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Messagerie

By Dr. Celia Banting

Copyright © 2006 by Dr. Celia BantingAll rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechani-cal, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Wighita PressP.O. Box 30399Little Rock, Arkansas, 72260-0399www.wighitapress.comThis is a work of ction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used ctitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coinciden-tal. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication DataBanting, CeliaI Only Said I Was Telling the Truth/Dr. Celia Banting – 1st Editionp. cm. ISBN 0-9786648-4-1 (paperback)1. Therapeutic novel 2. Suicide prevention 3. Sexual abuse 4. TreatmentLibrary of Congress Control Number: 2006928593Layout by Michelle VanGeestCover production by Luke JohnsonCover photograph by kind permission of Emily and JanePrinted by Dickinson Press, Grand Rapids, Michigan, USA

Issues addressed in this book:Suicide preventionBetrayalDeceitIsolation within the family The ‘grooming process’Manipulation and discreditingMis-placed guilt and self-disgustThe consequences of self-preservationCoping with inter-agency involvementFamilial denialDespair, hopelessness and terrorThe benets of the group process (combats isolation, challenges self-blame, provides empathy, removes shame and gives support) The impact of sexual abuse upon future relationshipsCoping with ashbacksThe impact of hidden, covert family rulesPsycho-drama techniques to express anger and lossGuided imagery to increase emotional safety and to liberate the self Techniques to strengthen the ability to self-soothe and nurture the selfEliciting a positive attitude towards a bright future

Also by Dr. Celia Banting…I Only Said I Had No ChoiceI Only Said “Yes” So That They’d Like MeI Only Said I Couldn’t CopeI Only Said I Didn’t Want You Because I Was Terried• • • •Available after April 2007…I Only Said I Wanted To Kill Myself; I Didn’t Really Mean ItI Only Said I Wasn’t HungryI Only Said It Didn’t HurtI Only Said I Could Handle It, But I Was WrongI Only Said Leave Me Out of It

Dedicated to Erica Elsie, and all those who embark upon a journey to rid themselves of the terrible legacy left by sexual abuse.

AcknowledgmentsMy grateful thanks go to my proofreader and typesetter, Michelle VanGeest, who frees me from my dyslexic brain, and replaces my mother’s voice. Thanks to Bev, my stray-word spotter, too. I thank my dear brother, Steve, for his computer expertise, and my wonderful husband, Des, for the inspiration and support he gives me. Thank you to Luke and Sam for their faith, inspiration and talent. Thank you to my dear friend Vicki for her guiding sense of style.Thank you to all my psychotherapy tutors and colleagues at the Metanoia Institute, London, for teaching me about human nature, psychopathology, growth and recovery. I thank the good Lord for giving me a lively imagination, and I also thank my parents for moving to the Isle of Wight, “the land that bobs in and out of view, depending upon the sea mist.”

9É Ñ Chapter One “You’re lying,” Mom screams at me and shakes her head. “You’re not going to do this to me again, Ruby. No way! What’re you trying to do, ruin my life?” She slaps me hard around the face and tears pour down my face. “I’m not lying, I swear,” I sob. She pushes me away, and I stumble and lose my balance. I land on my ass as she walks out of my room. I cry until I can’t cry anymore, and feeling spent, I lie on my bed, thinking. I hate my mom; why can’t she believe me? I feel so alone. She blames me for everything….• • • • All Mom seems to care about was the good life we used to have but don’t have anymore.

10É Ñ Dad worked in insurance and made a lot of money. She used to tell us all the time that we were lucky and we should be thankful. Before I was eleven I was thankful. I had new clothes and my own room. I adored my dad and he took me everywhere. He paid for me to go to dance classes, horse riding lessons, piano lessons, and even drama classes so that I could learn to act. Mom and Dad came to every show I was in, and clapped loudly…they said they were proud. They put ribbons in my hair and dressed me up ev-ery Sunday for church. I had a closet full of dresses and shoes. I guess I had everything. Mom and Dad took us out to eat all the time, and sometimes when Dad was working from home, he’d pick up me and my older sister, Rachel, from school and take us to get ice cream on the way home. When school was out in the summer, Mom and Dad took us to our cabin by the lake. We had a big boat that we’d moor out in the middle of the lake, and Dad would sh while Rachel and I would either jump into the water or slip down the slide at the back of the boat. Dad had shown me how to swim in our pool when I was really little and he said that I was fearless in the water. Sometimes he let us tie big, black inner tubes to the back of the boat, and we’d lie on them under the sun and then slip through the hole into the water when we got too hot. Dad wouldn’t let my younger brother Ryan do it, though, because he

