#MeToo brings changes to #VIGALAND Blog

Hard to believe it's been two years since my last post appeared on this #Vigaland blog. I became busy with writing books, mentoring others who wanted to write their memoirs (see my author's page at Amazon for all my books, including my latest and last on how to write your memoir, titled "Don't Write Your MEmoir without ME!")

After too many hours of staring at screens, I decided it was time for a change and just recently deleted my several websites, including my personal site. But I am keeping this blog for all those who have endured sexual abuse in their lives and careers as I know there are just too many of us. The furor that erupted and opened a can of worms with the Harvey Weinstein affair and all those celebrities coming forward, along with the #MeToo movement, reminded me that this blog was important and needed to be kept alive.

Until now, it had been aimed only at victims of incest, but now #Vigaland is evolving into a much more general site on sexual abuse in all its forms. I sincerely hope you will continue to follow this blog and share the URL with others as I have lots to share with you that was previously only posted on my personal website, now deleted.

Future posts on here will include a series of true stories by others who found the courage to share their #MeToo heartaches with me and which I published and podcast early in 2018. I know you will find these interesting and I am hopeful some of you will leave comments or even share your stories with me on this blog.

I also intend to bring you my reviews of MEMOIRS of ABUSE that I've read & reviewed over the past 5 years. If you like to read books by others who have shared similar experiences to yours, I think you'll want this information.

So, that's where I'm at right now. Stay tuned and keep following. Lots to come over 2018. Thanks for staying with me.

Best

Viga Boland, author of NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER, a true memoir of incest.

WHAT DO #INCEST VICTIMS EXPECT TO READ IN A SEQUEL to a TRUE STORY of #INCEST?

At the request of readers and fans of my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER, I am currently writing a SEQUEL to my true story of incest. In a previous post here, I invited subscribers to this blog to subscribe to that sequel as well. It's FREE, and you can read as I write because, at least for a while,  I'm posting the story chapter by chapter.

But as I work my way through it, I have to ask myself what do my readers want to know? If they are simply interested in knowing how I recovered from 12-13 years of incest at the hands of my biological father, "got over it" as it were and moved on to have a productive life after incest, then I am writing what they want to read. It's a memoir of my married life following my exit from a despicable situation.

But if the person who reaches for this sequel is looking for a book on healing, therapy for their own pain, then my Sequel, as yet un-named, may fail to satisfy their need. You see, for some reason I cannot explain even to myself, once I walked away from my father it was like I erected a wall between me and my past. And once on this side of that wall, I stopped letting the past rule my present.  Where I found that strength, I don't know but perhaps it's rooted in the fact that it took so much strength not to buckle, commit suicide, resort to drugs or booze while I was being abused, that once I was away from it, I had a arsenal of strength to carry me through whatever life might throw my way.  You see, as far as I was concerned, I'd been through the worst already ... and I'd survived.

On top of that, I now had a whole new world to discover, a world that had been denied me. I was naive. I'd never dated. I'd been locked in a prison. But my jailor had let me go,  not easily, and not without trauma and drama, but I was out of there and ready to taste a freedom I'd never known. Perhaps by focussing on the good that was to come instead of forever slipping into the very bad of the past, by thinking of the positives instead of the negatives, therapy and healing came quietly, subtly, and I never really knew it was happening.

Now granted, as I've said many times, I got lucky: I found a really good man and slowly but surely started to trust again. As my trust and love for him grew, and I realized he wasn't going to dictate my every thought and action or restrict me in any way from doing whatever I wanted to, bit by bit my confidence in, and respect for myself flourished. I began to like myself again, even love myself again,  and as Whitney Houston once sang: "Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all", and the most important love if one is to heal from childhood sexual abuse.

