Trigger Warning: Sexual Abuse

Those of you that you know me personally know that I am interested in true crime and follow it frequently. I am interested in the psychology behind offenders, and how we prevent mass murders, serial killers, and other types of crime in general. 

I belong to several different true crime discussion groups on Facebook, and this morning I saw a post about Mary Kay Letourneau's death. (Quick overview: Letourneau, a 34-year-old married mom of 4, raped her 12-year-old student, Vili Faalau, had a daughter by him, went to prison, got pregnant by him again, went back to prison, got out and married Vili, and they ultimately divorced a couple years ago.) Several posters lamented her death and spoke about the tragedy Vili must feel since he lost the love of his life, despite their "bizarre" love affair. 

One poster said in particular that she didn't, and could not understand, how someone could be a victim, and also want to marry their rapist. How could Vili be a victim if he made that choice for himself when he was 21? In public interviews, Vili has denied ever feeling victimized, apart from being unable to make his own choices as a teenager, and becoming a father at 14 and again at 15, which he navigated with little support. He maintained that he never felt victimized by Mary Kay. 

I cannot speak for Vili. Only Vili can say what he felt, and what he knows in retrospect. I will speak about my own story, though, because I feel like this is a subject that is woefully misunderstood by the general public. 

When people think of child rape, perhaps one of the things that comes to mind most often is Law & Order SVU. A child is crying and in fear, terrified of her rapist. The rapist has threatened to kill them, or their family, or their dog. 

While that certainly does happen, it's not the only way adults prey on children. 

This is my story.

When I was 9 years old, I was a very lonely kid. I was homeschooled and one of my only friends had just moved away. Somehow I ended up talking frequently with a man just over 18. I am not naming him because I feel his family should be protected, and they deserve anonymity, so I will just call him X. 

X was cool and older and I developed a crush on him. I had crushes on a few other people and it wasn't something I wanted to do anything about. At this time in my life, X was just someone I liked to talk to. He wasn't afraid to talk about sensitive things with me; he didn't hold back anything. He knew my mom, and that she was strict, and that she disapproved of him talking to me, but she wasn't always able to watch my every move. I clearly knew that she didn't approve of me talking to him either, but she didn't forbid it at the time. X talked about politics with me; this was just after 9/11 and the US was invading the Middle East, which he took strong opposition to, and he tossed around ideas of 9/11 being planned by the US government and other such conspiracy theories. In contrast to my parents, who supported Bush and the war, his ideas seemed forbidden and controversial. He was fine with me arguing with him, but also made it clear that I was a dumb kid who didn't have enough experience to understand what was happening, and he was somewhat right; I was only spouting off things I had heard. 

X took it upon himself to educate me in a way I didn't get at home. He lent me CDs that were definitely off-limits at my house; starting with Nirvana, then progressing to Smashing Pumpkins, then Nine Inch Nails, etc. He reminded me that my mom wouldn't be happy if she found these CDs because they were so adult, and she would make us stop hanging out for good if she found them. So I strictly listened to them in secret and made sure I wasn't ever caught. I would bring back the CD and he'd swap it for another. I felt mature and excited that X could trust me with something like this. I felt cool and special.

X told me about his girlfriends. There were a couple in quick succession that he would fall head over heels for, then it would abruptly be broken off for reasons he never really explained. Over time, the things he let me in on became slightly more explicit. At the time, I felt lucky that X felt that he could confide in me. I did not see this as bad behavior, but as good; I was his support system, and he was mine. Eventually, when he was about 19, he trusted me enough to tell me that he had very recently gotten a girlfriend pregnant, which is something he told me nobody but me knew. He moved out to be with her, but returned home a month later claiming that she had thrown an ashtray at his head during an argument. He had the scar, and just because I was his victim doesn't mean he wasn't a victim too, but I do wonder about what happened that he didn't tell me. He maintained that his parents, nor his siblings, nobody, except for me, knew of the pregnancy and his impending fatherhood. He told me about the stress that he was under, wondering how he would be involved in the baby's life even though the mother refused to speak with him. It was clear to me that he was going through something awful and was depressed and I vowed to help him anyway I could. 

It is very difficult and uncomfortable to explain what was going through my mind at this time and I still don't understand it. I romanticized this whole situation and X became absolutely everything to me. I took pains to hide that from my family, knowing that my mom found X suspicious, but he took top priority in my life almost overnight. I knew I wasn't his girlfriend, and that nothing like that would happen, and I wouldn't even say this was a crush. I felt absorbed totally by X and his thoughts, feelings, and needs replaced my own. I didn't feel disturbed by this, and instead welcomed it. I reasoned that if I was a really good friend to X, I could convert him to Christianity and save him from hell, which had been one of our more frequent disagreements. In my mind, I lowered myself to the status of a doormat and assigned him ultimate reverence and loyalty. Anything I would do would be in service of X. 

