THE DOMINO EFFECT of #INCEST and #CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE

"My mom's first cousins were all abused by their father, and apparently the oldest daughter had sex with by him till into her 20s. She's so messed up now. Denies it all, can't talk about it, but is a mental mess. 

Her two sons (who were brought up in the home of their paedo grandfather) go with anyone - male, female, black, white, whatever age, just anyone they can get their hands on. The oldest is a suicidal alcoholic. 

Their mother and the two of them all still live together and have no money. They live in this ramshackle place and eek out a living. It breaks my heart that they can't break the cycle of shame and face the facts. 

And that eldest daughter's brother? He is an abuser too of young girls and his daughter VIGOROUSLY defends her father and lies to cover up for him. 

So sad."

Sad? It's more than sad. It's downright horrible, this domino effect that childhood sexual abuse and incest has on families, and not just immediately, but for generations!  It undermines and tears at the very concept of what a family is supposed to be: a place of comfort, support and above all, love for, and trust in every member of that family. How can children grow into a normal, functioning, productive human beings when memories of abuse by a parent colour all their perceptions, interactions, and relationships with other people,  and eventually their own children, for years to come. How can they ever be "normal"? How?!

And why does it happen? It happens because somewhere along the line an adult told his son or daughter that what daddy was doing was okay. He told them everyone was doing it. Or he warned them not to tell others and used threats of pain, beatings or even death to enforce that secrecy. Or he manipulated their young, impressionable and naive minds with clever words, telling them no-one would believe them anyway. Or he sucked them in so cleverly saying this was love and daddy loves you, and thereby molded that child into his unspeaking, obedient, frightened and insecure puppet who believed this love was better than no love. Because LOVE is what all children want and need above all else and they will do what is necessary, put up with whatever they have to, to get it. It's human nature.

When members of my group share information like what's in that opening quote, when personal friends, who are not victims, write to me and say, as one did this past week after seeing the planned cover for my book, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER: 

"I went to your blog out of curiosity and got a severe, and lasting lesson in reality in human depravity. Apart from your own story, I found one of the stories there totally shocking. All stories of incest are all shocking, of course, but  'Nikki's Story' just broke my heart. Maybe it is typical of the horrendous experiences that some boys and girl are forced to go through. I don't know. I haven't really read any detailed incest stories because it is not a subject matter that attracts me for a read. Whatever the degree of the molestation that all victims have had to deal with in their young lives, 'Nikki's Story' must surely be one of most heart rending. I am amazed that children so young can somehow deal with what is happening to them."

then all the more I am encouraged in my resolve to finish my book, my true story of incest, written and published. We MUST talk about incest! We must refuse to stay silent any longer. Our own silence is aiding and abetting the abusers, many of whom, like the member above stated in that opening quote, go on to abuse others: the domino effect of incest and child sexual abuse. 

This domino effect can only be stopped or at least curtailed, by coming out from under incest and speaking out from under the child sexual abuse in families, and the earlier the better. And yet, as I say that, I'm reminded of another comment made by a member this past week who lamented

"Children are told to tell an adult, a teacher or the other parent if someone touches them in a way that makes them uncomfortable. But how can they do that when they no longer trust adults, or worse yet, when one of the parents is the abuser?"

How indeed!

As my friend who wrote to me said, and I agree with him 100%: 

" ...  this subject, your book, and the strong incestuous character that seems so prevalent in the human race, demands a high profile exposure. It is the last taboo subject, and it is now time for the stone of indifference to be turned over and the sordid truth about some human adults revealed for all to see. The human race will never evolve, or even mature, if this awful aspect of mankind is not addressed."

The only way I can see for us to overturn that stone of indifference is SPEAK UP ABOUT OUR OWN CHILDHOOD SEXUAL ABUSE!  And it's up to us, the victims, to do that. We are our own best resource for fighting this depravity. It is we, the victims, who have the best weapons: our voices! Speak out from under. Tell your stories. NOW!  