Coupled with all that is something else I'm realizing as I write this sequel: while I hated myself for not standing up to my father for all those years, unlike so many victims of incest, I never really blamed myself for what happened. Maybe that's because I was 11 and not 2 or 3 when my father started abusing me. At 11, as horrifying as what he was doing to me was, somehow I knew this wasn't my fault. I never saw myself as the reason for the abuse; I didn't invite him in: he forced himself on me. How was I to blame? I fought him for months but there's only so much mental and physical abuse one can take before you finally give in. It's self-preservation. And somewhere inside the recesses of my mind, I made the logical and intelligent decision that regardless of what anyone might think, what happened was NOT MY FAULT!

I truly believe that realization, and the acceptance of it, is tantamount to recovery. Once we stop blaming ourselves for what happened, once we put the blame squarely on the abuser, we can finally begin to heal. So when my Sequel is ready, if you, as a victim of childhood sexual abuse want to read it in the hope that somewhere in there you will find a means, a pathway or guidelines to your own recovery, you most likely won't find it. Instead, if you are still blaming yourself, asking why me, and waiting for an apology from your abuser or for justice be done in the law courts, my SEQUEL will be of little use or interest to you.

If, on your other hand you want and need to believe that you CAN survive the memories and flashbacks of incest (and you will indeed see me battling them in this sequel) you will get that from this second book.  You will also come away knowing it is possible to learn to trust and love yourself and others again, for, if you survived the actual abuse, you can survive the recovery from it too.  Don't think "can't" or "won't".  You survived the war. You can survive the aftermath too by believing you can  do it.

HALLOWE'EN: NOT MY FAVOURITE NIGHT OF THE YEAR

I'm not the greatest fan of Hallowe'en. Don't know why. I find nothing particularly wonderful about seeing horrible masks, ghouls, freaks, cobwebs on trees and houses and all the other things that scare children ... and adults too for that matter.

Maybe it's because of my past, of living with someone of whom I was so frightened that I was too scared to go to bed at night. I still hear doors opening when everyone was supposed to be asleep. I see the thin shaft of light coming into my room and the dark, looming figure of a man ... my father ... carefully closing the door behind him and feeling his way in the dark over to my bed...

My monster was alive, real. He put on a different mask when friends were around. He was Mr. Friendly, affable, personable. He cared about his wife and child. But he didn't wait for or need Hallowe'en to terrify me. He just did.

Sorry if I don't get into the spirit. Oh I still give out the candies and smile at the sweet little princesses and angels who come to my door shyly saying "Trick or Treat". And I even write poems for them, and in my heart hope that the only monsters and ugly people they ever see in their lives are the other kids running around the streets in costumes on October 31st.

Viga Boland, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER: a true story of incest
http://www.vigaboland.com

THE DOUBT & FEARS THAT MAKE US QUESTION LEAVING AN INCESTUOUS SITUATION? #incest #child sexual abuse

It's been a long time since my last post. Illness has plagued me for the last few months. Even writing my book has been difficult. But at last, I am on the final chapters, and as I wrote the following this morning, I recalled how difficult it was those first few weeks after finally extricating myself from my father's control and sexual abuse. When you're contemplating breaking away, you find a million reasons to go and double that to stay put. Your need for freedom, to be yourself, to have a normal life (if normal is ever possible again) propels you to do something. But your fear of the abuser, of being alone, of where to go and what to do next, holds you back time and again. 

All decisions come with similar quandaries, but some are much easier to make than walking from the only life you've known into an unknown, unsure future. You forever wonder if you are doing the right thing. When you have been made to feel blame, guilt for all the bad things in your life, it's hard to think that what you are doing isn't just another bad thing. Depending on the abuser's reaction to your decision, he/she can make you feel guilty and horrible all over again, reminding you of how selfish you are by breaking away and thinking only of yourself, when that is what he/she has been doing all along!

It may take years, not days or even months, to know if the decision to get out of your old life was the right one, but then again, ask yourself, what is right about staying in a life where you are the constant victim of sexual, mental and physical abuse? 

So, on that note, I now share with you my latest, unedited section of my as yet, un-named book, a true story of incest. Your feedback is most welcomed. Thanks for taking the time to read the following which describes my immediate reactions to making the decision to walk away from incest:

"The next 4  - 6 weeks were traumatic. For the first time in my life I was on my own, though not alone. It all felt so strange. I felt empowered but insecure, experienced but naive, liberated but lost.

