seems it’s been resonating with people for a long time. There’s a lot of talk about enema’s & anal things but I’ve been reading the posts looking for ‘object insertion’. I suffered this from screwed up friends who thought it was funny to see me lying there with a pencil sticking out (I was about 7 or 8). They would threaten different objects, bigger ones and I still can’t fully remember everything, but what stayed with me is that I started doing it to myself as well. I’m pretty sure this was to know what the pain would be like and get used to it so if they did do it with a larger object I was ready. Hands and fingers were used too and I have some terrible body memories which I’m still trying to manage and heal from. Has anyone else come across this? I think I’m just screwed up myself, weird and disgusting… especially as I can still find myself doing it, now though it’s as a punishment or as a self harm mechanism. No cutting etc for me but using a hair brush in this wasy can inflict enough pain to forget or change the bad feelings inside. I am in therapy and am building to tell my therapist about this but I’m very embarrassed… just wondered if anyone’s heard of this before or whether I am just not normal… Thanks.
Jen,
I had a crazy intense mom. I had a bad stomach ache and she goes, “I’m giving you and Enema!” I was shocked (probably 10-years old). “No mom! No! It’s not that bad!” So she made me bend over the toilet, she stuck the enema in my anus. She squirted water in. She then made me hold it as long as I could before releasing it into the toilet.
And people wonder how a 13-year old can start using drugs and alcohol. I was blamed for all the families problems. My life sucked. I had no confidence. I never had a girlfriend. I was a coward. People picked on me constantly.
I didn’t even get my mind around the fact that what was done to me was wrong, until about 2-years ago. I’m 48 right now. When that memory flooded back, and the scope of destruction, of the life it robbed me, for over 35-years. It was a blessing. I understood so much why I was screwed up. I became a bad ass. I was riding my BMX downtown at night, looking for any guy who thought he was some tough dude.
Fortunately, I finally got the 3-pound chip off my shoulder. I’ve been arrested once, and institutionalized 3-times. Mostly from over-dosing on my drug-of-choice and breaking windows, or jumping in front of cars doing 55mph, or diving off balconies.
But I’m chilling out. I love people. I know we’re all one. I’ve forgiven my mom, in my heart. I know something screwed up must have happened to her to make her do that to her own son.
Those types of insertion things rob a child of life. It makes him or her helpless. But if you are able to get your mind around it, and get strength and healing, then you are one of the few and chosen. No one else, who has not gone through what you have, will be able to feel as deeply on all levels. Whether it is love, pain, sorrow. We look at humanity on such a different level.
And a lot of us become artists, don’t we? It is amazing how suffering can make a really good artist.
-Steve
Jen, I don’t think it’s uncommon to be sexually abused by “friends”; particularly seeing as so many abused children then look for other children to torment (and every psychopathic adult was a child at some stage). Unfortunately child-perpetrated abuse is not taken seriously at all. I hope you can discuss this with your therapist at some point, provided they are supportive; you did nothing wrong and you deserve in-person support and someone to talk to about it.
Hi Jen, It is normal to continue this behavior, for several reason’s it’s like a dream where everything seems crazy but every thing seems to make since to you. That’s called a working something out in your head dream. I use the work out dream as a reference to trying to work out why you let these people do this, why they would want to, in doing it to your self your trying to figure out something that didn’t feel right but in some way aroused you! The arousal part is not your fault, their are sex glands associated with the anus. I think the first thing you need to figure out is why did you let them do this in the first place. Like, where you allot younger than them and felt no control, were you the same age and wanted to be excepted. Many people in today’s society included anal sex etc, into their normal lives, it’s only right if it’s right for you and in the safety of a commited relationship. Anal sex is also referred to as sloppy sex. Because it is mixing in e-coli to another environment that it doesn’t belong, which can cause serious kidney and bladder infections, so their is a totally different set of rules for this type of safe sex. However, it sounds more like you want this part of your life out of your life, any partner should understand your boundaries or they are simply not a partner candidate for you in a equally enjoyable sex like. You have already figured one thing out that you might not be aware of. You have figured out that you let people do things to you that you were not completely comfortable with. This is an important Step in your process to heal. To be aware that your personality type is one in which you don’t advocate for yourself. Figure out what is exceptable and draw the line, take up for yourself and say hey I don’t like that, but I do like this, would you mind washing your hands and keep hand sanitizer on you bed stand.
