I had a good childhood.  As in all families, we had our highs and lows.  But, I still feel that I've been lucky in everything that I've had.  I count my blessings that my parents always made me feel safe and protected no matter what.  They loved me, provided for me and never made me feel like I couldn't go to them for anything.  I will always be grateful for that. 

My friend called me late last Friday afternoon to inform me that our mutual friend's husband had been charged with sexual assault on his young teen daughter.  I've known this child since she was born.  I've seen her grow up to the girl she is today and it sickens me what's happened.  It's heart breaking.

What makes this whole situation worse (if that's possible) is that our mutual friend's sister's husband was also jailed for sexually assaulting his young daughter 9 years ago.  What are the odds?  Both sister's married men who turned out to be sexual predators, molesters.

When you hear about something like this, especially when its someone you know well, you start to think back.  You start to wonder if there was something you could have done to have prevented it.  All my friends never liked her husband, me included.  In fact, we all felt that some of the things he did to us were inappropriate.  But, it was never so inappropriate that we would ever think he would do something so horrendous to his own child.  We never thought he'd go over the boundaries. 

I hate feeling this way.  Racking my brain thinking back to all these situations.  Thinking we could have done something.  But, the truth is, there's probably nothing we could have done.  We weren't around the kids all the time, they lived in another city about an hour away and honestly, how could we have foreseen it? 

At least the daughter was strong enough to say something to her mother and report her father before it escalated further.  He was getting more and more bold, so thankfully he never got the opportunity to do any further harm.  The damage is done, but at least he can't do any further damage now.

This has really thrown me for a loop - I can't stop thinking about it.  But, its not about me, right now it's about supporting my friend and the kids in whatever they need.  My friends and I have decided we'll do whatever it takes to help out - financially, emotionally, whatever they need. 

Why couldn't he have just cheated on my friend with another women, why your own daughter?  She was innocent, she trusted her dad and now that's irrevocably broken.  Sick, dirty, fucking bastard (and that's putting it very mildly).

~~~

By Deanna Boyd

A Southwood Baptist Church pastor arrested in June on allegations that he had sexual contact with an underage church member has resigned from his position, according to a video podcast posted on the church’s Web site.

In the video, labeled as taken July 20 during morning services, interim pastor Lee Ingram can be seen reading a statement to church members announcing the forthcoming resignation of James Virtue Robinson IV, pastor of the church since October 2006.

Ingram told the congregation that the resignation came as an agreement between Robinson’s criminal defense attorney and the church’s attorney. He said he and the church council had already begun contacting candidates for the pastor position.

Robinson was indicted last month on a charge of indecency-fondling. Police allege Robinson began a relationship with a church member when she was 16 that included sexual contact. Police had begun investigating the case in March after the father of the girl, now 18, overheard his daughter talking inappropriately on the phone to a person he later learned was Robinson.

Robinson remains free on bond, court records show. A gag order has been issued in the case, preventing attorneys and police from any further comment.

let's see so i had my best friend "lily" i had been her friend ever since she came to my town well four and a half years later we were in a fight but my mom had to go to my brothers hockey tournament for the week end so there fore i was left staying at her house (fyi her brother is lynn for previous readers) and when i got dropped off there my dad stayed for a lil till he had to go to work so i sat and talked to lily's mom for a little then decided it was awkward and went to my bedroom (yes i had a bedroom at there house because i was over there ALL the time) and started watching CSI well i started to fall asleep when i felt some one kiss me on the forhead well at first i thought it was lynn but then i realized it was his dad "B" well i sadi good night to B and i thought he left when i realized he was still standing there i turn back over he said he wanted to lay down for a min. so i said ok think he was going to sit on top of the blankets then all of a sudden he was under the blankets that's when i realized he was completly drunk and only in a t-shirt and boxers (eww)...

then he put his arm around me and tried to hold my hand so i strarted putting my hand in a fist not to punch him but to keep him from holding it...when he started to rub my back is when the realization started to kick in i was in the midst to being molested and i didn't have the slightest bit of i dea what to do...i heard everyone down stairs and i knew from watching all the movies that i could scream or fight but i had grown so close to B that i thought of him as a second dad to me well until then...so i tried hard to just close my eyes and fall asleep again till the hand rubbing my back started inching closer to the bottom of my pants thats when i reacted lucky aside from the first time i wanted to yell i spoke i said no and told him to go to bed...