This was 1971 and living together, even if engaged, wasn't what nice girls did. John had been raised in a very Catholic family: he still attended Sunday Mass and for me to move in with him, though tempting, was somehow sinful. And besides, the two of us could never fit in the tiny single bed in his basement apartment!

So I rented a pokey room in a rooming house with a single set of rickety drawers and the lumpiest bed ever. The other tenants, by my father's standards, were the low-life's of this world: waitresses, factory floor-sweepers, divorcees ... folks who lived from paycheck to paycheck when they could get a job or keep one long enough to buy the next bottle of plonk or pack of cigarettes. It was eye-opening for me to mix with people like this, so different from my family's circle of friends or even my fellow staff-mates. 

It was simultaneously scary and exciting for me to live temporarily with this group, scary because I kept envisioning one of the drunken men coming into my room to try and have their way with me, but exciting because of finally having the freedom to come and go as I pleased. That was such a new experience and with every day, I liked it more and more: no longer having to ask a man for  permission to go here or go there, to do this or do that! I could wear what clothes I wanted, experiment with makeup and leave it on, choose what to do with my time when I wasn't teaching or with John planning the wedding ... the freedom was exhilarating! The teenager I was never allowed to be resurfaced. I was almost as giddy as the Grade 9 and 10's I was teaching, even feeling like one of them at times, understanding instead of disapproving their silliness and youthful exuberance. For the first time since that day my father decided to educate me about men, I felt almost normal.

And yet, as I tossed about on that lumpy mattress at night, I battled guilt: I felt guilty about the chaos I had caused my parents; I felt guilty about leaving mom alone to clean up the debris of the storm I had rained down on their lives; and I felt guilty about the misgivings I was having about marrying a man I truly barely knew! 

John and I had had anything but a normal courtship. We'd never really dated. Our times together had been stolen moments in his car or the school janitor's closet, a quick grabbed lunch at a local hot food place, a movie with mom tagging along, a short but lovely trip to Niagara Falls on icy roads that nearly landed us in a ditch, or furtive cuddles on an old mattress in our basement while mom kept nervous watch at the window upstairs. What did I know about this man I was about to marry? I'd never met his family. He talked non-stop about returning to his beloved Australia, a thought that terrified me. His greatest passions were cars,  aircraft and photography, all of which meant little to me, and he had no interest in live theatre, musicals, writing poetry or the pursuits I enjoyed. How could we possibly build a life together when we didn't really have that much in common?

I truly began to question what I had done. Would I end up wrecking John's life too? And what of myself? I'd spent 23 years dominated by a control freak of a father. Now, I finally had a taste of what it was like to be on my own, answering to no-one but myself. Was I now so quickly about to give away that expensively acquired freedom to walk up the wedding aisle and once again have to answer to a male for the rest of my life? I tossed and turned on that lumpy mattress suddenly wishing I could just disappear to explore my freedom more fully, more deeply and most importantly, to find that teenager who was buried beneath the dirt in those nightmares that had plagued me through so many  years of abuse.

I WISH THESE FLASHBACKS & MEMORIES WOULD STOP! #Incest #child sexual abuse

When you run a private members group for incest survivors, if there's one thing you hear time and again, it's "I wish these flashbacks/memories would stop!"

Sadly, so many people, including the victim's own family, just don't understand and offer little sympathy or help to the victim who may be suffering terribly. They tell them, unfeelingly, to "just get over it and get on with your life!" Really? Just get over a father, brother, uncle or adult male who rammed his swollen penis into a little child of 5 or even younger? Just get over how awful you felt about something you didn't understand, something you didn't ask for and most definitely something you didn't deserve? You don't just get over it! And even if your conscious mind has blocked it out over the intervening years, your subconscious hasn't. It has the uncanny knack of remembering everything.