11É Ñsaid he was too little. Dad had tried to teach Ryan to swim, but even though he could get across the width of the pool when he was wearing armbands, he couldn’t manage the length, so Dad wouldn’t let him go into the lake. I remember when I was nine. Uncle Robert came with us and he brought his girlfriend, Sally. Every day they sunbathed on the deck, while Rachel and I took turns sliding down the slide into the water. Dad said that I was like a sh, and I showed off, feeling pleased with myself. Every night Mom and Sally would barbecue and Dad would make cocktails. He showed Rachel and me how to decorate the glasses with fruit and color-ful paper umbrellas. Rachel said mine were rubbish and hers were better, but Sally always asked me to do her glass. I guess mine were a bit messy, but it was fun. “It keeps the kids quiet,” I’d heard Mom say once. I liked Sally. Ryan was always crying. Mom and Dad shouted at him a lot, and Uncle Robert and Sally tried to play with him. Grandma and Granddad came once. Dad didn’t make cocktails when they were there, and we didn’t get to decorate the glasses, but we did get to put ice in their glasses…“On the rocks,” I heard them say. Ryan cried even more when they were there. I didn’t like it so much when they came, because

12É Ñthey kept telling us to be quiet. Sometimes Mom and Dad would bring their friends for the weekend and that was fun. They al-ways brought us candy and spoiled us. Ryan didn’t cry so much when they were there. In the winter on some weekends Mom and Dad took us to the cabin, and even though it was too cold to go out on the lake, we still had fun in the snow. Dad bought us toboggans, and we crawled up the hill behind the cabin, dragging them behind us, and slid all the way back down, over and over. We didn’t mind getting cold and stayed out until we couldn’t feel our ngers anymore. One of the things I liked about the cabin in the winter was the log re. When we couldn’t stay out in the cold any longer, Mom would make us sit on the oor around the re and slowly we melted, or that’s how it felt. She’d give us mugs of hot choco-late to warm our hands and our tummies. On Mondays my teacher would make us write about our weekend and then read it aloud to the class. Some of the kids were jealous and I remem-ber that they said mean things to me, saying I was spoiled. But when I was nine, I didn’t understand…I thought every kid lived like we did. Lots of kids wanted to be my friend, and sometimes Mom and Dad let them come with us to the cabin by the lake. Some of the kids in my class went to the same church as us, and so they came with us lots of times.

13É Ñ• • • • I sit on the edge of my bed, my face still smart-ing from where Mom slapped me. I look in the mirror and see a red handprint on my cheek. I feel hatred towards her. I’m thirsty, so I go to the kitchen and get a Coke. Actually it’s not a real Coke, but it’s in a similar can. Once, Mom would never buy anything but name-brand things, but now she buys cheap things, and she blames me. I go back to my room and lie on my bed again. Looking back, my life was great up until I was eleven. It seems weird to think about my life before then, for I feel as if I’m a totally different person, and the memories I have when I was little belong to someone else. It’s weird and I hate it. I didn’t ask for any of this. • • • • I remember the day it rst started. It was my eleventh birthday. We were supposed to be going ice-skating, but I couldn’t go because I got sick. Mom had taken Rachel and Ryan, but I had to stay home with Dad. I wasn’t too disappointed because it meant that I had my dad all to myself. I adored him and I felt that he adored me, too. Sometimes Rachel would get jealous and would be mean to me. She’d pout and say that it wasn’t fair when

14É Ñhe played with me or took me to the store and left her behind. He’d make me giggle when he did silly things in front of people, and sometimes he made me laugh so much that I wet myself. But sometimes he would get angry, and I’d be scared. It seemed that Ryan made him mad, but I couldn’t see what he did to upset Dad—well, ex-cept the time when he spilled grape juice on Dad’s new white leather sofa. Dad didn’t like it when we messed things up, and he’d get after us about being tidy. I didn’t mind trying to be tidy because I loved my dad so much that I’d do anything for him. Even though it was my birthday and I didn’t get to go to my birthday party at the skating rink, I was with my dad. If I had tried to go, I don’t think I could have stood up because I felt so bad. I felt dizzy and my nose was running. I had a cough and I was shivering. Dad put a comforter around me and drew me close to him on the sofa in front of the re. “Come here, my special birthday girl,” he had said. I nestled into him and he patted my hand and put a kiss on my forehead. I felt so sick that all I’d wanted to do was sleep, but it had felt nice to feel his strong arm around me. He’d touched my forehead and said, “My, you’re burning up, baby.” Although my head was hot, I was still shivering.

