All the latest sexual-abuse news – me too and I stand with and most of all – the Moore thing – has not been kind to my CPTSD.
The Moore thing is especially upsetting to me because that is the type of abuser I was raised with and around. From the charm classes I was put through at the age of 6 that taught us how to set a table to the 7th place setting and how to cross our ankles with our knees together to keep the men from looking up our skirts (YES – THAT was the sole reason for sitting with your legs wrapped around and behind a chair with your ankles crossed and knees together – because if you sat any other way, you were inviting lust and sexual advances – AT SIX YEARS OLD) In those days, a thigh gap meant you didn’t keep your legs together (again – inviting lust and sexual advances) and besides – big butts and hips meant a good birther – (I was TWELVE) Then the night my mother sent me to stay at a male friend’s house with permission of all the parents involved, and was allowed to stay up all night in the living room with the male friend, and things got into heavy petting, and I said it was okay to lay down together but please don’t have sex with me because I didn’t want to have sex – and he did it anyway not a minute after I said not to….and I should have screamed…I should have told someone right then. I did tell someone – a friend in high school who turned it into gossip that I was having sex with people – and instead of rape victim I was now the school prostitute. The assaulter didn’t go to my school or even live in the same town – and he never had to answer for having sex with me against my will. I think his mother knew but just didn’t care. (We were FOURTEEN) . I didn’t tell my mom because I had tried to tell her most of my life that people were physically and sexually abusing me and she always told me I was making up stories even when she witnessed it herself.
After college, I had a job visiting the Youth Court Judges in Mississippi and convincing them to send kids to the drug treatment unit I represented. Short skirts, low cut blouses, high heels, and my sweetest southern accent. There were some counties that the judges were honest and fair, but there were some – and you all can guess which ones – where as long as I kept the number of buttons buttoned to below the braline I could have all the kids I wanted for the center. They described persons of color with the vilest of terms, women were only for serving their basic needs of eating and sex, and had little use beyond those things. It didn’t matter what your degree was in, only who your daddy was. Be a good girl and do what you’re told.
I got out of the South in 1997 – and moved as far North and West as I could get in the US – Life is so different in the Pacific Northwest. I’m sure there are many who are completely baffled at the Moore exposure and his justifications – but I’m glad it is finally out there – I’m glad that it has a world stage now – This crap has been going on forever and those of us beat into silence and submission about it are too tired to expose it. Boys are raised to think like this Moore fellow – it’s how we ended up with the current leadership of our country.
So I’m trying to get through the days as best I can – avoiding as much of the real world as I can because I cannot seem to escape it and I cannot stomach another microsecond of it.