Ever lost or misplaced something and simply can't find it, can't remember where you put it? I do it all the time, and now, at the very ripe old age of 67, my ability to remember where I put things is getting worse and worse. So, after I've spent an hour searching, I stop looking and get busy doing something else. Without fail, maybe an hour or even a day later, suddenly it hits me where I put that lost item. I didn't remember, but my subconscious did!

And so it is with flashbacks to horrid, awful, traumatic events in our lives, regardless of what age we were when they happened. We can put them away, hide them from our conscious mind, and get on with other things. But every so often, the horror suddenly resurfaces and for a while, shakes up our minds, hearts and souls all over again. We relive the painful thrusts of that penis; we feel the bash to our heads or ears; we hear the angry voice telling us to be quiet or threatening to kill us if we tell. We sense again how dirty, soiled and tainted we felt. We feel the shame; we feel like everyone who looks at us knows what we allowed that abuser to do and we blame ourselves. We feel it was all our fault. We want to run; we want close our minds, shut out the images, block the voices, theirs and ours, then and now. And sometimes, as hard as we try, we cannot stop the flashback nor shorten it when it occurs. We have to wait till it passes so we can "just get on with" our lives again.

My heart aches for those in my private group at SPEAK OUT FROM UNDER INCEST on Facebook when I hear them begging for some advice to stop the flashbacks. Or when they ask if others in the group get them, or if we're well along in our healing, do we have them less often. There is little advice any of us can give other than the consolation of  "Yes, we all still have them and yes, they do become less frequent or less earth-shattering with time." But they never completely stop. Read my poem on the urn in the photo above: I don't know what prompted that outpouring recently ... most likely it was listening and feeling to my members' pain ... but suddenly, after all this time, there I was flashing back again in the wee hours of the morning, and my father, my abuser, has been dead for  13 years. You'd think I'd be over it all by now, especially at my age, wouldn't you.

"You know what daddy? It wasn't alright
And I still don't sleep very well at night". 

Please, if  you know or love a victim of abuse, any kind of abuse, don't tell them to "just get over it" and get on with their lives. People have committed suicide for far less reasons than some of them have.

THANK YOU FOR THE NIGHTMARES DADDY #incest #child sexual abuse

"To sleep, perchance to dream" wrote Shakespeare. Yes, that's what we all want to do: sleep peacefully, letting our subconscious sort out the experiences of the day so we can wake up refreshed and ready to take on a new day.

That's all good when all is good. Dreams are nice. But once you've become a victim of abuse, sexual or otherwise, sweet dreams and refreshing sleep elude us. For many of us dreams become nightmares. We toss, turn, fight demons and sometimes wake up screaming as we try to fight off the abuser or the uncomfortable feelings and thoughts we develop about ourselves ie.. the blame, the shame, the feelings of being dirty, soiled, unworthy, rotten ... an endless list of BAD.

As I write my book, COMING OUT FROM UNDER, beneath the memories I'm finding buried in my psyche, lie the nightmares, almost forgotten now, but not quite. These nightmares puzzle me. A dream expert could have some fun (?) with mine. I think I figured out their meaning long ago, and once I got away from my abuser, my father, these nightmares stopped. In my nightmares, I don't scream. I'm not terrified. But in one, I am filled with tension, worry. In the other, I am filled with revulsion and disgust but utterly confused. Without giving away the full details of these 2 nightmares which recurred for the entire 11 years I was being abused, and even for a short time after, let me try to precis my nightmares:

In the first, I am under a house which is built on brick supports, typical of Australian homes back in the 50's. (No basements there). It is dark but some weak light streaks through the spaces between those foundation pillars. I am digging in the dirt for something but I don't know what I expect to find. But what I feel is tension, great fear of finding something or someone that I have buried there. I cannot think what I've done wrong but I know it's something bad. And the bad is buried under that house. There's another shadowy figure down under the house with me. It is my father. He is digging too. He tells me that when I find it, I must not tell anyone, ever! Just cover it back up with the dirt. I am afraid that what I will find is a dead body. And I'm afraid that if I do, I will be charged with murder and spend the rest of my life in prison. But my father will walk free.

