The Guilty Pleasure of Being Molested

~by: Jess Mei

Sometimes I hate myself so much, it is really incomprehensible. And I believe I now understand why. I remember having pleasure sometimes when I was molested, and I feel wrong for having had pleasure from it.

I remember one time getting molested and actually opening my legs more so that he could rub my clitoris better. I still feel him doing it, I still feel the pleasure I got from it, and damnit I still feel the amazing amount of guilt I have because of it. I wonder sometimes if that is why I didn’t tell until I was an adult? Is it because I enjoyed it? Wanted it? God, I was just a little kid for pity’s sake – in a home that was chaotic and confusing. But I can remember wanting him to touch me, for the attention and for the pleasure of having someone else stimulate me. But how can a child of 7,8,9,10,or 11 understand that really?

He used to expose himself to me and I’d run away. My heart would beat so fast, I was so scared. Then when I could go over to my cousin’s house to get away, I’d go – and one of my cousins there would do the same thing to me. He even put me on my back a few times and tried to penetrate me. I think I was around 9 years old or so. I would just lay there, cause I didn’t want him to hate me or hit me. I tried so hard to please everybody around me, to make sure they were okay. Nobody ever looked out for me though…and I never told anybody. Not anybody. I used to want somebody, ANYBODY to just read my mind, we’d be screaming in there – screaming for help, but no one ever did. So I had one who took it, and a few who hid everything, always hiding, hiding.

We had to pretend that everything was fine. We had to pretend that we were not screaming and scared and tired of trying to make everyone be okay. We had to pretend the fighting didn’t bother us. And so each one took a job and ran with it. One was brave and always smiled and laughed and joked; one went to school and did well – because if we didn’t – we’d get beaten; one went to church 6 days a week and pretended we understood about God; one said, ‘Yes Ma’am and no Ma’am’ and obeyed her every command; one stood very still while she blew cigarette smoke in our faces and taunted us for looking like our Father; one screamed with rage (but only inside) when we were burned with cigarettes at parties or burned with plastic by our Brother – one of the molesters; one was filled with hatred for all of them – every person who crossed our path…hatred for not helping us, hatred for beating us, molesting us, harming us, taunting us, teasing us, loving us; one who plotted revenge; and one who feels nothing at all. Such is the guilty pleasure of being molested, the rage of being punished for being alive, and the rage for being loved.

I am so angry that I have such guilt and shame. I wonder so often how anyone could love me that I’ve pushed people away who actually do. But I don’t understand WHY they could possibly love a dirty girl like me – I let them touch me. Sometimes I wanted it to happen. It was attention and it felt good, right? Such is the guilty pleasure of being molested.

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6 Responses

  1. We understand completely, but have never been brave enough to say it. Thank you for saying it. It’s hard not to feel at fault somehow, for being “accommodating” , but would we have survived had we not?

    • It has been difficult for us to speak about our memories so openly, so I understand about gaining courage to address it, thanks. So So true about taking on blame, shame and fault for being accommodating. We still have problems with it. I absolutely believe us personally would have gone completely insane had we not become plural.
      Thanks for subscribing.

  2. I have a friend who has Borderline personality disorder. she harms herself, through cutting…and she also was molested when she was 7. She barely talk about her experience, and i feel awkward to ask about her past for it may upset her. but im worried, she let them used her…yes, she liked it when they touch her but i know, there’s a guilt in her eyes same as what you’ve mentioned. i dont know how to talk about her but i want to stop her from doing this to herself, she’s only 19… if i could only take her pain away…i’ll do whatever it takes to help her…

    • Hi.
      I apologize for the tardiness of my reply. I am sad that your friend is going through this. Please tell her she is not alone in her struggle with guilt and anger. Please let her know about the alternatives I list to cutting in this blog and let me know how you both are doing?

  3. Thank you, thank you, thank you for writing this. I got to a point where I sought out the abuse and the attention, I craved it. And I felt so guilty, so dirty, like there must be something really wrong with me. Just remembering makes the pit of my stomach ache like it used to. I kept quiet about it until I was an adult and now my family prefaces any conversations about the abuse with, “If this actually happened…” Denial still runs strong there. I keep my distance and parent the various parts of myself. The hardest part for the younger parts is that they will never get acknowledgement, validation, or comfort from the family. Those things were never available. So we grieve the loss of a childhood.
    Again, thank you for posting this. I don’t feel like some sort of sick, horrible person knowing that other people have had this experience as well.

    • You are more than welcome. We face the same thing from our family – them not acknowledging the abuse or accusing us of making things up. This, when my sister was also abused and they absolutely KNEW!

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