How do we get over this? Why is it that something that could seem so insignificant could feel so overwhelmingly monumental???
I don’t think we can get over this KT, we can only handle it the best way we can and we all have different ways of doing that. For me that meant early sexualization so that I ended up getting pleasure from the memories of what was done to me, even though I really hated it at the time, This was not consciously intended at such a young age but that is how it turned out. Maybe it was my way of handling it? I know it defies logic to be ultimately attracted to such an invasive awful procedure but from what I have read it is fairly commom and gives me comfort that I am not alone. Because of this interest I actually moderate a group called ‘enema and suppository memories’ in the health wellness /support / abuse survivors section at Yahoo groups. It is specifically for those of us who were traumatized and abused (intentionally and non-intentionally) with enemas or suppositories at an early age, and never got over it. The link is http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/enema_and_suppository_memories for those who wish to join.
You ask a good question about how something that could seem so insignificant could be so overwhelmingly monumental and that could be a valid question for anyone to ask who has not gone through what we went through. It is only when you yourself experience it, especially at a very early age that that it is so overwhelmingly monumental.
At Mike T–I AGREE with your last paragraph 100 percent!! It was an age of innocence and we were tricked into an awkward naked position that even at that age we knew enough to know something is wrong here– even if we knew nothing about sex–we knew discomfort, intrusiveness, vulnerability-we all had a sense of shame and embarrassment when lied to that we were supposed to HOLD ALL THAT WATER TOO-we trusted our parents-we wanted to please them at that age–and we were BETRAYED and TRICKED into thinking it was supposed to be this way!
I’m 54 years old and through the years I would ask my mother why she felt it necessary to give me enemas as a child. When I bring up the subject she would try and change the subject and said I was trying to make her feel guilty and say she didn’t give me that many. She explained that her mother also gave her enemas so she thought it was normal. To this day she cannot have a normal bowel movement and has bowel issues all of the time. I also think the way she bathed my genitals, on her lap so meticulously and methodically at the time seemed normal. As I think back, that was not necessarily “normal”. I have a daughter and never had to bathe her that way when she was a child. I always knew there was something weird about the “ceremony” that took place when she gave me the enema. She would bring out a quilt and lay it on the bathroom counter and prepare the soapy mixture while I screamed my brains out begging her not to do this. I would have dreams about her having a split personality as a child. The “good” mommy who would suddenly turn into the “bad” mommy. I had my first panic attack when I was 13 and have had them off an on throughout my adult life. My mother and I actually have a wonderful relationship, believe it or not, and I didn’t even consider the enemas abuse until recently. I just knew something wasn’t right and have wondered about it through the years. Recently, I became an empty nester and having been a stay at home mom, for the most part, this hit me really hard. I have been incredibly depressed and have had marital issues, some of them sexually related throughout my 29 year marriage. I am beginning to wonder if I am just coming to terms with the fact that I was abused and my strong desire for independence and control of my own life has anything to do with what happened to me as a child.
Brenda, your mother sounds incredibly like mine. Reading your story actually gave me a feeling of melancholy because my mother is now deceased, and I loved her dearly. However, the difference in our experiences is that instead of suppressing my early enema experiences as a child I strongly sexualized them and enemas are a dominant part of my sexuality. Also, I always accepted them willingly and do not recall ever physically resisting them and only putting up weak half-hearted verbal protests, such as walking in and seeing the red rubber enema bulb floating in a sink full of soapy water and saying an emphatic, “Noooooo,” getting only a fairly lighthearted reply of something like, “Come on we have to do this and don’t make me have to spank you,” which at that point I would simply allow her to take off my pajamas and drape me totally naked across her lap to receive my enema. Also, Brenda, like your mother, my mother was also bowel obsessed in a ritualistic fashion. Her standard routine in the morning was to make a pot of coffee, get the morning paper, open it to the crossword puzzle and work it, while drinking coffee and smoking a cigarettes, which she said helped her, and I swear to God this is true, “concentrate on having a bowel movement.” However, it seemed that many (most) mornings “concentration” didn’t seem to do the trick and so it was off to the bathroom and the big red rubber enema bag hanging behind the door was filled with hot soapy water and she would lay down in the tub on her back and take an enema, and on many occasions, more than one. My morning routine also included me being draped over my mother’s lap to receive an enema and after I had voided the enema she would but me in the bathtub and bathe me, and again, like your mother, would spend considerable time washing my bottom and genitals. I am now 62-years-old and as I mentioned, my mother is deceased. We always spent a lot of time together and one evening while she was visiting me I confessed that I found enemas sexually exciting, and inquired about the strange bathroom and hygiene rituals. To this she replied, “I never gave you that many enemas.” and I replied, in a fairly lighthearted manner, “Well, it must not have taken that many.” My mother continued her morning bathroom ritual of crossword puzzles, cigarettes, and coffee, almost right up to the time she died at age 82, with the only exception that she was getting too old to take the enemas and changed to suppositories. I do not feel abused and know I was loved and she saw to it that I was well behaved and well educated. My sexuality is unique but I am happy with it and feel it makes me a unique person belonging to a very special group. Again Brenda, thanks for your post, it brought back a flood of memories.