15É ÑHe handed me a glass of Coke and I sucked through a straw. “Take these,” he had said, handing me two white pills. “They’ll make you feel better. C’mon…there you go.” I swallowed hard, my throat raw. Coke dribbled down my chin onto the sofa. I felt a ash of dread as I remembered how mad he’d been when Ryan spilled grape juice on it. He put the glass back on the smoked glass table and took out his handkerchief, blotting the dribble without saying anything. I waited for him to scold me, but it never happened. I felt confused. He just pulled me closer to him, and when I realized that he wasn’t angry, I relaxed and drifted in and out, not really going to sleep, but not really being awake either. Dad murmured in my ear and sounded far away. “This will help you breathe more easily.” He reached inside my pajama top, and I winced as something burned my nose. “It’s okay, baby. I know it smells, but it’ll help you breathe; honestly, trust me.” He rubbed something onto my chest, and the smell made my eyes water. It made me cough. He crooned into my ear, even though I was cough-ing so hard that I feared I might throw up. “Sit still, baby. C’mon.” He continued to rub the foul smelling stuff on

16É Ñme, and it made my chest feel a strange burning sensation. “There now, isn’t that better?” he said, as I tried to control my breathing but ended up sneezing snot everywhere. He moved his hand away and gave me a tissue so that I could blow my nose. There was snot on his best sofa, but he didn’t say anything. He threw the tissues into the re, and I watched them are up and die, as he pulled me back towards him. “My mom used to rub this stuff on my chest when I got sick as a kid,” he had said. “It’s great for colds.” He put one arm around me and with the other he began to rub the grease into my chest again. I wanted him to stop because I felt another sneeze coming, and I was scared that he’d get mad if I got more snot on the sofa, but he didn’t stop. His ngers worked their way down to my nipples and he started to play with them. I was shocked and scared. I didn’t have breasts like Rachel had, but I knew that I would have them one day and that he shouldn’t be touching them, even if it was only to rub medicine into my chest. He didn’t stop. He placed a small kiss on my burning forehead, and then kissed my cheeks, all the way around to my mouth. I wanted to tell him to stop, but as I opened my mouth he frightened me. I couldn’t breathe. I could smell cigarettes on

17É Ñhis breath and then he did something disgusting…he stuck his tongue in my mouth. I struggled to push him away, and I sneezed and coughed all at the same time. He let go of me as I sprayed him with snot, and even though I felt dizzy, I stood up and ran to the bathroom. My heart was racing. I was afraid. He opened the bathroom door, and I had nowhere to go when he took my hand and led me to my bed. “You’ll be okay,” he said, as he tucked me in and told me that I had a cold; that was all. He ran his nger down my face and kissed my forehead, before leaving my room. I didn’t know what to think. I knew something wrong had happened, but then Dad seemed back to his normal self, the Daddy I adored, and I wondered if I’d imagined it—after all, I’d been so sick and had a fever. A few weeks had gone by and I got better. I had forgotten about it until one Saturday when Mom had taken Ryan to soccer practice. Rachel was at her friend’s house. Dad had been really mad at Ryan, although I didn’t know what he’d done wrong, and he’d refused to take Ryan to soccer practice, so Mom had to go. She was angry with Dad and Ryan, as she’d wanted to go into town to get her nails done. I heard her shouting at Ryan as they went out the door. “Why d’you have to upset your father so

18É Ñmuch? Why do you always have to do it?” Ryan was crying as they went out the door. My tummy was churning…I hated it when Mom and Dad got angry. I felt angry with Ryan, too, for making my dad mad. I went into the living room and turned on the TV. Dad came into the room and I looked up at him, expecting him to be frowning, but he wasn’t. He smiled at me and sat next to me. “Shall we go out? We could go into town and then go and see a movie,” he asked. “After all, you missed your birthday party.” My heart leaped. “Yes,” I’d cried, feeling excited. I ran to grab my jacket and stood in the kitchen waiting for Dad to get his. He drove into town and parked in the mall park-ing lot. “Okay, rst things rst. Let’s go shopping.” I felt a ash of disappointment; I thought we were going to the movies. He saw the look on my face and laughed. “Clothes shopping, silly. Let’s go and get you something pretty to wear.” He took my hand and led me into a store. “What do you like?” he asked me, when a lady came over to us and said, “Can I help you?” There were racks of clothes everywhere, and I didn’t know what to pick, but Dad held up two dresses.