Looking back, the power X  had over me is utterly terrifying. I've tried to explain it to therapists and friends and some of my family, but I've never been able to really convey what I felt. I felt like all of my personality had been wiped out, willingly. I was blindly devoted to X; not in a sexual way, but in a way that I saw that he was hurting and I had to fix it. Any hurt that I had no longer mattered, and the only thing of importance was X's feelings. Stockholm syndrome, or trauma bonding, is controversial, but it probably explains best the bond that was occurring. I wasn't kidnapped or held against my will, but I was slowly groomed into aligning with X. I really thought nobody could possibly understand him the way that I could, and nobody would understand the bond we had - never mind that I couldn't understand the bond, and that I didn't understand him either. 

If you asked my family at that time, nobody noticed that I was different. I didn't display any "classic" signs of child sexual abuse. I wasn't mutilating my dolls (not that I owned any, I was quite the tomboy), acting sexually aggressive towards other men, withdrawing from family, doing poorly in school, or having trouble with sleeping, eating or toileting. I believe I came across perfectly normal to everyone, except for my sister, who I spent the most time with and noticed slight oddities about my behavior that were not red flags, considering we were only kids. This is obviously not the fault of anyone who didn't notice. It's not even my fault for not seeking help. The fault in this case relies squarely, and only, on the shoulders of X, who knew from the start that this was becoming an inappropriate relationship and continued on anyway, whether it had been deliberate grooming or not, whether or not it had been his intention from the beginning.

Of course, our relationship eventually turned sexual, or I wouldn't be writing this. I was musing one night about another boy I knew, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. X gallantly offered to teach me how to kiss. I freaked out and ran inside. Something told me that this was not quite right, but I couldn't pin point what it was. Being an ego-centric child, I figured that gut feeling was because I knew I wasn't supposed to be kissing anybody, and it had nothing to do with his age. I remember looking at myself in the mirror, and seeing my little face staring back at me. Did this older boy who I thought was so cool and so special and perfect, actually feel interested in me? Me? I knew it was wrong, but I was star-struck and shivering with excitement just thinking X actually thought I was special enough to kiss. I knew it was wrong, but everything in me longed for this forbidden thing. The closest thing I can relate to this undefinable feeling is the excitement mixed with fear some people experience before getting on a rollercoaster or bungie jumping or extreme sports- fear, excitement, and adrenaline. 

Keep in mind that I was 9 years old. 

X apologized next time we saw each other and we resumed our normal relationship, although his excitement to see me and general positive feelings cooled off dramatically. I felt stupid, knowing that I had squelched whatever had been happening with us, and knowing that he wouldn't trust me in the same way again. I had broken something and I didn't know how to get it back.

So I began plotting. Again, let me stress that I was 9, or maybe 10 at this time. But I formed a plan that I would reignite whatever he had been feeling, and let him know that he could trust me again. I was most definitely after the feeling of adrenaline on some level, and I was obviously not thinking straight. If someone had stopped me and asked me to explain the way I was thinking, I wouldn't have been able to. I just knew that I wanted him to trust me, and I wanted to experience that feeling again because it was so intense. So one day I told him I had a secret, and I made him come closer and closer so I could tell him. Then I kissed him on the cheek. He patted my head, and I was disappointed because he hadn't reacted the way I expected. 

I did it again and again, hoping for some sort of positive result. It took a couple of times, but I finally experienced the thing I had been wanting: his approval. He kissed me back on the cheek, and warmth spread through my whole body. I expressed some sort of awe of him, and he replied, "You deserve another." And that is how, I thought later, I began my own abuse. 

 Children can indeed experience physical and psychological sexual arousal. Adults don't like to think about this, because we want children to be entirely innocent, failing to recognize that this doesn't take away innocence in any way. It is a normally occurring biological response for children reaching puberty, and though I felt intense shame about this "warmth" I experienced, it is something that researchers have found victims of sexual abuse or rape do experience, as well as other adolescents. Many don't talk about it in the context of abuse, because it feels like it means that you wanted it and consented to it. Obviously that is not the truth, and it does not equate consent any more than a girl getting her first period is consent to pregnancy. To be clear, an adult taking advantage of a child, or a child taking advantage of a child, even if the victim does not object to it, or even initiates it, is wrong. There is absolutely no excuse.

Things escalated from there and I couldn't admit to myself how I felt about X. I didn't have the words, because I knew literally nothing about sex, and this played right into his hands. I didn't know what anything was called, what any kind of act was, much less that it was actually illegal. I was aware that premarital sex was wrong in the eyes of the church, but I didn't know what sex actually was. You might as well have told me that quantum mechanics was wrong for as much as I knew what it was. 

