In the United States, at least one in four girls suffers repetitive sexual abuse (see Refs 1-6; many more are not cited here). Although I've maintained that these numbers are accurate, people would dismiss them as exaggerations. Finally, that is beginning to change as researchers are publishing more data based on unbiased statistics rather than on widespread beliefs.
My family consisted of a raging, intensely misogynistic father who told me I was making a "big deal" out of the incest and that girls were only born to clean the house and wash the floor; a mother who handed my shredded nightgowns back to me and said, "Tell him not to do that"; and scores of other people who thought my brother, the predator, was a god. I was forced to wait on the predator, cook for him, clean his room, and wash and iron his clothes because I was a girl and therefore considered inferior to him. All of this while he was sexually abusing and physically torturing me every day for years; indeed, he would gleefully whisper, "It wouldn't be complete if I didn't torture you...."
In 2009, when I discovered that my brother lived in Haverhill, Massachusetts, I went to the police in that city. Detective Andrea Fogarty told me that my brother's wife -- who is not abused, supports my brother with her substantial income, and lied to the police to protect him -- was the "real victim in all of this." The detective's supervisor, Lieutenant Robert Pistone, defended Det. Fogarty.
To any survivors who visit this page, take from it whatever suits you. I found everyone, especially those with children, who knows or ever knew my predator and told them what he is. Predators count on our shame and silence because they ensure that their secret will be safe.
Their secret. Not ours.
The police did not protect the little girls in my brother's neighborhood. I did.
The following is the story of my childhood and adolescence, comprising typical moments during a time of thousands of such moments as these, year after year, and their aftermath.
It is also a story of victory and a life worth living.
References
1. Lewin T. Sexual Abuse Tied to 1 in 4 Girls in Teens. The New York Times. Oct 1, 1997.
2. Cruise TK. Sexual Abuse of Children and Adolescents. National Association of School Psychologists.
3. Cole MB. Child sexual abuse: Four steps America must take. The Washington Post. Nov 28, 2011.
4. 1 in 4 girls sexually abused before age 18. CBS5 News. Posted Jan 11, 2012 12:53 PM EDT; Updated: Jan 09, 2013.
5. Child sexual abuse: What parents should know. American Psychological Association. (http://www.apa.org/pi/families/resources/child-sexual-abuse.aspx) Accessed 06/24/13.
6. Prevalence of Individual Adverse Childhood Experiences. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (From Table: 24.7% of women had experienced childhood sexual abuse.) Jan 18, 2013. (http://www.cdc.gov/ace/prevalence.htm) Accessed 06/24/13.
The Rapist's Hands: This is how my brother's hands looked to me as they easily went wherever he wanted to put them.
Harvest: During one rape, I managed to knee my brother, who was 10 years older than I, in the nose as he bent over me. His blood poured down on me as I wondered, terrified, what would happen next. The hands pictured flailing wildly at the bottom of the canvas are mine.
Even While Sleeping: There was no time when I was not vulnerable. I would wake up in the middle of the night and the first thing I would be aware of was my brother's fingers inside me. "Even While Sleeping" also refers to the nightmares in which I could actually feel his particular brand of torture. These nightmares took 35 years to begin to abate.
Image of the Artist as a Young Girl: Dress form, tablecloth, cooking utensils, cleaning supplies, clothesline and clothespins, sanitary belt, oil painted hand print, mops, garbage bag. This was my life.
Secrets: The slits in the calm, blue exterior reveal the rage within that threatens to burst forth through the openings.
Rupture: My wounds have become weapons I use for creation rather than destruction.
Despite the Rapist's Touch: After all the years of suffering the brutality of incest and torture night after night, I've retained my humanity, depicted in the pristine, unprimed canvas behind the wounds.
