Monsters Under My Bed

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When I was roughly three years of age, Jack A. came into my mothers’ life and by default, mine as well.  I don’t remember Kim and Jack A. having a formal wedding.  It was finally at fourteen when they went to a Justice of the Peace and got ‘married.’  The only reason they even did this was because they needed a marriage license in order to have medical insurance.

I guess after they ‘dated’ for a while, they felt that their relationship had progressed to such that they felt it was in their best interest to move in together.  I was four years old when we moved into a two bedroom apartment.

From four years of age, until I was seven or eight years old, I have blank spots in my memory that I refuse to examine too closely.  I remember being terrified of the edges of my bed, waiting for the monsters to crawl over and get me.

One of my aunts has told me very recently (like the day before my first blog) that when I was little, I would tell her stories that someone would tickle my feet and then hurt me in ‘bad’ places. When faced with this information, I couldn’t help but ask:

WHY didn’t you do anything about it?

The response I got was rather … what’s the word I’m looking for… cowardly?

Because I thought you were just telling me stories like your mom said you were.

There are two major blows that came from this… 1.) my aunt KNEW that something was happening to me and didn’t do anything about it… and 2.) my mother claimed that I was either lying or telling imaginative stories.

I am 99.9% sure that I was molested.  I was told by a councilor that my subconscious is protecting me from my memories.  It may be because I am not ready to have the full knowledge of what happened and I may never be ready.  Even with the black out periods though, I still have ‘mild’ glimpses into those dark periods.

When he didn’t have to work, and my mom had left to go to her job, he would come and crawl into bed with me to ‘cuddle’.

I’ve seen my husband hold or cuddle with our daughters and NOTHING is bad or out of place about it.  He’s fully clothed and it’s simply a parent holding their child.

The difference between that and what Jack A. had done is that, when he would crawl into my bed… he would be in his skivies or even naked.  I remember the sensation of my spine stiffening and this gripping fear that something bad was about to happen.  Then my memory goes blank.

That fear is still under the surface and I’m almost thirty… I can still remember it like it was yesterday.  Just thinking about it causes me to shake and involuntarily cry.

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5 thoughts on “Monsters Under My Bed

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  1. So sorry for your pain! One thing that helped me is when I decided I could let him beat me or I could beat him. He was going on with his life and I was trapped in my head just rolling around all the painful memories. Everytime I started thinking bad thoughts, I would remind myself not to let him beat me anymore. It was hard at first then it got easier. I still have those memories but they are less frequent than before. I hope you find peace

    1. Thanks Cathy, I am struggling to do the same thing. I know it gets easier, but even talking about it has been a long time coming. I moved out on my own at seventeen and around nineteen, I stopped communicating with my step father. I’ve seen him (very involuntarily) three times since… now I’m almost thirty. Aside from the few stories I’ve told my husband and close friends, there’s a lot still to uncover. So far, I have made huge improvements in my attitude alone.
      The supportive comments and hope that others have sent definitely help. Thanks for reading and for the warm thoughts.

      Respectfully,
      Phoenix.

      1. You will get there. I have faith and as a mother I hope it is sooner than later. I hope for you to have unclouded memories of your baby’s life without the weight of the bad stealing this precious time from you.

        Write it out, cry it out, shout it out or write it on paper and burn it away. Whatever it takes to make you feel better, do it. You are not alone.
        Kindest
        C

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