A whore at seven? (Counselling Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse - Claire Burke Draucker)

Name: kimgraham

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Product:	Counselling Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse - Claire Burke Draucker
Date:	01/09/02 (81 review reads)
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I am sorry that this is not in the right place. As soon as Dooyoo make a place it will be moved. Having written it I felt I needed to get it on site as sson as possible and removed from my hard drive. I hope when you have read it you will understand why!


If you have read some of my earlier opinions you may know that I was sexually abused, quite badly, as a child.

I had never intended writing any more about it than that. It was something that had happened to me, end of story. I have never at any point in my life spoken about it to anyone either, always believing it to be un - mentionable subject, other than in passing.

What made me change my mind? Two things, really. I was beginning to think about it when I read a spate of capital punishment opinions all advocating execution for child molestors. I took exception to that. I know these people mean well, but have they ever spoken to an abused child as an adult and asked them what they would want? I would have grave problems coping with knowing that someone had been put to death because of what they did to me. People that abuse children are sick. They need help and they need to be stopped. I would favour lifetime incarceration coupled with chemical castration.

The second thing that made me decide to share my experiences with you came out of the blue. I have been to the West country for a few days and took some reading material with me. In bed on Wednesday night I was reading Billy, the biography on Billy Connolly, by his wife Pamela Stephenson. It is quite good and I was engrossed. Suddenly, I read a paragraph that made me sit bolt upright in bed. It was as though somebody had removed a yoke from my shoulders and scales from my eyes. Somebody else knew what I did. Billy Connolly understood what I did. It was a revelation which I firmly believe will change my life and my perception of myself forever.I will share the quote with you and then tell you my story:

"The most
awful thing" says Billy now, fully grasping the anatomy of shame "was that it was kind of pleasant,physically, you know?"

My story starts when I was seven years old.

I had been sent to stay with my maternal grandparents at their school house in Victoria. A funny irony is that it is just over the road from New Scotland Yard!
It was a school holiday and so my little sister, aged 3, and I were allowed to play in the school playground. As it was an inner London school it was encapsulated by twenty feet high brick walls. I was quite a shy little girl, but had a friendly streak. There were some workmen doing repairs to the school. They used to talk to us sometimes and I would take them a cup of tea when Grandma had made it for them.

One day I was sitting next to one of the workmen chatting. All the rest had gone back into the school. The man's name was Eddie and he was Irish. He seemed awfully old at the time but looking back, I doubt he was more that thirty. I felt very smart as my parents had recently been to Austria and brought me back a traditional Austrian dress with apron. It was green and yellow, I can still see it now. Grandma had allowed me to wear it for a treat for being helpful when she was baking.
Eddie asked me to sit on his knee. Now, this didn't seem odd to me, we have always been a great family for everybody sitting on each others knees, so I duly climbed on.
I was very surprised by what happened next. I am not going into graphic details, it isn't necessary. He did not rape me, but he may as well have done as he did everything else possible. Now you might ask why I didn't scream or run away. I was seven years old and knew nothing about this sort of thing. I didn't understand what he was doing and it didn?t hurt as such. A female body, if you stimulate it enough will respond eventually. I did not know what I was feeling or what was being done. I only know to quote Mr Connolly, that
it felt "kind of pleasant". This continued for the whole week and then I went home to my parents.

When I got older and knew more about sex I realised what had been done to me. Up until that point I hadn't really thought about it. Then the guilt kicked in. I realised that my body had responded and I felt so incredibly dirty. That feeling was with me until 11.00 Wednesday night, when it miraculously floated away.

That wasn't the end. I was a well developed child. I am only 5 foot two, but have been this height since I was nine years old. I am a bit of a shrimp now, but at nine it was rather tall. I had a reasonably defined bust , needed a bra and was already menstruating. That isn't much fun at that age,I can tell you. You have an adult body and a child's mind and you really don't understand these odd feelings that you sometimes get. In those days parents didn't much talk about those sorts of things, but I remember wanting to die with embarrassment when, at nine years old, my periods started and my mother announced it to all and sundry over the lunch table.

I still tried to do little girl things. I danced and went to Brownies. Over a period of a few weeks some boys who lived in my street started waiting for me after Brownies to walk me home They were about eighteen years old and taking their A levels.To start with there was no problem. I was glad of it in a way as I had to walk home through a small wood and it could be a bit scary!