at first he just looked at me then i kicked him to push him out of MY bed and told him to leave when i did this he looked at me and said "are you sure" then i told him he was drunk and to go to bed with his wife...

when he exited the room i ran and locked the door not knowing how it would help but it comforted me some...even after this i started to cry and still did not want to tell anyone in his house because i didn't want to cause trouble with thier family...when i couldn't get ahold of my mom i text my dad knowing he was at work but he called and told me to relax that even if he left work right know he still wouldn't get back here any time soon anyway (which was true) so i called my friend and asked her for a lift to her house when she said she couldn't i knew only two people who might 1. "useless" 2. josh...

i picked useless first i didnt' tell him what happened i just told him it was an emergency and asked if he could pick me up..his nickname came to use when he said he couldn't not even knowing what kind of situation i was in...so i sucked it up and went for my worst nightmare needing josh again...i called him and told him what happened and asked if he could come pick me up he immediatly came to the rescue even past his legal curfew... when i grabbed my stuff to make a run down stairs B was on the couch so i decided to just walk straight past him and i did...he just watched me leave...josh was right outside about to come punch B in the face which isn't suprising for him but i just went to him and gave him a hug and he held me...he asked if i was ok under my condition and i nodded and got into his car he talked a little and i let a few tears roll out on my to my friend's house but he was still there for me and gave me a hug as he dropped me off....

after a while of being at my friends house B's wife called the conversation was basically me telling her the truth and her telling me I WAS WRONG...

my mom ended up calling and i told her i was safe and she said she would just stay with my brother at his tournament but i didn't blame her she was hours away and i was safe now...

i stayed at my friends all day and explained to her mom wat happened and that it was taken care of...

all of this showed me a few things....

one, people see the truth how they want to see it i mean the outcomes of this situation ended up with B's family thinking and telling everyone i was lying and only my friends and my family beliving me....but i know B's family still has doubts..but still they want to believe B is a good caring non perverted father so they do and personally i dont blame them who would want to think of thier father that way?

two, you know in these situations who really cares about you even my ex came and took care of me when i was in need...

and three, all that stress caused me a 104 fever and made me miss my team figure skating competition...

and thats all for tonight thanks for reading...

i will keep up.

Charlie Sheen is planning to sue his ex-wife Denise Richards for defamation and seek full custody of their two daughters after she told a court he molested them, the New York Post's Page Six gossip column reports.

This is GREAT news for the men in California - the Family Code says that if she is making false accusations, he could be granted full custody of the children - I'd like to see it happen!

             Divorces are ugly, emotional times for most people. They get even uglier when there is a lot of property to fight over, and they are at their ugliest when a parent is using the children to extract money, and/or revenge on the other parent.

            Rumors are swirling in the blogosphere about the Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards divorce and the latest allegations in their custody battle. There are allegations of child abuse by Ms Richards, and until these are investigated and proved, no one is guilty of anything.

            But they point to an alarming trend that most family law practitioners are noticing, and that is an upsurge in the allegation of child abuse by one parent against the other. Most frequently it is the mother alleging that the father is either a “bad parent” who lacks parenting skills and is only mildly abusive, to the nuclear option of sexual molestation.

            The definition of abuse of children has changed radically over the last the 30 years. It used to be common for a child to be spanked, and for some parents to use a belt or a paddle to correct their children’s behavior. The book Mommy Dearest chronicled the path of abuse that Christina Crawford suffered from the late film star Joan Crawford, and its effects on her life, and it flung wide open the door to the topic of child abuse.

            Abuse, like everything, has a spectrum, from the mildly negligent care of a preoccupied parent to the physical and mental abuse of a deranged pedophile. Our social tolerance for any type of abuse has dropped significantly, and the fighting parent who is using the children to get back at their spouse may not stop at making allegations that are false.

            This type of false allegation can have serious repercussions. The father who is the subject of a sexual abuse allegation must immediately hire a lawyer who is familiar with the laws of the family court and probably also a criminal lawyer. These types of allegations are taken extremely seriously by various state agencies, and a parent who is an alleged sexual molester needs a strong defense right away. This is no time to be a “good guy” – you must fight this as if your life depends on it, because frankly it does.

