Where do I even start?

Girls, from ages 1 to 100, if anyone has touched and/or are touching you where you didn't want to be touched, said things to you that made you uncomfortable, made you feel weird, dirty, like you have done something wrong....this is my story. Unfortunately, I have a very, very explicit childhild memory, going as far back as three years old. That was the first time I remember my biological, drunken father lying next to me in my parents' bed, as my mother cooked, and placing his hands between my legs touching me in a place that I believed was only meant to pee from. I didn't understand what he was doing, but I knew I didn't like it. He kept going further up, and pressing harder and harder. I remember thinking, "the door is open and Mom keeps walking by it, why doesn't she come in here? Why doesn't she make Daddy stop doing what he is doing to me? When i tried to wriggle free and get up...he would smile a sloppy, drunken smile and say, " noooo, baby, stay here and lay with Daddy, my hands are cold. You are keeping them warm for me." That was the day I began to die, emotionally, that is. Not only one parent was betraying me, they both were. That was just the first, or was it, of so many, many more of my living nightmares with my parents. Not that I was alone, there were others. Cousins, children of family friends, Dad didn't discriminate. The only pre-requisite was that you were a child. I remember, once, when I was six, my father's brother came to another of their brother's house, where we were visiting. He pulled in the drive like a mad man. All us kids stared out the window, having been told not to come outside, "or else", thinking..."Wow, someone must be hurt or dead." Then Uncle Smitty began crying and screaming at my father saying, " I should kill your sorry ass. If you weren't my brother, I'd kill you." Dad was crying and saying, "It isn't true, I would never do that to my brother's daughter", and Mom screaming "he wouldn't do that Smitty, he just wouldn't do that", with her drunken slur. The other kids still stood with curious awe wondering what the hell they were talking about. How sad that at six years old, I knew exactly what their words meant. My cousin Dorothy had revealed to her dad that my father had made a midday stop by their house that day, while both adults were gone. While sunbathing in the back yard, Dad offered to rub her back, but began fondling her breasts instead. Of course none of it really happened...he wouldn't do that...right Mom? When Uncle Smitty left, I stood at that window and listened to my father swear she had lied, and my mother tell him she believed him because Dorothy was nothing more than a street-walking whore and tramp. Dorothy was ten. Mom went on to say how much she hated Dorothy and hoped she got what she deserved one day for trying to break up "her family". That was the day I knew unless I wanted to actually hear my mother say she hated me and call me a whore, I would have to endure whatever "the beast" dealt out, and keep my mouth shut. I think what I was really hiding from were simply the words...she had to know. I just knew she had to know. If you know and you do nothing...isn't that hate anyway? Maybe not, just cowardice...but at six...it felt like hate. I have a million "family secrets" to tell, so many I probably couldn't live long enough to tell them all, but I intend to spend every day telling one more, hoping to connect with someone else out there that is feeling the pain that I still feel even today...17 years after "the beast" was buried. I want others to know they are not alone with their pain and undeserved guilt, that there is someone who has been there, and will listen to and validate your pain. My father took his crimes and lies to hell with him, he never admitted to them...he never apologized for them... and Mom still sees him as an innocent man accused by whores. Everyone needs their pain validated. There is no one to validate mine...but maybe it wasn't supposed to be. Maybe I was left to live in this pain so that I could spend my time trying to reach out to others so they could vent to someone, even if anonymously about their pain, get their validation and move on. Maybe I was left in torture so that I could speak to that small child still living with their own "beast" and being violated, helping them understand it's wrong and they are the only innocent party involved. Maybe I can help just one get out of thier living hell. If so, then thank you God for blogging. This blog site isn't for me...it's for "us". If you have been there and just want to talk about it...drop those bricks and lighten the emotional load. If you are still going through the physical abuse, if you have the strength...tell someone, a teacher, a trusted relative ....if not, just talk to me. I will always answer. I will never ask any questions you don't want to answer. No names, no locations, only whatever it is you need to say. Here...."he" has no control over you. Here...you are in complete control of yourself.