Incest Priest part 2

As I retold the events of the Incest Priest, more visuals and audibles surfaced. The clearest audiovisual continues to be of the priest asking "and she won't be able to remember anything at all?"

The new stuff:

The drug on the spoon rendered me completely unable to move a single muscle in my body. This brought sadness and tears.

My eyelids were half-closed allowing me to watch him undress and do things until I did blackout. I did hear him finish, the sound up above my nine-year old head.

Then it got strange as I found myself in my grandmother's arms being propped up. Apparently, the drugs may have been too much as I was not responding and I could not swallow. The grandmother held the cup with dark liquid in front of my face, pouring some in through my lips but I could not swallow.

I was aware of uncle priest getting dressed, showing a bit of concern as grandmother told him to hurry up and leave. She called out for my dad who assisted with cold washcloths to my face, one on each side. I remember the scratchy feel of them on my skin as I started become conscious. 

Things still swirled in my head but I could see my bare feet hanging over the bed. Then I could feel them.

My grandmother, I could feel her fear at all the places my back was pressed against her body. Fear feels erratically prickly and I could this emanating from her. I had never known her to feel an ounce of fear (or remorse, for that matter) until this event.

Then the sound of coughing, sputtering was me as my throat started working again. Felt a little like recovering from drowning, too much liquid.

Then I could feel my hands. I regained control of my head and neck. I felt wasted. Physically. Whatever drug that was, it left me exhausted and sore and just feeling wrong all over.

I didn't "feel" the rape due to the drug I was fed but I saw...I saw what my uncle incest priest did of his own freewill and volition.

My dad drove me there, to my great-grandmother's house where my grandmother drugged me so her brother could rape me.

I was 9 years old.

That is, was my family.

My Perpetrator Family Member Priest, Incest

When I hear about clergy abuse and the proliferation of child sexual abuse, I actually do not lump my close family member as one of them.

I believe my "uncle" raped me as an anomaly as I was drugged and his first sexual encounter. Yeah, 9 year old me remembers and talks about it.

The most infamous and clear words my uncle said was "...and she won't remember any of this?" said to my evil grandmother who stood in the doorway as uncle looked at her questioning. This I saw clearly. 

He wasn't a prolific pedophile. He just

 inherited the family "incest gene" or the generational ideology and philosophy that sexually molesting their own children was completely acceptable. He just happened to have been a priest.

Being drugged, this being one of multiple times, had its advantages. There were definitely times that I eagerly took whatever "medicine" they offered to have a better chance of forgetting the rapes, and being more able to drift away into faraway safe places. This time, I remember seeing the reddish purple syrup that didn't taste too bad.

My grandmother holding the spoon, pouring the bottle, and presenting it to me to swallow.

Yeah, they thought I wouldn't remember a single thing but I saw and heard bits of things. Medicating, drugging a child into an ignorant stupor is a dangerous, tricky, and uncertain thing.

I saw: my self lying in the single bed, the room, the curtained window, the spoon filled with the syrupy liquid, my Uncle sitting on the edge of the bed, his arm across me propping himself up to my right; the look in his eyes was strange, not what I'd been used to seeing in men on top of me. He was anticipating, excited, yet there was a wary caution, too. There were many things on his mind. My personal well being definitely wasn't one of them.

After that, I half-eyed watch him undress. The bedroom door had been closed. I was aware yet unable to move my body in anyway. Nothing else to do but watch him as he examined me and basically experimented with all manners of touching this new thing female. Then, I was away until I heard him complete his ...examination to his satisfaction.

The grandmother was the next thing I remember. She was sitting me up trying to get me to drink...coffee, maybe? Something strong. She was making sure I could swallow as well as counteracting the drugging.

Weird to suddenly remember these new bits. My body heavy in her arms. My weight resting on her. The cup in front of my face. It wasn't hot, lukewarm probably strong coffee.

Then her helping me up. To sit on the side of the bed. My head still swimming. A cool washcloth to my face. Yeah, maybe the drug hit too hard as there was some concern that I wasn't getting fully conscious quick enough.

Again, my arm around grandmother's neck to get me standing.

So much to contemplate here.

Anyway. The whole family was in on it. Maybe not the whole family but my dad had brought me there. My grandmother had drugged me. And my uncle molested me in my great-grandmothers house.