            On the other hand, a false allegation can be prosecuted and the lying spouse punished severely by the court. The courts are taking very seriously the false allegation of child abuse and can take the children away from a parent who accuses their ex-spouse falsely. The innocent parent can, and should, be given their full legal and physical custody rights.

            Mothers are the more likely parent to make the allegation that a child is  being sexually molested. Frequently it is to prevent dad from getting visitation or custody, which increases the child support that he must pay. It is the nuclear option in a custody battle, and just like in the real world, it leads to the mutually assured destruction of the parties.

            The emotional damage that is done to the relationship between the parents is nothing compared to the damage that is done to the parent/child relationship by a false allegation. As much as a false allegation increases the bitterness and anger between the parties, the suspicion it creates, and the spotlight of doubt that it casts on every activity causes a lasting harm to both parent/child relationships. The suspicious parent can become overly protective and begin to plant ideas in the child’s mind – which is abusive in itself. The suspected parent can become tentative in offering affection and love out of a fear of misinterpretation and potential criminal penalties.

            The financial damage is also extensive. A suspected parent who must hire a criminal lawyer, in addition to their family law attorney, can expect to spend at least an extra $5,000, to defend against a case of alleged sexual abuse, depending on the facts of the allegation, and there is no upper limit.

            An allegation is easy to make, precisely because it is taken so seriously by the authorities. The full weight of the state can be brought to bear on a father who is accused, and mothers use this to gain an advantage and make the father give in to her financial and custodial demands. And even though we say that someone is innocent until proven guilty, in this arena, even when proven innocent, there is still a cloud that hangs over a wrongly accused father. It is the fallout from the nuclear option, that never completely goes away.

Here is the first photo of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's new twins, who smile and cuddle with their famous mom as their proud pop looks on.

The pair, Knox Léon and Vivienne Marcheline, grace the cover of People magazine, which reportedly paid $14 million for the exclusive family album.

The adorable infants were born by Caesarean section on July 12 in Nice, France.

Knox Léon weighed in at just over 5 pounds, and Vivienne Marcheline tipped the scales at exactly 5 pounds.

The twins boost the Pitt-Jolie household to a half-dozen children, including Maddox, 6; Pax, 4; Zahara, 3; and Shiloh, 2.

"It is chaos, but we are managing it and having a wonderful time," Jolie, 33, told People magazine.

The celebrity couple and their brood are all enjoying the summer at their sprawling home, Ch%E2teau Miraval, in the south of France.

"[It's] still a cuckoo's nest," Pitt, 44, said of his growing family.

Jolie said her other children have welcomed their new siblings with open arms.

"[Shiloh and Zahara] pick out [the twins'] clothes and help change and hold them," Jolie said. "It's sweet - they are little mommies."

People magazine's 19-page photo spread of the bouncing newborns hits newsstands today. The celebrity glossy teamed with London's Hello! magazine to score the big-bucks exclusive.

In the Hello! cover, the twins lie on a bed with their eyes closed as their parents stare down affectionately at them.

The doting dad confided to Hello! that his new kids have seemingly inherited various personality traits from him and Jolie.

"Viv is proving to resemble Ange in spirit, attitude and physicality," Pitt said. "And Knox, he's a bit of me."

The twins already boast bragging rights over two of their siblings: Shiloh's first baby pics sold for $4.1 million to People, and the magazine paid $2 million for its cover of Pax, who was adopted from Vietnam.

Like they've done in the past, Pitt, who earns about $20 million a movie, and Jolie, who earns $15 to $20 million a flick, plan to donate the money they receive for the exclusive baby photos to charity.

Jolie and Pitt established their own foundation in 2006, often making children the focus of their charity.

The mega-millions deal is likely to be well worth it for People. The issue with Shiloh on the cover sold 2.2 million copies, making it one of the magazine's biggest sellers ever.

source

Bernie Mac in 'very, very critical' condition Comedian Bernie Mac is reportedly in "very, very critical" condition after checking himself into a Chicago hospital with pneumonia.

Days of 'Thunder' - Tropic Thunder Ben Stiller made $40 million last year to act silly. But let's really get serious. What he really wants to do is direct.

Abba hits strike gold again Abba have made history with the return of their greatest hits album to the top of the UK album chart. Gold - Greatest Hits is the oldest album ever to reach number one.