Hi Brenda welcome to our odd little club~ the more I hear and reflect on my own childhood abuses i come to think that in the culture of the day all the things one could do to “play doctor” with ones child was accepted. Remember these are the same women that were buying the idea that nursing their babies was gross, Spraying DDT around the neighborhood was normal and medication was the new magic in pill form. Since discovering, after my mothers death when I was your age, to even now; I am remembering and putting the pieces together that she in fact had no more qualms about making me ingest things as she was about giving me enemas meant to kill me on at least two occasions. But now after all these years of forgiving and forgetting to the point of wondering if I must have taken on a different personality or something to have let her always win. It was ALL always about her having control. I remember her saying to me when my oldest daughter was about three months old. “you have to do what you need to do NOW before she is old enough to remember.” Which now in light of all I do remember makes me ask What the Hell did she do to me before I was able to remember? I know that she started giving me the enemas when I was nine months old so she didn’t have to change diapers any more. By the time I was 8 she was trying to get away with only giving me an enema once a week, so she would collapse my bowel and ruptured my duadum giving me an ulcer that I was hospitalized for when I was 9. The doctor’s STILL couldn’t figure out what was happening. I thought all of THIS was normal as a child~ SO don’t be too hard on yourself. You were not meant to understand either.
Hello
This is a long running discussion and I’m very late in joining it.
Of course, I find any form of child abuse horrid, and here in the UK my family has several social workers who have recounted terrible things, including enemas and objects forced into orifices.
However, I would like to present a different view. In the 1950s (perhaps in the 1940s, but I don’t remember) in the UK my mother gave me an enema from time to time. I spent some time with my maternal grandmother and she have me an enema sometimes. I remember that the enemas were not pleasant due to the volume “just a little more” and the time that I had to hold it “just count to 20 and then you can go”. However, it was done in a loving way, and I did not feel abused, harmed or victimised. It was like going to the dentist – you don’t want to start, it hurts a bit, and then it’s over….and it’s necessary, so what’s the fuss.
i’ve never had any bad dreams, or flashbacks or anything else about enemas, or dentists.
Annie
Annie,
You have put a nice perspective on the use of enemas in childhood, a very common procedure, most times given appropriately with desired results, but also one that has the potential to be an instrument of abuse.
The fuss is in SOME cases that it was NOT done in love or as a healthful thing at all, but as a horrible form of control. My mother stared giving me enemas when I was nine months old so that she would no have to change dirty diapers anymore, but it turned into her hell that she faught to hide and came to hate me in the process and trying to kill me on two different occassions that I now know of. But I blocked so much, because my associations with my mother was as if she was God becasue she always did held the power of life and death over my head. I got away and did not abuse my children my self or so I thought. But I guess I must be an abient abuser because I thought that was HOW one parented. So Thank you for your view form the otherside of the coin. It is really hard for people that have been abused all their lives to even know when they are being abused OR when they are abusing~
I’ve read this excellent blog and comments several times, I’ve been overwhelmed with memories from my childhood. I think I need help – please someone advise me what to do.
I’m 67 now. May parents divorced when I was 5 and I my mother was loving and caring. She cared that I had a bowel movement each day, I think our medicine cabinet was well stocked with laxatives. She gave me enemas, perhaps 3 or 4 times a year – after Christmas to get rid of all the rich food and when it was very hot. It was like Annie said, not pleasant, but in no way did I feel threatened or harmed. I remember feeling tired and very calm after being cleaned out with an enema.