"1 in 4 Girls will be Sexually Abused by age 18. 1 in 6 Boys will be Sexually Abused by age 18. 90,000 cases are reported each year. 90% of the time the Child knows the perpetrator. 117 Victims will be Assaulted before the Child Molester is caught..."

"VICTIM'S VOICES ARE THE BEST WEAPONS AGAINST CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE"

©Viga Boland 2013, NO TEARS FOR MY FATHER

THE INFINITE CURSE OF #INCEST and #CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE

While my husband and I were discussing titles for my upcoming book about incest the other  day, I shared with him some of the heartaches I hear coming from members of my private Facebook Group, SPEAK OUT FROM UNDER CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE IN FAMILIES. 

Honestly, it is sometimes so painful to hear what victims of incest have suffered at the hands of fathers, brothers, mothers, uncles and others. What's even more painful is hearing how hard it is for them to now speak up, to name their abusers, primarily for fear of what friends, family and even loved ones say when they listen to their stories. They get everything from "I'm so sorry for you but you must move on and just forget about it" to "Don't! Don't dare disgrace our family by talking about this!" or even "I don't believe you. You're making it all up. Why would your father or brother do that! How could you let it happen?"

And so, victims of childhood sexual abuse are re-victimized over and over again by their friends and loved ones who care more about keeping everything hidden and quiet than about the victim or about  exposing someone who most likely has gone on to abuse others, or in some cases, is so high profile, no-one dares say anything for fear of reprisal. How fair is that? Worse yet, how can such victims heal when, even if they share their stories, they can't name their abusers? They know by not doing so, they are, as it were, assisting a criminal in continuing to hurt others. Their burden of guilt and shame for their past and now their present silence is doubled. Healing cannot ever really take place under such constraints.

So while I write and edit my book in the hopes it will help to encourage others to come and speak out from under childhood sexual abuse and incest, I realize how much easier it must seem for me to do this NOW. My abuser is long dead. So is his wife, my mom. I have no sisters or brothers or other living relatives on my side who can make me keep my mouth shut. There is, of course, my husband and my children, and my husband's extended family which is large. They could be uncomfortable by my revelation, but again, I'm lucky: they have encouraged me to do this and the extended family doesn't even live in the same country as we do. So one could say, "sure, it's easy for YOU to do now."

Well you know what? Not really. It's not easy at all because there's nothing easy about your friends and your children's friends knowing that you had sex with your father, your children's grandfather!  Even more, how do you explain that this wasn't a one-time thing? Rape is horrid, but it's usually a one-time thing and no-one can or should blame the victim. But incest that goes on for years and years? That's repeated rape but what's an outsider to think? Most will say, if it was that bad, how could you let him rape you year in and year out? Even my husband, who I know loves and believes me when I say this was not my idea or desire, said to me when we had that chat:

"Yes, how do you explain incest that goes for years, or, as in your case, incest that started when you were almost 12?"

When he said that, I couldn't help but wonder if there was doubt of my innocence even in his mind? Though he's never said it, I'm sure he's puzzled as to why I let it go on for so long, why I didn't up and run away, why I didn't turn my father in, etc etc. And those are very understandable questions to which, sadly, there are no easy or quick answers but which I hope will come clear in my book. Yes, it does look like somehow I might have condoned it, even possibly liked it to have let it go on for 12 years, and, yes, after all, I was old enough to understand what he was doing and how wrong it was when he began. No, I wasn't an infant, or even a 5 or 7-year-old who couldn't have invited the sexual abuse. I was nearly a woman myself! So then, now, I too must prepare myself for the non-believers, those who will accuse me of being as guilty as my father was, of enjoying it, of aiding and abetting him in his crime against me.

Perhaps I will live to regret that I told my story, but I'm willing to take that risk because my story must be told: only by doing so, can the non-believers, the accusers come just a little closer to understanding how something like this could go on for years, and how, I was, and still am, blameless.