19É Ñ They were a bit frilly and I already had lots of dresses to wear to church. He saw the frown on my face and put them back on the rack. He held up two more. “Do you like these?” he asked. “I do. I think you’d look beautiful in them.” I didn’t really like them but I could tell that Dad did, and I wanted to please him, so I nodded. “Go and try them on,” he said, and I went be-hind a curtain and slipped out of my jeans. I struggled to pull the rst dress over my head and get my arms into the right holes, and the lady asked if I needed any help. I felt shy but let her do the zip up because I couldn’t reach. “Come out and let me see,” Dad said. I stood in front of the curtain and the lady smiled at me, and Dad said, “Oh, you look beautiful, like a princess. Go and try the other one on.” The lady helped me out of the rst one and into the second, and I stood in front of Dad again. “We’ll take both of them,” he told the lady. She smiled at me and said, “You’re a lucky girl to have such a generous Dad.” I went to take the dress off and put my jeans back on but Dad said, “No, Ruby, leave it on. You look beautiful.” The lady took my jeans and put them in the bag along with my other new dress. Dad paid and then took my hand. We wandered down the mall.

20É Ñ “Let’s get an ice cream,” he said. “We’ve got a while before the movie starts.” I sat on a tall stool, while Dad went to buy me an ice cream, feeling a bit self-conscious sitting in a frilly dress on a Saturday. Other kids were looking at me and whispering. It seemed okay to wear fancy clothes on a Sunday when going to church, but it felt wrong to wear them on a Saturday in an ice cream shop. Dad sat next to me and I ignored the other kids as we shovelled ice cream into our mouths. It was good. I tried really hard not to spill any on my new dress. When we’d nished, we stood in line to get our tickets to the movie. Dad got me a huge bucket of popcorn, a big bag of candy, and a cup of Coke so big that he had to carry it. I was scared I’d drop it. I followed Dad up the steps in the dark to the back row of the theater. He stood aside so that I could go to my seat rst and then he followed me along the row. I felt excited. I’d wanted to see this movie for ages, as all the kids at school had been talking about it. Dad put the bucket of popcorn on my lap and we dove into it as commercials ashed across the screen. My mouth was full, and the buttery smell lled my nose. There was rustling everywhere as kids and their

21É Ñparents were waiting for the movie to start. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Are you enjoying yourself?” I nodded, my mouth full. The movie started, and I felt a thrill course through me. My eyes were glued to the screen and I barely noticed Dad nish the popcorn. He took the empty bucket off my lap and placed the bag of candy on my lap, whispering in my ear, “For you, baby, have what you want.” I had put my hand idly into the bag and brought out a long piece of candy shaped like a snake and I began to suck on it, watching the screen. As I watched, my stomach full of popcorn and Coke, and sucking on a gummy snake, I felt Dad’s hand touch my bare knee. I ignored it at rst, thinking that he was reaching out in the dark to nd the bag of candy, but then I froze. His hand was under my dress and it inched up my thigh. I wriggled in my seat and coughed loudly. He stopped moving his hand but left it resting on my thigh. Looking back, now that I’m fteen and am grown, I can’t believe how stupid I was. He sat next to me and waited until I was okay with his hand being on my thigh; and that’s what happened…I was okay with it, as the movie played on. Little by little he edged his hand up my thigh until we got to the part in the lm that I’d been

22É Ñwaiting for…the scene all the kids at school had told me about. Just as I gasped, Dad moved his hand all the way up my thigh. I didn’t know what to do, because I was so excited, wondering what was going to happen next on the screen, but my attention was torn between that and my dad’s hand. I began to dget. Dad leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Shhh, sit still. You don’t want to get thrown out, do you?” No, I didn’t want to get thrown out, and so I sat there, trying to concentrate on the lm, but feeling frightened as Dad’s hand crept into my panties. I wished that I had my jeans on. I don’t remember the rest of the movie. He stopped as I began to dget, but he didn’t move his hand away. He just leaned over and told me to sit still and be quiet or we’d get thrown out. His voice sounded irritated and my stomach churned with anxiety. I hated it when Dad got mad, so I sat still and tried not to cry. I was frightened. Why was my dad doing that to me? I didn’t understand…I was only eleven. I still believed in Santa Claus. I didn’t know what to do. I just stared ahead, watching the screen, but saw nothing. Finally he stopped and moved his hand away. After a few minutes he leaned over. “Have you nished all your candy?” he whispered in my ear. I shook my head. I had a big lump in my throat

