Incest Survivors Support Group
Incest refers to any sexual activity between closely related persons that is illegal or socially taboo. Consensual adult incest is very rare. Incest between adults and prepubescent or adolescent children is a form of child sexual abuse that has been shown to be one of the most extreme forms of childhood trauma. If you or a loved one is a survivor of incest, join the group...
My father was fantastic, tall, handsome, always there to protect me.He helped me learn my maths tables, taught me to read time, drew me beautiful drawings of Walt Disney's cartoon mice.Each time he came back from his travels, he would bring me back collection dolls that I would pile up on top of my desk.
My mother was my best friend.She was always well dressed, smelled of Chanel number5, would cook us wonderful meals.She would reward me with money because I had been a good girl.A really good girl.She would drop her temesta at night et voila.
My brothers, somehow I could not remember them, seems they would go out from a very early age to the cafs and rehearse with their bands.
Every night without exception, a big monster would come in my room.I could never see his face.In my dreams, he had a mask on I would try to remove.In my room,I would prepare myself mentally and pretend I was watching an open heart operation from the ceiling.My father was super.Always the first one to be in the room and tell me "it was a nightmare".
It took me 40 years to cut through that family hypnosis and tear the veil of fabricated truth.My idealised family dream died.Very painful.Rejected by everyone as soon as I woke up.
But I did wake up.I woke up.I was dead.I am alive.Alive and kicking.
What better fairy tale than this one.Sleeping beauty, stung by a big needle, wakes up after 40 years .A story for all of us.We wake up in the end.They can only kill us for so long.
My mother was my best friend.She was always well dressed, smelled of Chanel number5, would cook us wonderful meals.She would reward me with money because I had been a good girl.A really good girl.She would drop her temesta at night et voila.
My brothers, somehow I could not remember them, seems they would go out from a very early age to the cafs and rehearse with their bands.
Every night without exception, a big monster would come in my room.I could never see his face.In my dreams, he had a mask on I would try to remove.In my room,I would prepare myself mentally and pretend I was watching an open heart operation from the ceiling.My father was super.Always the first one to be in the room and tell me "it was a nightmare".
It took me 40 years to cut through that family hypnosis and tear the veil of fabricated truth.My idealised family dream died.Very painful.Rejected by everyone as soon as I woke up.
But I did wake up.I woke up.I was dead.I am alive.Alive and kicking.
What better fairy tale than this one.Sleeping beauty, stung by a big needle, wakes up after 40 years .A story for all of us.We wake up in the end.They can only kill us for so long.
Reminds me of my dad. He introduced me to rock music, bought me a puppy, made sure I got to see my hero Paul McCartney live in concert.
It hurts to wake up, to have the truth pulled over your eyes. But in the end.. it's better to live the truth than forever be hypnotised by a lie.
Love transmutes stone into gold.
I was emotionally neglected since birth and never really bonded with anyone.
I can't say i relate to the love/hate feelings about my family.I never bonded anyway.
I never looked up to my dad so since i've understand what happened is easy to just hate this man who just fed me and clothe me and just ignored and abuse me.
But i did wake up too.
All my life they had shunned me convincing me that i was some kind of horrible bad child that deserved nothing a spil rotten child as they call me.
Now i see they had no reason to label me as such.
They scapegoated me for their own sickness.
I left home very young and feeling like i was "bad" and unworthy not deserving of friends and love and lived my whole life like that in isolation.I used to think one day i would go back home and apologize for my "wrongs"...
When i woke up.I saw there were NO wrongs from me.I was a child that had been wronged.
And that i owed noone any applogy.That i owed noone anything.
But maybe just myself for doing to myself what they did to me, again.
What is so tragic is that we finish off their job ourselves, cleaning up and erasing all the traces of abuse and blaming ourselves instead.
My husband actually went backto Africa at one point to visit his"family" to prove to them how he had become a good boy,to those same monsters who scr*** him up on all levels.
Fortunately, one always knows unconsciously that there is another truth lying behind.
My husband's first language was Greek, until he got kidnapped at 3 and a half.His real first name was different.His parents changed the birth certificate, crossed out his name.In these coutries, corruption was high and anything possible with the help of official friends and doctors.
It took him a life time and a therapist specialised in trauma to start digging for the truth.Amazing what he, in fact, had never forgotten.