To do that, my story must begin, as it does, at the beginning, with my childhood, so one can see and sense the growing fear a child develops of a controlling father who can cleverly manipulate your thoughts with his words and actions, a fear so strong that in the end you do whatever you are told to do for fear of your sanity and your life. That is the curse of incest and child sexual abuse, regardless of when it starts.

And that curse never fully goes away.

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.

WHY DO VICTIMS OF ABUSE STAY IN ABUSIVE SITUATIONS? #INCEST #CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE

E.L. Farris, writer of just released book, RIPPLE, recently wrote in a blog post that she thought it selfish of a writer not to share some of a book she was working on. I thought about that and thought "Sure, why not?" So tonight I share an excerpt from my upcoming book, "COMING OUT FROM UNDER" which addresses something we victims of incest know all about and will never understand, anymore than those who ask the question: "Why do victims of abuse stay in abusive situations?"

One of the things most often asked of women in an abusive situation is how and why did you put up with it for so long? If you hated it so much, if your life was so bad, why didn't you just get the hell out of there? 

The answer to that is there isn't any one reason. There are hundreds of little reasons, the biggest being fear: fear of the abuser, fear of being alone, fear of not having necessary survival skills, fear of non-acceptance by others, and fear that the hell you know may be better than the hell you'll find out there. You become resigned, accepting that this is your lot in life. You know that if you play by his rules and don't make waves, you get by ... that he'll even be nice to you. You convince yourself that it's not really so bad after all: there's a roof over your head, food to eat, T.V. for entertainment, and daydreams to escape into when the going gets rough. He's convinced you the world out there is a horrible place and you are so lucky to have him to protect you. So you get along by going along.

But every once in a while, the compliant victim you've become rebels: you have been been condemned to a life in prison for a crime you didn't commit. You were born free but you haven't been free to be yourself, to follow your heart, to act on your dreams for as long as you can remember. Somewhere deep inside, anger is a festering wound. Rage is building. You want to lash out at the abuser but your fear of him makes you lash out at yourself instead. You blame yourself, criticize yourself, hate yourself. Some victims resort to cutting, inflicting more pain on themselves, punishing themselves for someone else's sins. Others simply end it all by suicide. The rest, like me, keep hoping, believing that one day the abuser will come around, see what he has done, and truly does love you enough to finally set you free. That belief was what encouraged me to once again trust my Father when he said: 

"So, kitten, you're turning 21, becoming an adult. My little girl isn't a little girl any longer. So what do I give a 21-year-old for her birthday?"

His voice was kind, gentle, coaxing. My heart filled with hope. Could this be it? Was he finally going to set me free? I so wanted to believe that. I was about to blurt out "I want to be free to come and go as I please" but I hesitated. Years of my telling the truth had ended up in beatings or verbal whiplash. Would this be any different? He sensed my hesitation. He could smell my fear.

"Come on kitten" he encouraged. "Tell daddy what you want. You're a grown woman now. It's time for you to speak up for yourself, to make your own decisions ..."

Do you, dear fellow-victim, recognize yourself in that scene? Maybe your details weren't quite the same. Maybe you were a lot younger than I was when my father asked me those questions and gave me some hope that the misery that was my  life at that time was finally going to end and tomorrow would bring new beginnings. Or maybe you're still in that situation and don't see yourself ever getting out of it. Neither did I. You will have to read my book to find out how the above conversation ended, what my answers to my father were and if indeed, my answers bought me my freedom. 

But I'd like to leave you with this graphic I found and shared on Facebook today. It  literally screamed at me. It is what victims of abuse, any kind of abuse, long for and need the most. And until an abuser knows that, until the victim tells the abuser that this is what he/she wants, we will always be victims in an abusive situation, even when we are no longer in it! 

FREEDOM IS BEING YOU WITHOUT ANYONE'S PERMISSION!