Worrall Thompson recommends killer plant for salad Celebrity chef Antony Worrall Thompson has apologised after accidentally recommending cooks use a potentially deadly plant in organic salads.

Glitter set for release from Vietnamese jail THE disgraced musician Gary Glitter, currently in a Vietnamese prison after being convicted of molesting two young girls, will be released this month.

Vodafone Live Music Awards noms announced Entertainment Reporter Amy Winehouse and The Verve are among the nominees for this year's Vodafone Live Music Awards.

Kate Moss' holiday snaps She's used to posing for the world's top photographers... but there's a special reason why Kate Moss looks so relaxed.

Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye - it's a meme a` la mode. I hope you will join me and share a Slice of your Life.

One of this week's prompts is My Earliest Childhood Memory. I actually started writing this slice of my life many months ago. It has been very difficult to put into words the series of events that happened on a beautiful summer day in my early childhood that created a lifetime of confusion, pain, and heartbreak. I am so thankful for all the Contributing Writer's of Slice of Life Sunday. Because of their strength to relive tragic times in their lives, I have gained the strength to relive mine. And through all the tears shed in writing this story, I have been cleansed of the guilt I have carried with me. It was not my fault. I did not do anything so terrible to warrant such a horrendous punishment. I even gained a bit of a sense of humor, although some may call it a warped sense of humor, after my writing was done - Stephen King could not have created a more vile location for the most horrendous act ever perpetrated upon a child.   

"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self - nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."
                                            ---- FDR - First Inaugural Address, March 4, 1933

Most people have a few minor irrational fears. Some get nervous at the thought of getting on an airplane while others jump onto the closest chair at the sight of a mouse. I read somewhere it is estimated 10% of all adults have some type of phobia. I will confess I am in that 10%. I have struggled with my phobia for most all of my life. In fact, the cause of my fear is my very first memory, an event that occurred sometime in the summer of my 4^th birthday. I only know the approximate time line from discussing the event with my parents many years later. Based upon my recollections of the proceeding event which led to my traumatic experience, my mother was amazed I remembered anything because “you weren’t even four years old!” But I did remember. I remembered everything.

It was very hot that summer day. My older sister Toupey and I spent the afternoon on the front porch which was shaded by huge trees that blocked the house from a bank that dropped forty feet to the road below. We were playing with the ragdolls our grandmother had given us for Christmas. Mom brought our sleeping younger sister out and placed her on a blanket so she could take her nap in the coolness of the shade. We were given instructions to play quietly so not to wake Joy-Joy. It was no secret that Toupey didn’t like Joy-Joy. She had been ill much of her life with constant colds and stomach problems which demanded more of mom’s time and dad’s attention; time and attention that was taken away from Toupey. Mom had no more than gone back into the house before Toupey began to poke Joy-Joy with the bottle of milk that mom had placed beside her. After several pokes, Joy-Joy woke up. She began to whimper and Toupey quickly gave her a ragdoll. This seemed to pacifier her and she began to play with the buttons that grandma had sewn on for eyes. After a few minutes of allowing Joy-Joy to play with the doll, Toupey took the doll away and began to tease her with it by holding it in front of her but pulling it away when Joy-Joy reached for it. After a several minutes of this teasing, Toupey tossed the doll off the porch and it landed on the bottom step of the steep staircase leading up to the porch. “If you want it, go get it.” she said laughing. Joy-Joy toddled her way to the top of the steps and held onto the rail as she made her way down the steps. On the third step, she stumbled and fell the rest of the way down. She immediately began to scream and I jumped to my feet and headed for the screened door to get mom. Mom was coming through the door before I got to it. She ran down the steps and picked up Joy-Joy whose head was bleeding from striking one of the rocks that lined the path that led to the porch.