23É Ñand I didn’t want to eat any more candy. After the movie had nished, Dad held my hand tightly as we walked down the steps in the theater when the lights came up. He still held my hand as we walked surrounded by crowds of people out into the parking lot. When we got to the car—and I remember it being weird—even though it was snowing, Dad sunk down onto his knees in the snow, wetting his clothes. He held both my hands and looked into my eyes. He was smiling at me, but I couldn’t smile back. I wanted to cry because something had happened to my dad, and as I looked at him, the dad that I adored, he looked different to me. There was something in his eyes that had changed and I was too young to know what it was. As I look back, I know what it was; it was fear. He had to make sure that I didn’t tell. He tugged on my hands and smiled at me. “You know how much I love you, don’t you? You’ r e m y s p e cial g i r l . D ’ you u n d e r s t a n d? We hav e something special between us, a secret, and only those who are special get to share a secret. You’re my princess, my special little girl. I love you. I give you more than I give Rachel and Ryan and that’s because I love you so much and you’re my special girl. But you know, you can’t tell anyone about our secret because it’s ours, just yours and mine, okay?” I nodded, not knowing what to say. I was freez-

24É Ñing, standing there in a frilly dress and jacket in the snow. He smiled at me again, and said, “Only special girls get treats. Did you like your new dresses?” “Yes,” I said, lying. “Did you like your ice cream?” “Yes.” “Did you like the movie?” “Yes.” “And did you like the popcorn?” “Yes.” “And did you like the Coke? I got you the big-gest,” he said. “Yes, I love Coke.” “And which was your favorite candy?” That was easy…the gummy snake. “So, you had a good time, right?” “Yes, I did. Thanks, Dad.” He stood up, and brushed the snow from his knees. He opened the car door. “So, you’re my special little princess, right?” I nod. “Y’know, not everyone is special, but you are. When you’re special you can’t let other people know that you are, because it would hurt their feel-ings if they thought they weren’t special. Can you understand that?” Even though I was only eleven, I could under-stand that. Rachel cried sometimes when she got

25É Ñleft behind when Dad took me out. She was jealous. It wasn’t my fault that he didn’t take her, but I didn’t want her to feel hurt, so I knew that I couldn’t ever let anyone know just how special I was to Dad. He fastened my seat belt around me, and stroked my face. I felt so cold that I was shivering. I felt confused as he drove home and I couldn’t think of anything to say. At the age of eleven I didn’t know that I’d been manipulated and used. All I thought was that I was “special” to my dad, and I didn’t want to hurt anyone by letting them know that they weren’t as special as me. As we pulled into the drive, Dad said, “Now, don’t forget. Our secret’s ours. You don’t want to hurt anyone, do you?” “No, Dad.” He held my hand and we walked through the door. As soon as the door shut, Rachel started yelling at me. “Why have you got a new dress? Mom, it’s not fair.” I went to open my mouth to say that it wasn’t my fault if I was special to Dad, but then I remem-bered that I couldn’t tell, so I closed my mouth, as she continued to whine. Mom was mad. “Why didn’t you buy Rachel one as well?” she snapped at Dad. I felt awful and I ran upstairs and took the dress off. I hated it, and I wondered whether it was the

26É Ñway I looked in that dress that had made Dad do what he did to me. I never wanted to see that dress again, so I threw it in the bottom of my closet and put my jeans on. Mom was still nagging Dad when I went down-stairs. “Listen,” he said. “Ruby was sick on her birth-day, and didn’t go to her own party. I got her a new dress to make up for it, okay? Now stop!” I noticed that he didn’t own up to buying two new dresses, and I didn’t say anything. Rachel scowled at me and walked away. We sat around the dinner table in an uncomfort-able silence, which Mom broke. She asked me if I’d had a good time, and Dad glanced at me. There was a shadow lurking on his face, and maybe he saw one lurking on mine. I told her I’d had a great time. Ryan seemed happy, too; he’d scored a goal. “Why couldn’t you do that when I go with you?” Dad said to him nastily, and he stopped smiling. I felt bad for Ryan.