Go To Your Dad, He Will Treat You: I Was Molested By My Stepfather

A life 2023

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Go To Your Dad, He Will Treat You: I Was Molested By My Stepfather
Go To Your Dad, He Will Treat You: I Was Molested By My Stepfather

Video: Go To Your Dad, He Will Treat You: I Was Molested By My Stepfather

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Video: 'I Was My Dad's Sex Slave; Anything He Wanted, I Had To Do' 2023, January
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Violence sometimes occurs in such a veiled formthat it is difficult to find the words. A person may suffer for years, but hesitate to declare that he has become a victim of violence: it seems to him that he has little evidence, and the aggressors are endowed with power. The situation is aggravated if others inspire a person that nothing happened to him. Our heroine Marina (name changed at her request) tells how the family convinced her that she invented a story about her stepfather's harassment.

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Yulia dudkina

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Daddy will treat you

I was born in Kalmykia. Our family did not belong to any of the religious teachings, but at the same time it belonged to all at once. For example, as a child, my grandmother took me to the Orthodox Church and told me to kiss icons and repent for my sins. And when I was five or six years old, I had a stepfather who was a shaman. He healed people with mantras and touch, usually his friends or relatives. When I had a headache or was unwell, my mother always said: "Go to your father, he will treat you."

The stepfather has always been a silent, reserved person. Everyone in the family knew that his past was connected with crime - he was the leader of a street gang. He liked to repeat: "They are afraid - it means they respect." Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, he would talk about how he dipped influential people with his head in the toilet. She and my mother laughed at these stories, and so did I - it seemed to me that since adults are having fun, it means that this is really funny.

It is believed that people who have experienced something very difficult become shamans. In their youth, they suffer greatly, then for some time they are "twisted" - they can do strange things, get involved in something, go crazy. And then at comes to them: they have the ability to clairvoyance and healing. The stepfather was born into a large family, but all his brothers and sisters died. I think he was telling that for some time he lived on the street. The family believed that his criminal past was some kind of mandatory stage that he went through in order to become a healer. But now he is already a different, "good" person. Everyone behaved as if there was some kind of special halo around him - they said that thanks to the gift of clairvoyance, he sees a lot of suffering in the world, but does not know what kind of people they are experiencing and cannot help them. It was believed that he was greatly tormented by this. Personally, I did not treat him well or badly - I just accepted him as he was. Just like I accepted everything that happened in our family.

"Healing" happened like this: my stepfather and I went to the parents' bedroom and closed the door. I sat opposite him, and he recited mantras, moved his hands around my head and shoulders, sometimes lightly touched. Periodically asked: "Do you feel warm?" Then, probably, it seemed to me that I felt something. Many people around believed in shamanism, and I did not question my stepfather's rituals. But I also don't remember any particularly strong effect of these procedures. Sometimes, if I had a headache, it did go away after the ritual. But, on the other hand, it always passes sooner or later. Maybe it wasn't a miraculous healing.

When I was in my teens, my stepfather began to “treat” me in a different way. Now he ran his hands not only over my shoulders, but all over my body. He touched his chest, crawled under his clothes with his hands. I never understood: what he is doing is normal or not? All his actions were very unobvious: one cannot say that he grabbed my chest with his hands or openly harassed me. Probably, in that case, I would have found how to react. But he just touched me - stroked, touched my nipples - as if it were part of the ritual. Sometimes I gently pushed him away with my hands. But she never said anything. I was embarrassed to talk about what was happening out loud. This went on for several years - two or three times a month.

Now I remember that time, and my own behavior surprises me. I did not analyze what was happening, did not try to understand why my stepfather was doing this. When the “healing session” was over, I returned to my business or went to bed. I didn’t replay what had happened in my head, didn’t reflect. As if my consciousness was blocking this information. After the ceremonies, my stepfather behaved as if nothing had happened, and sometimes it seemed to me that I was going crazy. I thought: maybe it seemed to me that something was wrong? Maybe he didn't notice how he touched me in an intimate place? Or maybe this is how the ceremony should take place and I don't understand something?