My mother had a series of live in boyfriend when I was young. When I was 12 we had Bill living with us. At first I liked him, he made a fuss of me and gave me long close cuddles. My mom was giving me an enema in the bathroom when he came in and said that perhaps I needed a really good cleaning out. I think he persuaded mom to give me more solution than normal and I didn’t like it. Usually mom let me go to the toilet when I said I couldn’t hold it anymore. Bill insisted that I hold it longer and held my buttocks closed. At the age of 12 that is really an invasion of privacy! He then said that I needed a second enema and I think mom left me in the bathroom alone with Bill. He gave me second enema, something mom never did, and for the first time I felt that I was a victim and not just a receiver of an enema. He massaged my abdomen during the enema and I found that very embarrassing.
Soon after that mom told me that Bill had left and that she didn’t like him. I was pleased.
I later found out that some men have fantasies about enemas, some even have erections at the thought of one. My sister-in-law told me that one of her neighbours was like that and that if I met him I was to change the subject very quickly if he brought conversation around to enemas, which, apparently, he often did.
I think I was very lucky to escape from that bathroom at the age of 12 with only a second rather painful enema.
I’ve had some unpleasant flashbacks to that bathroom scene, and I wanted to run and hide when I read some of the posts here.
So please help me, I don’t want to look stupid and naive.
Why are there men like that who want to give enemas to little girls?
Am I alone in this sort of experience?
What should I do? Who can help me?
Betty
I have been looking for a blog about enema abuse and I am happy I found this blog so that I can enlighten other survivors. My Danish immigrant mother abused me with enemas from the time I can remember until I was about 12 years old. She brainwashed me into thinking it was therapeutic. I was submissive and did not fight her. It would not have done any good. She was very strong and muscular from working on our farm 12 hours a day such as milking cows and raising 200 chickens for eggs and meat. My father farmed all day and he came into the house only on meal schedules. I do not think he knew what she was doing to us children and we never told him. Everything was a secret at our house. My father committed suicide when I was 22 years old. It was a very dysfunctional family and we were isolated.
Mother would straighten up her neck and I knew it was time for an enema. I now know she must have been a klysmaphiliac. She was obsessed with enemas and laxatives. She weighed only 100 lbs. She was never diagnosed with a mental illness but she seemed to be able to disassociate and go into different personalities. She also gave me Exlax, Nature’s Remedy, and mineral oil. She said that you could never be too thin or too rich. She used a hot water bottle fitted with hose and a nozzle. The lubricant was Petroleum Jelly. The cramps were excrutiating. Her reason for giving me enemas was that I was constipated. I also had low body temperature, tired, overweight, allergies, infections, all of the childhood diseases plus skin problems. My hair was thin.
When I was 18, I had a college physical. My student health center said my blood pressure was 70/60. I was told that I was in shock. I told the Doctor that I always had felt the same way. I was tired and I thought that was how everyone felt. (My mother called me lazy.) I did not tell the Doctor the horrible childhood that I had endured because I had repressed the memory. They gave me a Basil Metabilism Rate test which required an overnight stay in the student center. Guess what? I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and that I would have to take thyroid medicine for the rest of my life. I repressed the diagnosis for 35 years and no other Doctor ever gave me a thyroid test until I remembered it in a flashback when I was 53 years old. I requested the simple blood test from my General Practitioner and sure enough, I still had hypothyroidism and have been on Synthroid ever since. It is an autoimmune disease.
I had a major flashback to the enemas when I was 40 years old. I had a number of nervous breakdowns but no one made me go to the doctor. I finally got so sick that I went to a Psychiatrist when I was 53 years old and it took him 5 minutes to tell me I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I told him that I thought it was sexual abuse. He agreed with me, “It was sexual abuse.”
I had thought for years about which came first? The enemas or the hypothyroidism? I suffered from both since I can remember. Now there is research that shows a link between PTSD and autoimmune diseases especially thyroid disease, psoriasis and rheumatoid arthritis. Synthroid is the 4th most common prescription prescribed in the United States with 66,000 prescriptions per year. They say colon cancer runs in families. Has anyone thought to ask the families if the enema nozzle was shared? I saw my mother wash the nozzle off with soap and water. My oldest brother and my mother both were diagnosed with colon cancer.