“What happened here? How did she get off the porch? Why didn’t one of you stop her?” Mom fired question after question without waiting for an answer as she took Joy-Joy into the kitchen to wash her wound. Once she learned Joy-Joy’s cut was minor, she rocked her back to sleep (I guess mom didn’t know about the possibility of concussions back then) and placed her in her crib. Toupey and I had been sent back to the front porch to wait until mom got Joy-Joy settled. As we waited for what was sure to be a severe whipping, Toupey tried to get me to say I was the one who threw the doll off the porch. I refused. I knew I would probably get whipped because I was there, but I also knew once mom found out what happened, the one who threw the doll would get the beating of their life. Toupey then said we would just tell mom Joy-Joy woke up and got to the steps before we knew she was awake. “If you tell on me, you will be sorry!” she threatened. I do not know what I would have done had Toupey been given the opportunity to tell her tale, but as it turned out mom was standing at the screened door when she made her threat. Mom demanded I tell her what happened. I remember being so scared. If I didn’t tell her, mom would have really whipped me. If I did tell, I didn’t know what Toupey would do, but I knew it would be bad. I can not recall any specifics, but I knew on that day I had already been at the receiving end of Toupey’s meanness many times before. I finally told mom what Toupey had done. Mom went off! “What were you thinking? If she had gotten down those steps she could have fallen down the bank and been killed!” she screamed. With that said she pulled Toupey upon her lap, turned her over her knees, pulled up her dress, and began whipping her. She whipped her for what seemed like forever. I sat in the corner of the porch and cried because I figured my turn was coming. But my turn did not come. I have always thought I didn’t get whipped that day was not because I had not done anything wrong, but more because mom was too tired after whipping the daylights out of Toupey. The look Toupey gave me after her whipping told me a beating from mom would have been less painful than what she was going to do to me to get even.

That evening, we had company for supper. My Uncle Jim, my dad’s older brother, had stopped by to see if dad could help him make hay after dinner. Dad agreed and after eating a piece of peach pie for dessert they left to go to grandpa’s farm. Uncle John, my mom’s brother, had also stopped in and was planning to stay overnight. I remember sitting in the living room that evening listening to the radio with Uncle John. Toupey came in and sat down to listen to the music. I had been walking a wide path around her since her whipping. We were listening to a song about cherries being pink and apples being white and laughed because we knew both were really red. We laughed so hard that I not only forgot about being scared of what Toupey was going to do to get even, but it made me need to make a trip to the outhouse to pee. Mom would normally take me to the outhouse because it was located a distance from the house. She was rocking Joy-Joy so she told Toupeyto go with me. We were still laughing about the mis-colored fruit in the song as we made our way to the outhouse. Once there, we were both able to go in because it was a two-seater. Toupey finished first and went outside to wait on me. I was pulling up my panties when Toupey slammed the door shut and turned the wooden block so I couldn’t get the door open from the inside. I pounded on the door and begged her to let me out. It was getting dark outside and with the door shut it was very dark inside the outhouse. Despite my pleadings of being afraid, I could hear Toupy’s laughter fade away as she made her way back to the house. I continued to pound on the door. I continued to cry for help but no one came. At some point, I sat down on the floor and in the midst of my tears and the nauseating smells of the outhouse I fell asleep. Although I didn’t know it at the time, the worst was yet to come.

I do not know how long I slept. I learned fourteen years later the chain of events that occurred which permitted what came next. Mom had made her evening trip to the outhouse before settling in to rock Joy-Joy to sleep. While Toupey and I made our trip to the outhouse, mom asked Uncle John to send us to bed when we returned. She was going to let Joy-Joy sleep with her and dad that night and was going to go on up to bed. Mom said she remembered being very tired that night from being so worried about Joy-Joy and her fall. Dad didn’t remember the night at all but said he probably would have come in and washed up in the kitchen and went on up to bed if no one else was up. My older sister doesn’t remember the night either and flatly denies ever locking me in the outhouse. I do know from what occurred later in the outhouse that Toupey had a conversation with Uncle John after returning from locking me in the outhouse. I know Toupey told him the whole story about how she had been whipped and I was not. I also know she told him she locked me in the outhouse. Uncle John was very lazy and would not have walked so far to relieve himself. He would have urinated off the back porch as he always did or would have used the white porcelain pot with a lid that was kept on the back porch for emergency use or so we didn’t have to make the long walk after dark. I also know Toupey went to bed before Uncle John came to get me.

I awoke to a flashlight shining in my eyes and Uncle John running his fingers through my hair. “It’s about time my pretty little girl woke up.” he said. “I hear you and Toupey were very bad girls today. Toupey got whipped but you didn’t. Now, that isn’t fair is it? I know your mom is planning to whip you tomorrow, but how about I do it tonight. I won’t whip you as hard as she does.” Still groggy from being waken from a deep sleep, I was having a hard time figuring out where I was. Uncle John pulled me up from where I was laying and I saw the flashlight was sitting on the corner beside one of the seats. I also saw he did not have his pants on and had this funny looking long thing hanging from his body. He sat down on the space between the seats and said, “We need to get you ready for your spanking.” He took off my dress and my panties and laid me across his lap.