Sometimes I gently pushed him away with my hands. But she never said anything. I was embarrassed to talk about what was happening out loud

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Once I mentioned what happened in a conversation with my mother. I didn't want to complain to her about my stepfather, I just decided to talk about what surprised me - maybe she would dispel my doubts. But she replied, “This is a very serious accusation. Are you sure it's true? Didn't it seem to you? Maybe you thought of something for yourself? " She began to hint that if I was telling the truth, then this story could end in divorce. It turned out as if the responsibility for their relationship lies with me. For some reason I felt ashamed because I told her everything. In the end, I agreed with her: "Yes, I guess it seemed to me."

From childhood, I was told that my own father was cheating on my mother while she was pregnant with me. They spoke of him as a terrible person, and they felt sorry for my mother - grandparents believed that after the divorce she was very unhappy. Now that it was hinted to me that I might be causing a rift with her new man, I backed down. After that conversation, I no longer mentioned my stepfather's strange behavior. Mom didn't talk about it either. This was a feature of our family: after any conflict or difficult conversation, everyone pretended that nothing had happened. We did not discuss the problems, did not pay attention to them. Conflicts were not resolved or spoken out - just everyone behaved as if everything was as usual. At the same time, I felt awkward, tense. But these were the rules, and I could not break them.

The more time passed after my confession, the more I convinced myself that my stepfather's actions meant nothing. It seemed to me: since my mother was not alarmed, did nothing, then nothing serious was happening. I guess I'm really exaggerating. He continued to touch my chest, but it still never came to outright harassment. On holidays, when we all congratulated and hugged each other in turn, he wrapped his arms around my buttocks and hugged me. But, as in other cases, I could not understand whether something strange had really happened or if I had misunderstood something.

It seems to me that my personal boundaries have been blurred since childhood. Mom always decided for me how to dress, how to behave, what to say at the table. Naturally, in some ways I eventually began to believe her almost more than myself. However, I never understood her. We often fought, and even when I cried and screamed, she just looked at me and grinned. I could never share with her feelings, something personal. This was not accepted in our family. Once in kindergarten, I kissed a boy on a bet, and my mother beat me up for that. Although later she claimed that this was not the case and she just scolded me. Anyway, after that incident, I tried not to talk too much.

Our family was also quite closed. I had no friends: I was told that my classmates and classmates were prostitutes or spoiled children from wealthy families. From home I went to school, then to the art studio, and then back home. I never walked in the yard. It was believed that in our family everything is always right and good, and people outside our family live somehow "wrong." Parents condemned everyone around, and I, too, followed them. Unsurprisingly, it seemed to me that what my stepfather was doing was okay. After all, nothing strange can happen in our house.In addition, due to this social isolation, I had absolutely no one to discuss my worries with. So it was easiest to just not think about them.

Why are you telling this?

"Healing" ended when, at the age of sixteen, I won a grant and went to study abroad for a year. Away from my family, I suddenly felt free. To my surprise, I didn’t miss my mom or my stepfather. It turned out that without them I can do so many interesting things: communicate with people, play sports, volunteer. When I returned, our relationship became strained. They seemed to be annoyed that I had my own interests, some kind of self-confidence. When I expressed my opinion, which they didn’t like, they said: “It’s you who picked up your own in the West, screwed up your head.”

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I used to think that mom and stepfather are very different. He is a welder with a criminal record. She is from a wealthy, intelligent family. Now I began to understand that in fact they are similar. They both liked to control people, to feel power. Having traveled abroad, I managed to loosen this control, and the balance was disturbed. A year later, I entered to study in another city and left.

For a long time, I stopped thinking about the strange things that happened during the "healing" rituals. A new life has begun for me. I dated guys, I had a lot of friends. True, there was no real emotional closeness with anyone, the relationship was rather superficial. But life was in full swing: I was never alone, and only came home to sleep. Already now I understand that I was afraid to be alone with myself. Many of my acquaintances have read books or watched TV series. But I didn't do it, because for such hobbies you usually need to be alone, and for me it was unbearable.

In the summer of 2018, for the first time in my life, I fell deeply in love. I have never felt this way before. But my love was unrequited. I started having a serious psychological crisis, and I suddenly fenced myself off from people. I spent three months at home, thinking about my life, delving into myself. Memories suddenly began to pop up in my head: what my stepfather was doing, for the first time took shape, became vivid. Thoughts about this began to literally haunt me. I finally began to clearly understand: what was happening was not normal, and it still affects me and my life. Around the same time, I heard about the #MeToo flash mob, and for the first time in my life I wanted to take part in some kind of mass action. I suddenly felt that this is very important to me.