This revelation about autoimmune diseases is huge. The enemas gave me a mental disorder and a physical illness that I will suffer from my whole life. There are over 100 autoimmune illnesses. Imagine if researchers can connect other autoimmune illnesses to child sexual abuse. Psyciatrists need to speak up on our behalf. We have a statute of limitations in my state of Nebraska. The court will not accept “repressed memories”. Dr. Drew (an internal medicine doctor) and many of his Psychologist guests are a disgrace to the mental health field. They actually make jokes about other peoples mental illness.
We have to be proactive instead of reactive. I personally feel that the enemas were an act of sodomy which killed my very soul. My oldest brother said Mother gave him enemas but he fought her off when he was about 6 years old. That would have been about the time my second brother was born. My oldest brother witnessed her giving my second brother enemas but he fought off my mother also and did not even remember it. I was born 17 months after my second brother. She had full reign with me for 12 years. I wander how many other children she victimized. Since I repressed my memories, I allowed her to babysit my children when they were little. I feel so guilty about that and I am wondering if they are repressing the memories. Heaven help us.
Thank you for listening.
our stories are so similar~ God bless you, Your soul is not dead, just very injured. You are healing as you share with us and help others heal their minds and bodies too. I think so many forms of abuse were just accepted, because our parents had been abused too. It’s to late to question them after they have died or forgotten, but their very actions lend one to think they must have suffered as a child themselves or their minds wouldn’t have been so twisted against their own children. My mother told me when I was a child some pretty gruesome stories of her childhood I guess thinking she was sharing our history~ Its all about control in the end. And now you have control of your life; we are alive.
I just found this. My grandfather used objects on me. Many of the same types of things that other people have listed. It seemed that he wanted different textures, materials, shapes, sizes, temperatures. I felt experimented upon. It didn’t even occur to me that it was unusual to use objects until I saw this post. I guess that I thought that going from one to another probably was unusual, but not that it was done. My grandfather was a carpenter, and I seem to remember him using lots of tools.
When I read in one of the responses about a hair brush, I went into a bit of shock, though. I seem to remember a hairbrush handle being inserted until I could feel the bristles. And being spanked with it then. For some reason, I’ve thought that it couldn’t possibly have happened. I seem to remember at some point hitting myself as hard as I could with a brush and dragging the bristles across my bottom. Maybe as a teen?
I realize that this blog hasn’t been commented on in over a year but I thought it would be a good idea for me to share my experience in a forum like this. I first saw this page about a year ago, and couldn’t believe how much it resonated with me. It’s good to know there are over people out there with similar experiences as I honestly thought I was the only one. My story is a little different than enema abuse but it is very similar and I’m not sure if there would be a technical term for it. I’m in my young adulthood, but when I was younger, a toddler or even younger I had some mild constipation issues, but they would simply require eating well or taking stool softeners. However, without a doctors advice, my mum would continuosly insert her fingers into my rectum and remove my bodily waste from me. Apparently she would rarely let me have a natural bowl movement, and she wouldn’t just give me stool softeners/laxatives as needed. Though I had the bowel problem, I don’t believe she ever did this to my sister. Growing up, whenever we would go to the doctor in regards to my bowel issue, unlike most children who are comfortable talking to their parents about such issues, I hated talking about my digestive health with my mum around with a doctor. My mum was diagnosed with a disorder similar to schizophrenia when I was a child, so she is known to make things up, and into my teens she would imagine that different things were wrong with me. Anyway, when I was younger I needed to receive a few enemas from nurses and I can remember being so scared of them because of what my mother did to me. Similar to Lee’s danish immigrant mother, I believe that my mother is a coprophiliac or something similar. When she was a teen she was raped by a neighbour, and I have to wonder if the abuse she got was coprophiliac in nature. When I was 16 and began to be sexually curious, instead of having sexual feelings, I would only be able to get sexual pleasure out of things coprophiliac or eproctophiliac in nature. I have been in therapy for a year and a half with the desire to specifically work through my childhood issues, though I haven’t even gotten to that point out of embarrassment. I’ve admitted to close friends that I have a fetish that I think I got from childhood abuse but I’ve never had the guts to mention what kind.