I want to add that my mom did teach me about creepy old men. She was very adamant that we listen to our gut feelings, and if we ever felt anything off about anyone, even if we didn't know why, to basically just run away. I had this feeling about plenty of people (one of which did attempt to assault me, years later), but I never had this feeling about X. I knew I was not obeying my mom, and that I was doing something illicit, but in my mind it was on par with stealing candy from my Halloween bucket. 

So X took it upon himself to "teach" me. He once led with "You need to know these things because someday there will be a guy that you care about and you'll want to do this with him." Another time things got out of hand and I ended up hurt physically. It was an accident, but I was scared and bewildered, and I ran home. X was reluctant to forgive me for my reaction, and I had to earn back his trust. In the mean time, he treated me very coldly and was very dismissive. It was agony to be dismissed by the person I had built myself around and I did everything I could to get back into his good graces, which included initiating sexual activity which he rebuffed. 

Hopefully, at this point it will make sense why I felt so complicit in the abuse. I initiated sexual activity to keep up the attention and affection I received from X. I relied heavily on affection from him and to think that I had lost that along with his trust crushed me and spun me into desperation. In addition, I ashamed; the sin wasn't only on X; it was on me, too, because I had been willing, and even eager to commit them, so I must be guilty. The shame settled into me slowly, and I pushed it away until it was just a small nagging voice in the back of my mind. 

After several days of rebuffing my advances, X forgave me and initiated it himself. It was not about my enjoyment; it was completely about his, although he did check on me at times, and it was not particularly physically hurtful. I don't remember quite a lot about this. I remember mostly looking at a digital clock, and feeling apart from my body, almost like how you feel removed from the world when you hear something underwater versus above the water. This sensation is called dissociation and most people experience it throughout their lives on a scale. At the lower end, this might include drifting away with your thoughts while driving, as your muscle memory takes over. On the higher end of the scale, this might be literally not remembering something you've done, such as writing a letter. Dissociation is what I was doing at the time, watching the minutes tick by and looking at the patterns the numbers created. Afterwards, I felt somewhat numb, but relieved that we were on good terms again. 

A bit later, I did something else to make X angry, which could've included any number of things. He didn't like it if I was clingy, needy, attention-seeking, or anything of the sort. Partially, I was there to build his ego and if I wasn't doing that at a time he needed it, he would quickly become frustrated. This is not to say that all the things he did were callous or uncaring; in fact, he did check on how I was emotionally pretty often. He asked about me, my family, my hobbies, the boy at church I still had a crush on. When we were on good terms, I never felt used or like trash. I just felt like it was a symbiotic relationship. X needed an emotional and physical outlet, and I needed to feel needed and special, and it did the trick for both of us, I think. But, when I made him angry, I set off a chain of inevitable events: X would be cold towards me, sometimes even mean. I would grovel and beg, and several days later he would forgive me and apologize for being mean, and would sometimes bring me a treat or a gift of some kind to demonstrate that he was sorry. Therapists and others in the mental health field call this intermittent reinforcement, and it is used in toxic relationships of many different kinds to further bond the abuser and the victim. If the victim does something such as anger the abuser, or if the victim is possibly thinking of leaving, the abuser will act out and the victim will feel the need to appease and soothe the abuser. The abuser apologizes, reaffirming the relationship, and the bond becomes stronger than it was before. Hot, cold, hot, cold, hot, cold. The victim becomes used to walking on eggshells around the abuser and does whatever he or she can to soothe the abuser's feelings. At the same time, the victim begins to align themselves with the abuser's thought patterns. If you can predict the thoughts, then you can avoid the blowups, and the safer you are. 

The abuse lasted for about 4 years in total. One of the reasons Vili's story touches me so deeply is that I can't imagine having never gotten away from this abuser. At the time the abuse stopped, I was deeply bonded to X and I probably would've allowed the abuse to continue forever. All of my self-worth was wrapped up in him, and although in my daily life I had big plans and created a checklist of all the things I planned to do with my life, I also never thought about being without him; I knew we weren't boyfriend and girlfriend, but we were something, and I just never gave thought to how any of it would end because, frankly, I didn't want it to end. Everything changed when he abruptly moved out. I did not see X for several days in our usual meeting spots, and I eventually learned that he was engaged to a woman (different from the mother of his baby) and had moved away to be with her. From what I understand, he had been planning this for quite sometime and had never told me about a girlfriend, a fiancee, moving, or any of it. At this time, I was almost 13 and X was 21. My heart was broken and I felt like I couldn't cope without him. However, all the years when I was sneaking around behind my family's back had given me good experience at hiding my feelings, even from myself. I felt that I could completely compartmentalize everything, which is what I did. In talking with my mom many years later, she never noticed that I was acting much different. Again, I didn't have the classic symptoms people think many victims do- although we rarely hear stories of victims pining for their abusers. At most, I seemed more emotional than usual, but that is typical for teenagers and is in no way indicative of sexual abuse necessarily. I was devastated by his leaving without even a goodbye, but now I look back and I am so grateful that he chose to do that. If my abuser had been like Mary Kay Letourneau, refusing to let go, I likely would've felt incredibly special and loved- but I never would've had the strength to break away. The biggest favor he did was breaking away for me so I didn't have to go through victimhood for the rest of my life, even if it hurt more than I can explain at the time. 