I told my story on Facebook. Many began to support me, to write that I was great. But soon my mother's friend called. As soon as I picked up the phone, she began to shout at me: "How can you dump your dirty laundry in front of everyone?" As if the story itself hadn't impressed her - the only thing that was scary was that I told her.

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Thoughts about this began to literally haunt me. I began to clearly understand: what was happening was abnormal, and it still affects me and my life.

Then my relatives found out about my fast. The fact is that I have a younger brother - the son of my mother and stepfather. That summer, when the understanding of what had happened suddenly fell on me, I was very alarmed and depressed. Because of this, I did things faster than I could think about them. I began to worry: what if something similar happened to my brother? I called him to see if he was okay. Word for word, and I told him about my stepfather. He replied: “Are you a fool? Why are you telling me all this?"

Of course, he told my mother about our conversation. She called, said that she did not believe me. Then she began to accuse: "If this is true, then why didn't you tell me before?" I reminded her that I tried to discuss this issue many years ago, but she denied everything, said that I was delusional. Then the rhetoric changed.Mom began to say: "Even if we admit that it really was, why remember this now, after so many years?" We had another fight, and the next time she called me herself and talked to me as if there was no conflict.

Just like in childhood, I was looking for someone with whom to discuss my situation, but I could not find. I tried to talk to my grandmother. But she embarrassed me: they say, I can't even imagine what serious problems other people have. And she added: "We do not tell you about all our difficulties."

In the fall, I started having panic attacks. In addition, due to the stress, I began to abuse marijuana. This made my condition even worse. When I was on the subway, it seemed to me that every passer-by wanted to rape me. I also had the feeling that people were reading my mind. I began to have paranoid ideas: as if my stepfather could control all my acquaintances. I thought he could harm me even from a distance. As if he was some kind of powerful evil wizard who came to me in a dream, and in reality he saw in everyone he met. In everything I began to see some signs, signs. Hit the esoteric. At times it seemed to me that I was just going crazy.

The post I wrote on Facebook, I eventually deleted. After my relatives put me to shame, I began to feel as if I had let them down with my note. They live in a small town and care a lot about their reputation. It seemed that I was a traitor. I convinced myself: the events from my childhood are only part of the story. I don’t know everything. You can't blame your stepfather. In addition, the thought that he would do something to me did not leave me.

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Have you believed in yourself?

In November, I came to my hometown to visit my family. As usual, at first everyone pretended that there was no post on Facebook. But it annoyed me: I wanted to raise this topic, figure it out, speak out. Therefore, from the very arrival, I seemed to run into a conflict. We began to argue over domestic issues, at some point, my stepfather began to swear loudly. I shouted back: "You are pretending to be a saint, and you yourself were touching me!" After these words, he grabbed my neck and began to beat my head against the wall. His brother joined him. He shouted: “What, believe in yourself? You p *** t! " Mom looked at it and grinned as usual.

The family scandal lasted until the morning. Then I got on the first bus and left. Already on the road, I calmed down. It was as if something was turning over in me. I suddenly began to understand: I do not need to try to find out from my mother and stepfather why they did this to me. There is no need to look for logic in their actions. The problem is not with me, but with them. All this time I wasn’t crazy, I didn’t invent something that didn’t exist. They just tried to convince me of this.

All my childhood I lived in a strange world: it had certain rules of the game and I never reasoned logically, did not ask myself questions. But now I can no longer play this game. When I returned home and took the subway, I realized that my obsession had come to naught. It no longer seemed to me that people wanted to rape me. I realized that they didn't care about me. The world has regained its usual, realistic outlines.

Now I do not communicate with my mother. Sometimes she calls me, but usually I don't pick up the phone. I know - if we start communicating, she will again pretend that neither those conversations nor our quarrel took place. And I don't want to pretend anymore.

Photos: johannes - stock.adobe.com, Yuliya - stock.adobe.com (1, 2, 3), Dmitry - stock.adobe.com

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