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Thank you for your feature, A Monster in our Midst from the May 2009 issue. It elicited some powerful emotions and I don't know why I'm writing, other than to release some anger generated by the piece.
When I was eight years old, I was abused by my uncle, in my grandmother's house, where he lived. The abuse happened repeatedly over a period of about six months. Gradually I figured out ways to make sure I was never alone with him. Needless to say visits to grandmother's house were not appealing and I felt guilty my entire childhood life, because this was my dad's mother whom he greatly loved. They had no idea why I did not get excited to visit there.
I clearly remember asking my uncle, "What would grandma and everyone else think if they knew you were doing this?" He shrugged and said, "They would hate me." That may have been when the abuse stopped. I am not sure. We were a "fiercely" Catholic family in prairie Saskatchewan and this was the mid- '60s. There was no way I could be responsible for my family hating this man, so I kept quiet. And anyway, I was convinced I would go to hell for what had happened to me. When I was in university, in my 20s, my parents found out he had abused another of my cousins, and they confronted me. No longer able to remain silent, I admitted the abuse and they were predictably upset. They confronted him and he "promised" never to touch any child. Following that, however, life as usual was the expectation. This man still lived blocks away, was very much part of every family gathering and we made frequent visits to the house where he lived now with his two sisters. Two other female cousins were abused, but their families did not discuss it, and the three of us were expected to not "upset the family." I was viewed as a troublemaker by some for having said as much as I did.
I admire the woman in the story by Jennifer Power Scott. She had the satisfaction of reporting her story to the police, and knew that even though the abuser was not incarcerated for a long period, he was at least punished for what he did. He lives two hours away. Imagine an abuser who has never been punished, who continues to live only blocks away, and who I am expected to visit on a regular basis. He is, after all, 85 years old and a respected, kindly, churchgoing man who does a great deal of community service including bringing my handicapped brother to church every Sunday. A saintly man.
Reading Scott's story, I wonder if pressing charges would have helped me. It just seemed like revenge, however, but I hadn't taken into account the possibility of preventing abuse from happening to others. I don't know how many he abused other than the three of us. Given the statistics on pedophiles, it could have been many more. I sometimes become angry that the family reaction was generally to protect him, and our feelings were not considered. I have sought counseling and was told that now that I'd revealed this secret, everything would be fine and I could go and live my life. I have been plagued with depression, extreme shyness, complete inability to believe in myself, a sense that I am a "terrible" person and that anyone who gets to know me will somehow intuit that I am worthless. My internal critic is relentlessly cruel. It took many years, and a few counselors, to finally make the connection between having been abused, and having low self-worth.
Now I am 50 and the last of my four children is graduating from high school. While I was able to raise four lovely, self-assured and talented children, I remain locked in a spiral of depression that has worsened the older I get. It is my belief that when a dramatic life change occurs, such as the death of both parents (in 2001 and 2006), or children leaving home, or now more obvious signs of aging, the old feelings come back with a vengeance. Now that I am facing an empty home (my husband is a busy lawyer and a happy workaholic), the demons of the past have risen to choke what life I have left. I exercise regularly, try to watch my diet, I understand the importance of curbing negative thought patterns and trying to create new "neuron pathways" in the brain. I have tried anti-depressants and do not believe they work. Is there help out there? Everything I have read trumpets that, yes, you can get over depression. I'm not sure I believe that any longer. My purpose in writing this is to say that abuse does lead to feelings of depression and lack of self-worth. If you have been abused, recognize that it is not your fault, and tell someone.
Thank you for the opportunity to vent. Keep up the good work. You have a fine publication.