THAT'S WHAT STEPFATHERS DO! #incest #child sexual abuse

I have to write this! And forgive me for ranting. But I'm damn angry this morning. I did my usual quick perusal of Facebook posts and came across another poor young woman pouring out her heart about the sexual abuse she and her sister suffered for years at the hands of her step-father. My blood boiled as I read her pain. But what really took me over the top was her mother's reaction when the two girls finally told mommy. Mommy's response?

"That's what stepfathers do."

'Scuse me? That's what stepfathers do? What kind of heartless response is that from a mother to her daughters? That's what stepfathers do.

So it's okay then for you mom to find a new partner, bring him into your home and let him molest your daughters? You give him permission for this because that's what stepfathers do? If he, like many other men, decided to cheat on you with another woman, would you also stand by and say "well that's what men do?" What kind of woman are you? Are you that insecure, that needy of a man like this in your life that you let him screw your daughters and pass it off as "that's what stepfathers do?" Argggh. Pardon me while I vomit!

I'm reading this too often! Patricia A. McKnight was molested for years by her stepfather. Lisa James suffered at the hands of her stepfather. Book after book, story after story ... that's what stepfathers do.

As an incest survivor of sexual abuse by my own biological father, I still cannot fathom why a father would do that to his own flesh and blood. But these stepfathers ... and the women who choose them to step into a father's shoes? I'm still trying to wrap my head around both of these perpetrators. Yes, I hold the mother to blame too. In all crime, accessories to the crime can be charged. Incest is a crime and these mothers are accessories to the crime. They know it's going on and let it happen because "that's what stepfathers do"!

My eldest daughter, a single mom to a 10-year-old, is looking around for a good man. She wants someone like her own dad, a man who would never touch either of his beautiful girls. A gentle man who has all the normal male urges but would vomit at the thought of touching his own daughters or some other woman's daughters were he put in a stepfather's role. Are there any other men like him around? As I read, I become more and more fearful of my daughter finding and falling in love with someone like these molesting stepfathers. What of my grand-daughter if mommy were to have the bad luck of hooking up with one of these perps? Of course, I know she and her daughter are so close that if someone were to touch the child and she told mommy, mommy would gouge his eyes out! Well maybe not quite but you know what I mean. She wouldn't blithely stand by and say "that's what stepfathers do!"

And those mothers who do say that, and worse yet, as in the case of the girl who wrote that post this morning, how can they stay with the creep even after the children have been mercifully removed from the incestuous situation? Do they love the jerk that much or are they that dependent on him, that afraid to be alone, that they stay with him knowing what he did? I don't understand and I never will. I couldn't stand having a man like that in my house, let alone my bed. How do they stand having his hands on their bodies, his penis inside them, knowing that just a few hours earlier or last night they were doing the same to their daughter or daughters? Women, have you no pride? No self-respect? Are you that bloody desperate!

Sorry if I swear but yes, I''m mad. Damn mad! I'm mad at the men who do this and even madder at the women who let them when they know it's going on. And for those women who would care, and who are looking for a mate, bear this fact in mind:

"Incest is more common and more severe in step-parent families. In a comparison of 59 incestuous stepfathers, 70 incestuous biological fathers and 158 offenders against unrelated children .." while their psychological characteristics were similar, "their life histories and marital histories differed significantly. Stepfathers were significantly more likely to have prior convictions for sexual offences, to have been sexually abused themselves as a child, and to have juvenile records."

Stepfathers were also more likely to have histories of previous marital failures. This information comes from a clinical study recorded HERE. If you have the time and care, you might want to read the full study. It's eye-opening.

And I think it should be read by all single moms with children who are looking for a stepfather for those children. Maybe that guy on Plenty of Fish or some other dating site who looks great, sounds like Mr. Wonderful and can sweet-talk his way around all your concerns will one day sweet-talk or force that little girl or boy of yours into letting him sexually abuse him or her. Be wary. Be very wary.  If he's attracted to you and your little girl looks like a young you as she blossoms into womanhood, she could look real good to him ... 'cause "that's what (some!) stepfathers do!

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.