Care to interpret? I have.

In my other nightmare, always the same, I'm desperate to go to the toilet. I rush to the toilet, a small dark one like you find in those portable toilets, and relieve myself.  But when I reach for the paper, I can't find any that is clean. The toilet roll is soiled with excrement! I try to unroll it to find a clean piece and I get the excrement all over my hands. I cannot clean my hands or myself. I wake from this nightmare in panic. I can't stand this filth all over me ... and I can't wipe it off either!

I think the meaning of that one is probably quite clear. Does anyone else have nightmares similar to those I had? What were yours like? When did they stop? Or do they still surface even now, years after the abuse has stopped.

There is one dream I do remember having very often but this was a good dream. Sadly it never came true, well not quite the way it did in my dream. I am in a schoolyard or some crowded situation. There are people of all ages and sizes. They are coming after me but I don't know why. Suddenly, I stiffen on the spot, my legs together, almost glued, rigid. My arms hang tensely by my sides. I take a deep breath, stiffen my legs and arms again, and Houston ... we have lift-off! Just as the people reach for me, I soar high into the air and float above them. They are shouting but I am laughing. I'm flying. They can't get to me. I'm so happy as I zip over rooftops and see the people getting smaller and smaller the higher I go. It's such a wonderful dream. I laugh with happiness and freedom. I'm finally away from everything and everyone who causes me pain. The only nightmare in this dream is waking up to find it wasn't real, that I was only dreaming.

Bob Hope used to close his show for years with the classic "Thanks for the Memories". Those of us who have been, and are, victims of any kind of abuse, but especially child sexual abuse and incest would more likely sing "Thanks for the nightmares"

Can you relate? Your thoughts? Your nightmares? Want to share your story in private? Ask to join our Facebook group at SPEAK OUT FROM UNDER. We listen.

HOW CAN A FATHER SEXUALLY ABUSE HIS OWN DAUGHTER?

Currently, I'm reading two books, My Justice by Patricia A. McKnight and Mummy Knew, by Lisa James. Just as Tricia warned me, her book is hard to read. So is Lisa's. It is impossible to read books on incest abuse by a parent when one has themselves been sexually abused by a parent. With each word these brave women write, revealing intimate details of their own abuse, memories spring to mind. Visions pushed so far back and so far under over the years that you wonder if maybe you had just imagined them all, spring to life and affirm that yes, daddy really did abuse his little girl. The similarities between their stories and your own are jarring. You find yourself saying "Yes, that's how he got to me too!" "That's how he got me to keep quiet!" "That's how dirty I felt!" "That's how frightened I was!" 

And yet, both Patricia's and Lisa's story have one big difference from mine: in both their cases, the writer's mother had married low-life, foul-mouthed abusers whose brutality and abuse was exacerbated by their drinking. These creeps were their step-fathers, not a birth father, as was my case. I suppose it's easier to understand (if any incest can be understood) why a non-birth father who is essentially a pedophile to start with, could be drawn to a child, who is, after all, not his own, especially when she conveniently lives in the same house and must obey him as her new parent. What a huge advantage he has over her! It's interesting that both Patricia and Lisa felt some kind of instant revulsion and mistrust of these men when they were introduced into their lives by their mothers. They say puppies and dogs can sense evil in a human. These children did too but they were powerless to do anything about it.

My case, however, is different. With my mother, my father created me. His DNA runs through my blood. His advantage over me was huge but never would I have thought my birth father, someone I trusted with my life, whose job it was from word go to protect me from any harm, would take that kind of advantage of me. I didn't sense evil in him despite the harsh punishments he meted out for infractions when I was a child. I just figured they were deserved. So great is the belief and trust we have in our birth parents.

I watched a woman pushing her 3-4 month old in a pram today. The little one's eyes were glued, as best she could focus, on her mother's face. She gurgled and smiled as her mother talked to her. The baby's face glowed with delight and love. No doubt, or let's hope so, she has that same glowing love in her little eyes when she sees her daddy. And all being well, as time goes on, the other thing in her eyes will be trust, complete trust, trust he will never misuse.

