*TRIGGERS POSSIBLE*

In the six or so weeks since joining this board, I've read a lot of posts about the inability to clearly remember sexually traumatic childhood events that one knows took place. My own sexually traumatic memories are filled with some blank spots as well. If you've read the story I have linked at the bottom of my posts, you have some idea of what happened to me, although even that is far from the whole story. If you haven't read it, here's the TLDR version....

When I was 7 or 8, (8 I think), I was molested by two teenage girls in my neighborhood in New Haven, CT . The first time it happened, they molested a little girl about my age along with me and instructed us to, um, "do things" with each other while they watched. The second time it happened, one of those same girls fondled and masturbated me alone. I think there were only those two incidents but I could be wrong. Those memories are spotty but the parts I remember, I remember very clearly. Then, in that same neighborhood, there was the incident with the teenage boy on the sofa. (Huh?) After that, my family moved to the Atlanta area where my new neighbor was a girl about a year older, (but much bigger), than me who sexually and emotionally bullied me for years. I remember most of that stuff pretty clearly but that's another post for another day.

The incident with the teenage boy on the sofa is what this post is about, or, at least based on. The question is, who's sofa was it? Where was I? Who was the other person or persons in the room and did he do anything to me that I don't remember?

I have a growing sense of dread even as I write this and I don't know why. I've always mostly written that incident off as probably insignificant. I barley went into it back when I was in therapy. Perhaps it was more just an instance of bullying than necessarily sexual abuse, or maybe at worst something that blurred the line between the two. I don't know.

I'm sitting on a sofa. He takes his pants down and sticks his ass in my face. He tells me to "kiss it". I don't. I don't want to. I am petrified. I am humiliated. I am angry and scared. I want to throw up. I am looking at the other person in the room and hoping they will help me but they don't seem to be. Who was that person over there? Was it a female? I think it was. Was that my house? My sofa? Who was this boy? Where did he come from? What happened before and after this flash of a scant memory? Did I do what he said? Did I kiss it? I didn't at first. He presses his ass closer to my face. It's almost touching me now. I want to disappear. That's it.

To this day I am still maybe 75%-80% sure that was all that happened. I don't know though. It just doesn't make sense to me that I remember the emotions of that incident so powerfully and the details are just not there. I used to believe that this happened at my house, on my sofa, but I'm not sure anymore. When I was that young I was only ever left with a babysitter and not home alone. I loved all my babysitters. Would one of them have let someone hurt me? Would one of them have even let that happen and not done anything about it? Maybe they did though. Maybe the other person in the room, whoever it was, made him stop and that's why this is all I remember. Or, was this boy affiliated with the teenage girls who molested me? Was the other person in the room one of those girls? I have recently determined that to be the most probable scenario but I can't be sure. Although, what are the chances that this neighborhood had a bunch of child-molesting teenagers running around it who were totally unrelated to one another? Or, maybe he wasn't so much a child-molesting teenager but just a bully with a really fucked-up way of bullying and humiliating smaller kids? I can't be sure of any of it. All I know is that compared to the other memories, this one is a mere blip on the radar screen of my childhood, a flash in the pan, but the emotions involved are just as powerful as the emotions involved in any of those other memories, if not more so. It doesn't make any sense.

It's frustrating to me that I can't remember more. For some reason, I wish I could remember everything. I wish I could know. I want to know for sure that this boy didn't do anything worse to me. It would be a relief to know that for certain but I'm afraid I never will. Also, I wish I could remember more about those instances with the teenage girls. I remember a lot more details of those events but very little about the girls themselves. Who they were, how I knew them, what their names were, etc.

I don't think I'd ever consider hypnotherapy or anything like that. Shit, at this point I doubt I'll ever seek out regular therapy again. If I did though, and I did go in to try to bring those memories back, what would even be the possible benefit? Is there any? What if I found out that boy DID do something even worse? What then? Why can I not stop feeling like remembering any of this is even important at all? Why can't I just accept that I'll never have the answers, accept that the memories are spotty, FUCKING BURY THEM, and move on with my shitty life? Why does it have to be important? Is it? Are there even any right answers to these questions?

Sorry about another long-winded post but I had to get that out. I've never posted about that incident anywhere before today, (aside from the blurb about it in my initial post to this board), or discussed it with anyone other than my therapist over 18 years ago. Maybe because it was mostly insignificant or maybe because it was much more significant than I remember or than I want to know. Either way, I'm glad I finally displayed the memory and explored the possibility that there could have been more to it somewhere other than inside my own head. Take care all. Peace,

Ken