It felt like my heart was breaking because my abuser broke up with me? Dumped me? Rejected me? Ghosted me? Released me? I can imagine that this feeling is met with utter disbelief, but it is what happened. I was never going to be ready for the relationship to end. This is what trauma bonding does. Other people have described it as their abuser being omniscient, or being brain washed, and that's probably not a scientific term, but that's exactly how it feels. I still fear the remnants of the bond that are still there, and I am always afraid of him coming back into my life somehow and me becoming some sort of X zombie again. His psychological presence over my life is terrifying; and when I say that, I'm not talking about being physically scared of him. I am scared that he could still control me somehow.

In the years following, when I heard about victims of child sexual abuse, I felt for them. Them, as in them over there, the group I'm not a part of. I think I was so good at compartmentalizing the abuse that I put it in a little box and I literally forgot it was there, until something happened to a friend of mine and somehow that got brought up in all the confusion. Even when I remembered, I went back and forth on whether I was a victim or if I was an abuser that had forced herself on a grown man. Everything that happened with X was juxtaposed to the few years after the abuse had ended, during which time I had thrown myself into school, joined all types of activities and clubs since I was finally in high school, and generally gained the reputation of being naive and innocent. Nobody knew what sort of past I had and likely would've never guessed the kinds of things I had done. I put on this identity and kept it on, and I never thought about my little box of memories until what happened to my friend. 

Today, X is still married to the same woman. I confronted him a couple of years ago and he denied almost everything, saying "You were pretty, but not pretty enough to go to prison for." I still don't understand if he had formulated this plan over time, or if it had been his original intention, and as much as that nags at me, it doesn't matter. 

For years, I carried the blame for him, believing that I made a massive mistake in the name of love. Over time, and thanks to therapy, that guilt has lessened. It has taken years, but I finally do believe that the blame rests squarely on X. I made choices at that time that addressed my needs, and I saw someone else hurting, and I made a choice to address both needs, sometimes putting his above mine. While this was a choice I made, the choice never should've been there in the first place. Without X watering the seeds, gaining my trust, ensuring that I could keep small secrets, then bigger secrets, then life-altering secrets, then offering to teach me about using my sexuality, that choice would not have been present. He would've just been an older guy who I had an unrequited crush on, and that would've eventually passed without any traumatic experiences. 

I would be lying if I said I don't sometimes blame others for what happened, but I do recognize that the blame isn't rightly placed. I feel anger at X's mother, because I know she must've known something, as she warned my mom about us spending so much time together; but then I realize she likely thought I had a huge crush on him and that I was the pursuer and possibly making X uncomfortable. 

So to sum up: victims are not always physically forced; sometimes they are led to such a conclusion by an older party. Sometimes victims may be compliant, or even eager, for a multitude of reasons. A victim can begin to have a distorted sense of the situation, themselves, and the abuser, and can align with the abuser's beliefs or needs unconsciously. Abusers are often kind and caring to their victims. Victims may sometimes deny abuse or distort the past into reimagining it or putting it away entirely, like anybody can do with a normal memory. I didn't talk about what happens with trauma, but if you asked if I felt any trauma at the time, I would've said no. I think the trauma happening at that time was related to being a partner to someone far too old, adjusting myself to fit his needs and generally shaping myself around him, and learning more everyday about how to put my own feelings to the side for someone else (which is obviously a good thing, up to ahnjxxxhjxhjxjhk˙∆xhjhjxhx certain point). The trauma part, the disturbing nightmares and all of those niggling symptoms of PTSD,n didn't start until after I reality      j ygjyjygzed what had actually happened, and I realized how powerless I was over myself at that time, as he was in complete control. Victims can develop immense disgust for themselves, even while idolizing an abuser, and the more coercive (instead of blatantly threatening or abusive) the relationship is, the worse the guilt for the victim tends to be.