I was looking at some photos of myself as a 6-month old baby a week back. There I sit happily on daddy's knee. Mommy is by his side. He looks proud and protective as he holds me. Where did that daddy go? Now as I sift through photos taken during my adolescence and even into my 20's, I see a different man there, a man who was my father by birth only. Though I long ago came to grips with what happened in my life and have been happily blessed with a fine husband and 2 beautiful daughters since,  I still cannot understand how the person who gave you life can destroy his own child's trust for his own selfish needs. To me, this is beyond comprehension and always will be.

Why ever did you make me, your child, the object of your lust?

How could you take your own child's heart and fill it with mistrust?

With every thrust inside my body, you double thrust my soul

Stripping me of my self-esteem and leaving me less than whole

I was your own flesh and blood;  you were half my life

How is it that you blurred the lines and turned me into your wife?

Wasn't mother good enough? Couldn't you find another?

No, instead you had to choose your child and destroy both me and mother.

And when I finally got away like a lamb who had been slaughtered

You piled the guilt upon my shame and said I was no daughter 

Well what on earth did you expect when you stopped being dad?

When you died, my only tears were for the father I never had.

© Viga Boland 2012

TAKING ON TOO MUCH? BURNING OUT? WHY?

I'm bracing myself for tomorrow. Tomorrow, my free time comes to a halt as the children return to school and I resume daily, and every 2 weeks, nightly care of my grand-daughter. From tomorrow on, it's get her to school at 8:30am, pick her up at 2:45 pm, give her that afternoon snack, stay on her  to get her to do her homework before taking her back to her mom's at 6pm. And there goes the day.

For me, that means all the additional projects I took on over the summer i.e. writing my book, "Coming Out from Under", this blog (and several others!), my Facebook group at OUT FROM UNDER, and my online jewelry business/hobby are going to be limited to a 51/2 hour block of time daily ... and that's between trying to get in a workout swim 3 times a week, a daily workout walk, preparing meals ... not to mention time for simply resting. What is it with me? Why do I take on so much?

I've always been like this. I truly don't know how not to keep busy. It's almost like I'm afraid to have time on my hands. Why? I've come to realize that it's coupled with my need to feel wanted, my never-ending need for approval.  So many years of trying to please a man who wanted so much more than he had the right to ask, so many years of hoping what I was doing was enough has left me permanently trying to please everybody everywhere. It's a hard road to walk. It's tiring, draining. But ironically, it's also fulfilling when you know someone is benefitting from the help you are giving.

One of my fellow-survivors complained of the same thing this morning on Facebook. She is burning herself out, taking on way too much. I can sense she's angry with herself for doing it, but like me, she has that deep-seated need for acceptance and approval. And when that acceptance or approval comes, oh how good we feel. How we glow! Someone loves us. Someone thinks we're great. Daddy approves. Daddy isn't angry with us. Daddy might not hurt me this time because I was his good little girl ...

I've met others like me. They work round the clock, attend every function going on to show their support of other's endeavours even when they're exhausted, always putting others before themselves. This is what abuse has taught them to do. It's how they've survived. It's how they feel good about themselves.

And so we go on, addicted to being busy, addicted to taking on too much because we fear the times in between being busy, when we're not feeling useful or good for something or somebody. Like I said, it's a tough road to walk and it's exhausting. But somehow, it also fills a huge hole inside us.

I really envy another lady who recently mentioned to me how she copes with being abused. Unlike me trying to please everyone, she doesn't give a damn. She won't let anyone walk over her, tell her what to do or where to go. She's feisty. She also never stops being busy, taking on too much.

What about you, dear reader? Is there a pattern here? Are you like this too ... always putting your fingers in too many pies just to feel appreciated, wanted, loved? Or have you even ever analyzed, as I am doing here, why you are this way? I'd really love to hear your thoughts on this.

It's labour day. Today we are supposed to rest from our labours. Are you resting or are you, like me, trying to get everything done before tomorrow ... and the next tomorrow... and the next tomorrow...