Then, one evening they turned up with a bottle of Coke and an enormous bag of sweets. There were three of them. They said we were going to have a picnic on the way home. It seemed like fun to me, and I knew their younger sisters so had no reason to have any doubts about it. Before I knew it I was flat on my back and I felt a searing pain. All three took it in turns to rape me twice each. I have never been so scared in my life. This time I knew exactly what was going on,
but there were too many of them for me to overpower them and get away, but believe me, I struggled. I bit one so hard it drew blood!

I went home and had a long bath. I hurt everywhere.I was bleeding quite badly as well. My mother had just had a severe breakdown and was not known for her understanding nature, so I never told her. I had always loved writing, and I needed to tell someone, so I wrote it all down in an old exercise book and put it in the saddle bag of my bike. It vaguely helped to get it off my chest.

The next week I went to Brownies. They were waiting outside again and made it very clear they wanted more. I ran as fast as I could towards my house, but the only way back was through the wood and I tripped on a branch that I hadn't seen. That was my undoing. They caought me and tied me to the tree. It was then that I learned to disassociate. I was able to effectively "leave" my body and float high above the tree where I could survey the proccedings from a safe distance and it seemed like it wasn't happening to me. I cannot remember how many times they did it that time, but there were four of them, as they had brought a friend along for a bit of fun! I didn't think it was much fun.I didn't bleed as much that time, thankfully.

Did I tell my Mum? No. She would have punished me. I never went back to Brownies again, though.

This sort of thing makes you grow up feeling very dirty, and very,very cheap. It gives you totally the wrong idea about sex and can leave you with some interesting hang-ups.

I had forgotten all about the exercise book in the saddle bag of my bike. About three years later a decorator found it and gave it to my parents. They called me a whore, a slut and gave me a really decent good hiding. Then I knew it must all be my fault. I was never sure what the man had been doing in my saddlebag, though. He should not have been looking at personal things!

The matter was ne
ver discussed again.

Then a different form of abuse started,. When I was fourteen my mother went through a very odd patch. She decided that my Dad was gay, and or, having an affair. She would tell me things in horribly graphic detail about their sex life and ask me if I thought he was a pervert. I went to school in London, so she would ask me to go into Foyles (the bookshop) and look things up in the sex manuals for her. She also used to show me my fathers worn underpants and ask if I could see any sign of "dodgy" activity in them. I hated it more than you can begin to imagine! Oh eek, I have just remembered, she also used to show me their sex toys. This went on until I was 17.

Guess what happened next? I left home. Just as fast as I could. Eventually, she had more medical help and has been right as ninepence ever since. Alzheimers for her, in an odd way is a blessing, as she has no recollection at all of what she has done! She would have grave difficulty living with it, as she is basically a good person .She was just mentally ill.

I then had a fairly promiscuous year. Well, when every last vestige of self esteem has been taken from you what else is there?

Fortunately I managed to turn myself around and start behaving normally.

The thing that surprised me most, that was when it came to it I was capable of forming relationships with men. Since then I have had two very longstanding relationships. I had appalling physical problems with the first due to my huge hang-ups and that really finished the marriage. The second one I made an enormous effort, and managed to get over it . I thought why should these idiotic child molesters rob me of the chance of a decent sex life for the rest of my life. If I allowed that to happen then they had won!
Ironically we are now separated, but that wasn't the reason why. He was abusive too,in a different way, and somehow I realised that I could no longer stay in an abusive
relationship!
I am doing much better now, it must be said!

One very funny thing happened last year. I had an e-mail via Friends Reunited. It was very friendly and wanted to know how I was and what I was doing. This chap was now a deputy head in a secondary school. He was also the ringleader of the youths that raped me. I replied- must have shocked him as I never heard another word!

Don't you think that is an extraordinary cheek? That is where Friends Reunited falls down, I think!

I really hope that none of you have need to find this useful. I thought that in sharing it, it might give a useful insight into what it is like to be an abused child, and to give hope that you can come out the other side.

Thank you for reading this and I hope it wasn't too harrowing.

If my daughters read this, please don't comment!

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