This is a memory that was triggered by being shut in an enclosed area (a take cover episode during a tornado alert). It was written 06-21-91and has not been edited or published. I include it for you to help sensitize you to the reality of small children who are being abused.

I feel hot-that awful feeling that just envelops my body. It is stuffy and I can’t breathe. No fresh air. Just that awful sense of everything closing in on me. I want to run away from that room but there is no way out. The door is there but I can’t get to it. I pray for help but the room closes in on me. It is yellow and I am in bed. It is summer but the windows are not open. Stuffy. Hot. Trapped. I lay there immobilized in fear. So still. If I stay still maybe I’ll be safe. Don’t move. My muscles are tense wanting to run. But there is no way out. He blocks the door and I am there. Sick feeling. Stale air. The shadows loom closer-blocking space. I feel alone, forgotten, trapped. Please, no. God, please no. The shape takes form and looms over me. I look in disbelief, pain. He touches my forehead. I’ve known you were there but do not let him know. Then he touches my face as if it is special. The heat becomes intense and I know what will happen next. The covers are lowered. I lay motionless. One by one the buttons are undone and the top is folded back. Rough hands fondle my breasts. Blue and white pajamas. Seersucker-cool. But now, I feel hot again. Sex is hot. No escape. Sick feeling. Not again. Not again. The hands move lower. Underwear. Inside my underwear. Rubbing. He lays beside me as he does this. No, daddy, please don’t. Warm sticky. I feel his hairy chest-such little hands. My body is smooth and flat. He moves my hand over his penis, guiding it over places he wants me to touch. I feel the sticky stuff. He rolls on top of me. It comes. I am crushed by weight. I cannot breathe. It seems to last forever-my mouth covered by his chest. How long will it last? At last, the weight lifts. I can breathe. He wipes my chest clean, buttons up my top, pulls up my pajamas. The covers are returned and he pats my forehead. He smiles as if he is pleased and I wonder why. I hate you Daddy.

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