YOUNG MALE VICTIMS OF SEXUAL ABUSE SUFFER TOO ... AND HOW!

Yesterday marked a milestone for me. It was simultaneously disturbing but very fulfilling. As a result of my previous day's blog post at http://vigaland.blogspot.ca/2012/08/incest-that-could-never-happen-in-my.html , I was contacted by not one, but two men who were sexually abused as youngsters. This brings to 3 the number of men who have shared their story of abuse with me. I feel so honored to have their trust and support for what I am trying to do. Thank you gentlemen. You know who you are.

One of these men was incredibly brave. He wrote his story on my personal Facebook page in full detail. I cried as I read it. His sordid tale came straight from his heart. What had I unleashed? But it was good. He is now one of the members of my FACEBOOK community group, OUT FROM UNDER, and has kindly given me permission to copy/paste his story here. I have copied and pasted it just as he wrote it, full of emotion and heartache. I can sense his desperate need to be heard, to tell others what happened to him and his relatives too. It may be a little hard to follow, but you will get the gist of it ... and it's not pretty. But it is all real.

This gentleman is the first of the members of either sex of OUT FROM UNDER at FACEBOOK  to speak publicly. I applaud his courage and thank him so much for sharing his story. Here's what David wrote:

 "Viga,,please as I share,,forgive me,,thanks,where I was sent,,as a child,,it was later called " The Doherty Farm of Horrors,,"outside of Portage la Prairie Manitoba,,he was I guess a step father,,he never adopted me,,thank God,,he abused all of us,,me,,his daughters,,and 4 boys,,he beat mother,,into I guess getting his way,,she closed her eyes as he did it to us,,we did sex acts for him,,yes even us boys,,ok,,in the mouth,,etc,,he made older girl pregnant,she ,had daughter of incest,,Helen,,he did sex abuse,,he did beatings,,verbally he was bad,,for example as I was not his kid,,his name for me,,was,,The BASTARD,,ok,,,he did emmotional abuse,,to all,,mentally he had us,,we were wrecks,,his like puppets,,,,,,Viga,,later when many of us went to Child family Services for help,,we were told we made it up,,as some of us left,,I ran away 29 times,,what I and other kids told he did,,we were told kids should listen to the parents,,and not lie,,make stuff up,,in 1995 Aug there was a murder on that farm,,I testified against the bad man,,Earl Doherty.and Earls son,,Clarence Doherty,,a 8 year old boy was hiton head and killed on that farm,,.can you believe it ,,he got off,,,anyways,,many of us,,esp me,,charged him,Earl Doherty,,,RCMP said he was too old,,only get house arrest,,so no justice,,I am post traumatic stress dis orders leading to severe bouts of anxiety and depressions,,I am called,,Multiple personality dis orders,,I am called also by Doctors,,Bi polar,I am dis assocaiative,,??,,I drank,,drugged to forget all my life,,I gave up booze,,Drugs Jan 10 ,1996,after I cut my both arms to the bone,,close to the elbows,,deeps,,and I stabbed my leg,,I was sick an tired of the flash backs,,memmories,,and booze ,,drugs were no longer killing it in my head,,I was sick an tired,,wanted it to end,,as the murder had just happened,,more talk,,more publicity,,so,,,,Viga,,I read really fast,,I have many children in me,,little ones,,ok,,,I love your post,,I loved the videio that girl spoke on and did,,folks want to write about me,,I get scared,,the devil,,bad man,,Earl Doherty died,,my so called mother died,,we,,the brothers,,if thats what you call us,,Clarence,,charged with murder,aug,,1995,Gary,,on skid ,gary is lost,,hopeless,,i find him once a yr,,in Vancouver,,,alvin,,a loner,,divorced,,Brian,,he is totaly goofed up,,he did time in juvenile place,,one girl,,Faye,,went to a woman,,fell in love,,got married,Faye and I visit,,we do not much talk about it,,,Daughter of incest Helen,,hiding out sort of on a rez in Manitoba,,we all rarely communicate,,scared,,embarrased I guess,,???We,,yes all of us divorced ,,some a couple of times,,where was God,,where was my Mohter,,why did no one help us,,no one cared,,every one took us back there,,I am alright,,today,,got lots,,lots of help,,head shrinks,,doctors,,counsellors,,many peoples helped me,,mentally,,but,,,some times it just grabs me,,a living hell,,even today,,Thanks for listening,,I send you a jentle respectful hug,,Viga,,just because I am supposed to" 

