TRIGGER WARNING: This poem is both graphic and descriptive of the abuse I experienced, but I have avoided vulgar language.
First, let me give you some background… When I was 30 (I am in my late-50s now), I uncovered repressed memories of being sexually abused by my father at age 3. In 2019, I sought out additional therapy, including PTSD therapy. My therapist encouraged me to let those abused parts of me tell their story. Since the child at that age is pre-verbal, you can encourage them to tell their story in ways other than “speaking,” including just giving them a keyboard. He told me that he has had patients grab their cell phone in his office and start frantically texting, telling their story. I did that at home, I reached out to the 3-year-old me – I gave him my computer keyboard and encouraged him to share. This poem simply poured out – without any editing. (and no, I am not known for writing poetry.)
Me at Age 3
Heavy weight on me. Heard to breathe. Why is he doing this?
I don’t understand. I am so scared.
I don’t want this.
Betrayed!
I thought he loved me. Why is he doing this to me.
Why is he causing so much pain,
I don’t understand it.
The stuff I drank makes me feel weird,
like I don’t really understand what is happening,
but I still remember.
I can still feel everything.
Why does he keep doing this.
Night after night, like the boogie man,
but he is real.
so much pressure on my head,
rhythmic up and down against the mattress.
Sometimes I hit my head on the headboard.
It hurts.
I like to leave toys on the floor.
Maybe this will stop him,
give me some warning.
He gets mad.
Swears.
It doesn’t stop him.
I am powerless.
I am so alone.
If I had a little brother, I wouldn’t be alone.
Maybe then it would stop. Maybe.
I am so weak, he is so big.
I can’t fight back.
I have to give in.
I hope it ends soon.
Maybe he won’t come back
next time.
Maybe.
I can’t breathe.
I have to try to breathe through my nose.
So hard.
I try to catch breaths when I can.
He is done.
I cough-up – hard.
Slimy gross.
The smell,
the taste,
he wipes me down.
Removes the evidence.
I cry myself back to sleep –
Exhausted.
But I can finally breathe.
~by Mike Chapman
About the Creator
Mike Chapman
Mike is a survivor of familial childhood sexual abuse from age 7 months to age 5 and familial sexual trafficking from age 5 to age 8, and a survivor of sexual assault by clergy at age 20. In his spiritual journey to recovery, Mike has had to battle, among other things, anger, PTSD, anxiety, codependency, and addictive behaviors, including porn addiction. Mike is also a Full-Time Sign Language Interpreter and a Part-Time Santa Claus Portrayal Artist. He’s been happily married to his wife Beth for over 33 years, and they have 2 adult children. He and Beth live in Hubert, NC. Mike is currently a part-time Recovery Life Coach for both Polar Life Consulting and Husband Material. To find out more or to contact Mike, contact him at PolarLifeConsulting.com