part 54

I keep getting overwhelmed with the magnitude of all this. When I am remembering each individual event or occurrence of abuse or assault, I know that it is real. The reason I know that it is real is because I was there. The people who abused and assaulted me were also there, and they know it is real, too. They know what they did.

But when I back up a bit and look at all of it, I am hit really hard by the notion that this shit is CRAZY. Not crazy in a way that has to do with my own sanity or perceptions, but crazy in the way that people can do these things to each other.

All the shit with my dad is really crazy all on its own. The whole thing with the neighbors is crazy – how often does a child who is sexually abused by her father end up living in a neighborhood where there are so many other abusers?

But then that has me thinking about the chances of something like that happening, and when I think of the concept of a child “ending up” living in such a place, it makes me realize that place was there long before I was abused by any of the neighbors.

I was two years old when I moved into that house. My family has lived there for over thirty years. One of my abusers has been there that long, as well, and another has been there for over twenty years. I have considered before how unusual my neighborhood was, just in the fact that the same people have lived there for so long.

I don’t think that is necessarily abnormal – I’m sure there are other neighborhoods where little clumps of people are all friends and all remain close to each other in the same houses for decades.

But then there is the wife factor. The wives of these men have been best friends with each other for decades, too. Perhaps they all share more in common than each is aware. Maybe they get along so well because they are all a certain type of person, as any group of friends is usually and naturally compiled.

The husbands, including my dad and the other abusers, never really got along well at all. They have all pretty much been crotchety and moody toward each other for as long as I can remember, and the ones still living there are still that way.

The only two I ever remember getting along better than the others was when the pedophile who doesn’t live there anymore was still there – he and the other pedophile seemed to get along very well, or at least better than the other men in the neighborhood got along with each other.

An additional consideration is that once someone has been the victim of a sexually-related crime, it significantly increases their risk of being assaulted again at some time in their lives. I was already vulnerable to outside predators because of what my dad had been doing to me since I was a baby.

Predators know what kind of person is easy to break, and to manipulate. They know who to focus on, who is the most vulnerable. All it takes to become that vulnerable is one single occurrence of sexual assault, be it child molestation or rape or trafficking or anything else. It appears that being sexually assaulted in any way breaks some sort of innate method of self-preservation.

This is not a new concept, particularly in our society. Something bad happens to someone good, and the good person’s life course is altered inexorably for the worse.

Anyway – I could go on and on with my theories and whatnot, but applying all of this to myself, it makes sense that what happened to me was possible because of who my father was, who I was molded into, who these other abusers are, and who the families of these other abusers are.

Why would people stay in the same place all their lives, living among the same people, if not because they are accepted and feel safe and at home there? Where would an abuser feel at home? Possibly in a neighborhood of other abusers and of broken, abused children.

Where would the wives of such men feel comfortable? Among other wives of such men.

I’m not saying that there was a mass conspiracy among the abusers and their wives. I don’t know that any of the abusers has ever even been aware of their long-time neighbor’s similar practices. I don’t think the wives and mothers found themselves among a group of women who had abusive husbands and had that common link.

But people who rape and molest and do all of those other horrible crimes are a certain breed. The women they marry also share certain characteristics of behavior and personality with each other.

Maybe all of the people in that neighborhood have stayed there for so long was because the abusers found a home in which they would be able to freely carry on their abuse, and their wives found each other similar in character, and so became close friends.

I’m getting tired of thinking of all of this. My whole point is that no matter how much I try to figure out how none of these things can be true, to find a way in which I could never have been a victim of anyone (I have stated before that I would rather be found bat-shit crazy than for any of this to be real, and I still feel that way), the more I realize how much everything fits. The circumstances, the people, the behaviors – all of it.

One of the biggest reasons I am not able to make my mind not believe that all of this happened to me is because of the way it all makes such perfect fucking sense. There is nothing – NOTHING – to indicate that any of these things could not have happened. I think of the things that happened to me, and I then I think about how someone who had done these things to me would fit into my life, and they all fit.

It all fits.

That’s a pretty shitty conclusion.

I’m going to go watch TLC shows for a little bit, and maybe get a reprieve from my mind and my past. A little bit of information I have found to be helpful is that “Say Yes to the Dress” and “What not to Wear” are fantastic coping mechanisms.