 After reading David's story, I did some research on male victims of sexual abuse and found THIS ARTICLE  which I have added to my information site at VIGALAND. It is so in line with some of what David has shared above. Do have a read, and while you're over at VIGALAND'S INFORMATION ARTICLE SITE, check out some of the other articles I've posted there. All worthwhile reading for anyone interested in or affected by abuse of any kind.

Have a great weekend everyone. May the sun shine in on your day and chase the heartaches away ...

INCEST! THAT COULD NEVER HAPPEN IN MY FAMILY!

It's absolutely amazing how many people think that incest could never happen in their family. Yet, for every one who says that, there's one who can tell them otherwise. But the reality is none of us, mothers included, could handle or accept the idea that their husband, the men they married and committed themselves to for life, could actually sexually abuse the child whom they together created. The thought is so odious, so even if they suspect, they close their minds to the possibility. Avoidance is easier than acceptance.

I'm not sure if my own mother ever suspected anything. Could she have been that dumb, given my father hardly ever had sex with her over all the years he was abusing me ... 11 years. She knew he wasn't having affairs. He was only ever at work in a factory or at home, watching TV in the evenings and encouraging her to go take a nap so he could have his way with me. I mean, really, does it make any sense she never suspected what was going on? But here's the thing: even if she did, she too was one of his victims: she was scared to death of him. Since the early days of her pregnancy, he'd been abusive. At one point, as she told me years later, he kicked her repeatedly in her swollen belly while she lay in pain on the floor of their bedroom just because she had refused to kiss his little finger when he commanded her to. Megalomaniac! Yes, he was all about power and he powered over both of us so he could live with his own shortcomings and insecurities. It was his way of controlling his own life which somewhere along the way had gone out of control. At least that's how I see it today.

Still, as a mother myself,  I cannot quite grasp how a mother could let such a thing go on if she knew. I love my husband very much. We have a great relationship and two wonderful daughters. But I told him the other day as we discussed this very thing,  that if I ever saw him touching them in any way, he'd be toast. Of course, he never has, and never would, and he deplores what he knows of my past. It is he who encourages me, along with my girls, to speak out now. He hopes, as I do, by my doing so, I can encourage some other mother who suspects something is going on between her child and her spouse to confront him and rescue that child before she ends up like me: holding in her dirty secret, wearing her shame and guilt like armour and blaming herself for something that wasn't her fault ... ever!

I mentioned in my last post how doing this has put me in touch with some amazing women, victim/survivors who are taking all the negatives in their lives and turning it into a positive for themselves and others by speaking out and coming out from under. One of these ladies is Patricia A. McKnight of Survivor's Justice.  I came across Patricia a couple of days back after reading her hard hitting poem, "Where is God to attack this Devil?"  Patricia spares no-one's sensitivities in her poem. She tells it like it was and it's brutally honest. She shocks but it's all good. It's necessary, and those who have commented applaud her as I do. I then followed up on her, researched her and found her videos on YouTube. She too cannot get over the fact that her mother knew what was happening and did nothing to help her. I understand her pain and now, her mission, to help save other children by getting them to speak up. There must be someone who can help if their own mothers can't, for whatever reason.

Patricia has a radio show, runs various websites and is behind the very important site, Dreamcatchers for Abused Children. I hope you'll check it out and tell others about it too.

If you have time, and care, watch one of Patricia's videos which I have posted below. Listen to her message. She's also written a book that has received 5-star ratings. She has "come out from under". You can too.