Archive for the ‘Sex’ Category


Ever since I talked openly about my sexual abuse experience as a child, I’ve received messages from people writing to share their similar past.  Untold stories, repressed emotions, inability to trust others, as our past continue to haunt us well into our adulthood.  We’ve survived, for better or for worse, but what guarantee do we have that this doesn’t happen to our children today?  We don’t.  Not until we’ve made conscious decision to address the issue – raise awareness and spread the knowledge.  So I’ve always encouraged survivors to find the courage and tell their stories.  After all, therapy is merely retelling of your past experiences and coming to terms with it.  Accepting your past, and loving yourself for who you are.  So, I recently befriended a lady on Facebook who has gone through an ugly past, she is a Malaysian Indian, let’s call her Ria Verma (not real name) and below is her story. 

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This is not a fictional story, though I wished that it were.  This is my story, the story, which I had told to many close friends, and the people who mean a lot to me, but I felt that nobody understands the gravity of such incident on a little person.  They just brushed it aside as an incident that has to be forgotten. No it will never be forgotten or go away.

I was 6 when it happened.  A beloved cousin who was much, much older, came to work in the same estate as we lived.  He had a car, which was a big deal back then.  I adored him; he always had a surprise in his car, a Cadbury chocolate! Just for me, not for sharing but only if I went for a drive with him. And my mother will let me run and get into the car.  Then it starts, the hand slips into my dress on top, while I ate the chocolate bar.  I didn’t understand the feeling I had when he did so except that the chocolate was tasty and that’s all I remembered for most of the time. Then I’m let off the car and I run back home happily.

But one day it was different.  It was an afternoon, my father was at work, siblings were at school, and mother was at home.  And he came with his car. I got in as usual but there was no chocolate bar that day, he said it was at home and we had to go and eat it there.  So I went, excited.  I only recall the bedroom.  And the calendar that was hanging on the wall.  It was of women who didn’t wear any clothes.  He stood me on the edge of the bed and removed my dress while I was holding the chocolate.  That’s all I remember of the incident.  Then I got off the car clutching the chocolate bar but I couldn’t run home, it was painful and something was terribly sticky, it was all over my thighs and my underwear.  I went straight into the bathroom and took it off, changed and called for my mother. She came, looked at me, washed me quietly then washed my underwear and hung it to dry. I didn’t know then what it was. Though I was in pain I just kept quiet about it, as I realize that something really dirty had happened to me.

My cousin came again with this chocolate few days later but I didn’t go to him and my mother was her usual loving self to him.  Something had changed for me.  Then it happened again and again, with other cousins, his brother, the hand sneaking into your dress, sitting on their laps, going for drives in their cars.  But in most incidents I couldn’t recall the details.  I guess my brain had a mechanism to block the most traumatic part of the incidents.  But the feeling never goes away, that you are somehow now worthless and dirty.

Things got worse, for my little eyes were forced to see the most horrendous things that were happening to my older sisters at home under my mothers eyes.

Her firstborn, her only son whom she adulates, completed his schooling and was at home a lot when our father was at work. I wished I could be blind or dead when I realized what was happening.  The animal would force my sisters to touch him and when they protested slap them in submission.  The crying and resisting was loud enough for me to hear but why didn’t our mother hear them cry?  She was only in the kitchen cooking. It went on for a long time for a few years.  We became mute. There were too many incidents that I could write but I couldn’t bring myself to elaborate here.   Few years later, it was my turn and I decided that I would not be his victim.  I was 9 when he approached me and tried to force me but I screamed and I screamed and he didn’t try after that.  Every time he thought he can make me submissive I would scream as loud as I can.  I despised him and I wanted him to die.  I would conjure up all this horrible things happening to him.  He knew I wasn’t going to be his victim.  He would come up with all sorts of faults in me and physically abuse me, slap me, beat me and throw things at me.  And she didn’t stop him, not even once.  Why? Was he because he was the only son? The one who was going to carry the family name? It went on till I was 18.

By the time I was 18, I had boyfriends who were 28 – 30 years old, skipped school to go on motorbike rides with these guys, did badly in school, got spat on by my own mother and called a prostitute when she found out I had boyfriends at that age. I was called useless and a shame to the family etc

The memory of my rape and abuse disappeared during my growing up only to resurface years later after I had my proper sexual contact as an adult, and it came screaming back into my head. Whatever that had blocked it had been removed. And the anger came with it, as I knew at that moment my mother knew what had happened to me and she didn’t do anything about it or attempted to stop him from coming closer to me.  A mother whose 6 year old daughter came home with men’s sperm in her underwear which she washed and hung up without even a tear or anger?  Why didn’t she scream murder?  Why didn’t she attack her sisters son who came and ate the food she cooked everyday?  For the money he gave her?  Why didn’t she stop her son from hurting all her daughters? I hate her.  This person I call mother!

The memories will never go away, and I screwed up my life big time trying to do so, the failed relationships, zero self worth, alcohol & sedatives. It created defects that cant be fixed, flaws.

Now many Indians are in a fucking denial that these things don’t happen in our society that its only rampant in another community as you read it in the papers almost every other week.  Well STOP THE FUCKING DENIAL NOW!  I’m sure most of you who are reading this article know or knew someone who has been molested, raped and abused by a family member or even have been a victim! But the victim chose to keep quiet to or even silenced by the family members in the name of ‘kudumba manam’ the family’s reputation.  I spent years as a prisoner in my own head, screwing up my life, with the filth and guilt I carried with me.  There is no way in dealing with it.  They would initially say they are doing this to protect the victim, because later on no one would marry her.  What would the society say, own brother molested her?  So they keep quiet, shame on you!  You let the fucking perpetrator get away with crime and also let him loose into the society to continue doing it to God knows how many other little girls!  So please, I beg of you, if you hear even the tiniest of whisper of a child, a teen, boy or girl, or even a rape of a major, act today.  Get angry, very angry and you might save a child’s life from being destroyed.