Me, in all my dorky dorkiness.
Anyone who has been following me for awhile knows of the abuse I’d endured as a child. I make no secret of that difficult, traumatic portion of my life and my childhood. In fact, I believe that, at least in my experience, it is quite healing and therapeutic for me to share my childhood trauma with others, for many reasons. For one, it enables me to confront that, which I’d sooner forget, regret or wish never happened rather than run from it. It’s not the easy choice to be sure, but it’s the right choice in my mind. Another reason would be that it makes it decidedly difficult for anyone else to attempt to use such events against me in some way, however unlikely that would be. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, I believe that it makes it much easier for others who’ve suffered similar abuse to come out, come forward and to let go their secrets.
For those who came in late, I’ll briefly give you the skinny on what happened: My mother and father divorced when I was very young. It was shortly after my brother had been born, so I was about four-years-old thereabouts, and we went to live with our mother. My father quickly remarried after the divorce. As my mother was required to travel a lot for her career (back then, she was a full-time professional fashion model), my brother and I would go to stay with our father and stepbrother and sisters, and each time we stayed with them, I was subjected to varying degrees of sexual abuse at the hands of my stepbrother. For more on this, feel free to read this post: http://raineceleste.tumblr.com/post/10257274788/weekly-update-sept-8-14-2011-revision
My mother, upon learning of this, promptly pulled me and my brother out of it. After that, I’ve been trying to pick up the pieces. I’ve been seeing a therapist weekly for the past two and a half years, who specializes in sexual abuse therapy. It’s taken me a long time to come to terms with what had happened to me. I’ve only just recently been able to look at the scars left behind by my abuser in a positive way; what used to be a painful reminder of the trauma I’d suffered has now become a source of pride and honor, reminding me instead of the strength, courage and survival.
Now, there’s a reason why I’m sharing all this. When I was younger, I was unable to testify in court against my stepbrother. I was afraid that there might be reprisals. For one thing, his mother (at least back then) had connections with thugs and had made it abundantly clear that if I did testify, my mother’s life would be in jeopardy. In my 7-year-old mind, that was enough for me to keep quiet. Therefore, he was never brought to justice, or back then, sent to a place where he could get help. There’s no doubt in my mind that he was abused too. What 13-year-old would rape other young children?
That was nearly 25 years ago.
Last week, a news story aired about my stepbrother. He was arrested on charges of alleged child molestation. After all these years, after all this time, he was finally arrested for sexual assault of a minor.
I have no idea how to feel about this. On one hand, I’m glad that he was finally arrested. You have no idea how much those things that he’d done to me have altered and impacted my childhood, and by extension, my life. It’s wonderful to see that him behind bars.
On the other hand, I feel so guilty. If I but had the courage to testify back then, those children, who coincidentally are relatives of his, might never have suffered at his hands. Who knows how many other children he’s hurt? And, the very thought that my inaction may have led to other children being raped and abused makes me sick to my stomach.
Despite all the terrible things he’s done, I am not without compassion for my stepbrother. I recognize that his actions, while inexcusable and abhorrent, stem from abuse he’d endured when he was young. He never had an outlet, nor did he ever get help for his trauma and I feel so guilty for not testifying and ensuring that he received the help he so desperately needed.
People often ask me whether I hate him for what he’d done to me and my answer is always no. I don’t hate him. I can’t hate a person , no matter how cruel they are. I can’t even be angry at him. What angers me are his actions. His actions are what I hate. What happened to me and those other children is what I hate. What happened to him, whatever it was, I hate.
Now that he’s in jail though, I begin to gain a sense of closure. Granted ,he’s only in jail now; he’s not been convicted of any crime; there’s been no trial. Still, knowing that he’s finally been arrested makes me feel that I can rest a little bit better because, where he is at least at this moment, he can never harm another child.
Buttercup: Susan B. Anthony didn’t want any special treatment.
Bubbles: she demanded that he be sent to jail like any other man.
Blossom: And that’s exactly what we’re going to do to you!
The Powerpuff Girls give you an idea of what feminism is really about.
Oh cool! Reblogging this to look at in more detail later
This June (my birthday, the 25th) marks the two-year anniversary of my coming out transgender. And, as last year, I’d like to make a video slideshow to chronicle my (admittedly slow) transition to date. I just can’t seem to muster the motivation to go through a year’s worth of photographs of myself and the things that I’ve done to make a slideshow on. My deadline is fast approaching, so I need to really buckle down and get to work.
Last year’s show was very, very difficult to assemble as I felt the need to introduce myself to the world. This year should be different as no exposition is required, and yet, I’m agonizing over this more than I could ever have expected.
I just heard about the trans youth/elder brunch today! And I’m actually like super duper excited about that because it sounds 10,000000000 times more appealing to me than any kind of OP after party or bar/alcohol based evening get-together.
Like brunch?? outside?? with trans bbs of all ages? Yes please!
Please reblog to spread the word!