Speechless...Survivor of Sexual Abuse, Incest

I was, most effectively, rendered speechless by my autism and by my father. They both stole my voice to the point that I was a silent afterthought, the quiet one in the corner, back turned and all but invisible. The mere idea of speaking up for my self never existed...till now.

I shudder to think of the cavern where I had to stuff all my screams and squash all my thoughts. Words piled thick and high packed into every minuscule crevice and pinprick. How quickly I believed and was taught about my sheer worthlessness. Oh, I actually did have some redeeming value but it was in my body, not my voice. A thousand threats, a hand at the throat and hands covering my mouth quashed and destroyed my little voice...all I was left with was the ability to cry, albeit silently, to myself.

I wonder about what I wish I could have said, would have said, if I had been baled or allowed. Father made me be stifled and mother sure as hell enforced it. I was a walking zombie being pushed one Way and then the other. I had no worth. It's sad how an adult, a parent can maim their own child so.

My father always so angry and raging that the entire room would feel hot, sick and on fire. I comprehended the word "enraged" at a very young age. I spent my time trying to quickly move away from the fire and not get stepped on or caught. I practiced invisibility with little success. I hid within my self. Maybe I knew words, inside...but mostly I drew pictures, doorways, tunnels and escape routes. I tried not to walk through my room, the cavern of words and screams lest I go deaf from the noisy din. My hands grew tired as I pressed them so tightly over my ears.

Silence, ah, silence was to be avoided lest I hear my self and all that which had to remain unspoken, all that was stuffed within.

Torture was a sadistic game, my father used to play. He found a multitude of ways to inflict pain, including the rubber hose. His best one, one of his favorites was the rubber mallet. It leaves no marks and inflicts bone jarring pain. I distinctly remember him smashing toes so hard, I could barely walk. Worse yet was when he slammed the heels of my feet so the pain shot clear up my spine. He thoroughly enjoyed finding new ways to keep my silent.

He broke and busted my body and stole my voice. I'd like to think there is a special kind of hell for people like that.

No longer will I be silent, for silence and denial perpetuates and protects perpetrators. If we stay silent, they will just continue. I will speak of incest and sexual abuse. I will not cower in a closet with hand over mouth anymore.

Do not give power to the words by refusing to speak them.

Hear me!!!!!!!!!!!