Yeah, a family affair.

I never had a chance at normalcy or at having a loving family.

Intergenerational Incest

Just another chapter in my life

Great Grandmother - Great Granddaughter Incest and bathing

I can't recall a single word my great grandmother spoke that I understood. 

She was an immigrant from Prussia who spoke Polish, or poor English with a thick accent.

Five year old me was actually intruiged and curious as to this new great grandmother thing. Until that age, we had lived away from extended family so these new old humans called relatives they were introducing us to caused great curiosity.

Great-grandmother had such white hair, on her head, and such long whiskers on her face. She did talk quite a bit as I saw her lips move and her voice raise a lot.

I'd be left alone with her.

We would carry the metal tub, big oval-shaped bucket up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Or, should I say, she would carry the metal grey while I carried the towels beige.

Then another trip down for the pitcher of water. Two pitchers, both times they were steaming like soup, and I walked behind her as she carefully carried each one with two hands.

There was a big, round bowl that she'd pour some water into on the little table. She helped me get naked and stand in the tub. I didn't like that for a couple reasons. One, I didn't like not having no clothes on standing in front of her like that. Second, I had never even seen a metal tub before and standing in it, the bottoms of my feet were cold and stark. The tub bottom wasn't flat neither, it had rings that stood up, raised, so my feet were never flat or comfortable but off balance on little cold hills. No matter how I tried to place my feet, they could never get flat or comfortable. 

The third thing was that the tub was placed not too far from the little window with see-through curtains, a narrow half curtain on top, above a clear space, then a bigger see-through curtain divided in two on the bottom. I could see the kids playing ball outside. I didn't know if they could see me or not, naked and all.

The great-grandmother moved my arms out, straight out probably because I didn't do it myself cause I didn't understand her mumble words. I didn't like arms out one single bit but if I ever put arms down, so swiftly pushed them back up with whispered harsh mumbles. 

I distinctly, clearly remember the odd sound of water falling off of me into the metal tub. It was making strange raindrops that I could watch fall off. The metal tub made the rain-like drops sound funny, different, almost like pretty music. The sound would change with each water fall cause the tub would have more and more water. Off to the right side, near my chin and neck is where this memory is located cause that's where I was looking down watching the water drops.

I was kinda smiling at the attention of this new old grandmother. My face feels like it was constantly smiling through all this anyway. I didn't like the wet washcloth or the foamed soap or the way she was scrubbing me up and down so, but I kept smiling slightly cause this was new and I was curious about it all.

The rinsing part I liked as she slowly poured the warm water pitcher over this part of me then that. It was like a small warm river flowing over me wiping away the soap bubbles.

I had to stay there while she went down for another pitcher. I didn't like that, that getting cold all wet and waiting part. She soon came back up the stairs, poured out a little water into the bowl, and started wiping me down with the washcloth wet. Scratchy.

Then it was towel time with the big tan towel drying me from top to bottom. Once she dried down to where the water was in the tub, she put a different towel down onto the floor for me to step out onto. Then she dried my lower legs and feet. See, again, this makes me smile because no one had never taken such care of me before. She seemed to like paying attention to me and getting me all washed up gentle and pretty. A big person paying nice attention to me wasn't something that happened much to five year old me.

Then, well, it got nice but kinda weird and uncomfortable, too.

Wrapped in a big towel or bathrobe or blanket, I don't know which, she'd set me on her lap in her rocking chair.

Stop.

Trigger Warning

Now, it gets confusing, emotionally. While I enjoyed the pleasantries of being hugged and rocked, GG did things unpleasant and of a graphic disturbing sexual abuse nature. I did not know whether this was normal white hair relative behavior or not as this type of privacy violation had not occurred before, in this way, under the auspices of a grandmotherly way.

At other times, GG would take one or two of the dolls she had, and show and demonstrate other sexual situations. It's like she was preparing and teaching me all about sexual behavior. 

I was 5.

Before the GG died when I was 10, I developed a strong aversion to going to her house and being alone in a room with her. Part of me felt dirty and uncomfortable with her shameful sexual abuse. I had grown and matured enough to realize what she was doing was wrong. I couldn't stop it but I did try and avoid it.

This was my great-grandmother who the rest of the family loved dearly.

I disagree.

I was a victim of incest and my great-grandmother was my perpetrator.