I do not know how long the molestation lasted. I do not remember leaving the outhouse or even going to bed. I do know that wasn’t the last time I was to feel Uncle John’s hands on my body. Throughout the next six years, he would use different approaches but the result was always the same. My grandmother figured out he was molesting me and put a stop to the abuse. Four years later, he raped me. He never touched me again after that.

Needless to say, a childhood of sexual abuse has created a life plagued with depression, low self-esteem, and an array of many side-affects. How that abuse began has also created a phobia of small, enclosed places that I have dealt with all of my life. I am particularly wary of entering an elevator in general, and will absolutely not enter one if I am by myself and only one man is already in it. If I am in an elevator by myself and it stops at a floor and only one man enters the elevator, I will step out and wait for another one. Psychologists say phobias are irrational and imaginary. I disagree.

The entire time you're watching this episode and learning about the Super Adventure Club (SAC) bear in mind that the parallels to Scientology and its beliefs are quite accurate. Just watch "Trapped in the Closet" (click HERE for more on that) for more on the parallels.

So, the story, as it goes is more or less that Isaac Hayes, after "Trapped in the Closet," was unhappy with Trey and Matt's treatment of his religion - though he never had any problems being a part of them bashing every other religion. Hayes said, You've got it all wrong. That's not how it is.

Apparently, Trey and Matt got a letter notifying them that Hayes was quitting the show but the controversy surrounding it is that it's not clear whether or not the letter was from him, coerced from him, or written by someone else while he was ailing and unable to write such things. In any case, he finished working for the show and the first episode of the next season was this one, where Chef comes back to South Park brainwashed and interested in having sex with the children. They try to rescue him from the fruity little club he joined but the club, only concerned with more members, turns Chef into a robot (Darth Vader) instead of letting him be his own person.

What I just wrote was not eloquent but do yourself a favor and check out this sensational episode.

What did you think? Are you a Scientologist? Would you like to do an interview on my blog so that you can defend against the allegations made in this episode? Though I've been biased I would certainly be fair in conducting an interview and would like to hear what you have to say.

Click HERE to see the Around the World Pic of the Day for today.

I received a letter from my younger cousin, Randy, that day. He was in prison for over a year now on charges of burglary, sodomy and rape, so everyone told me. We used to be best buddies. I used to take him to the mall, take him to the movies; he was like my younger brother. But I knew in the back of my mind, what happened me when I was 6, 7, 8, 9. and 10 happened to him, too. Before March 11th, I just couldn't prove it. I couldn't put two and two together.

Randy used to call my mother's house to speak to everyone and gain some hope while maintaining good behavior in medium-security prison upstate New York. He wasn't even 20 years old yet, but he claims a rap sheet bigger than any standard dictionary. I couldn't understand how the young kid that loved being outdoors and loved to travel to new places, fell ill to the diseases of street life. He dropped out of school before the end of junior high.

I refused to talk to him until two weeks before. He told my mother that he had to talk to me. He just wanted to hear my voice. So I second-guessed myself and picked up the other end of the receiver. "Hello...", my salutation came with hesitance. He sensed it but reached out anyway. He said what he had to say couldn't be on the phone, and for obvious reasons, it couldn't be in person. He wanted permission to write me. I complied. And within the two weeks, it baffled me - what could he possibly want to tell me in writing that he couldn't say on the phone.

But March 11th, 2004, I understood why. He put the missing pieces of the puzzle in my hand, I connected the dots and I was fueled to bring up my newfound discovery. I charged upstairs to my parents and told them what Randy wrote me verbatim. My mother looked in disgust and rolled her eyes as if it was all buffoonery. When I finished, I told her that believed Randy because I, too, suffered at the hands of the same predator. When she asked me who? I told her my older cousin. She laughed and taunted me as a crazy woman, riled by Randy's detailed story. I can still remember my blood boiling at her expressions.

I ran to my father, who laid in bed, watching television and relayed my story. He replied "well, if its true. Bring it to your cousin directly. So I stormed to my older cousin, my predator, McGury and stared him dead in his eyes, in the presence of my mother and my father. And I demanded "did you molest Randy like you molested me?" He simply sat there, hands folded across his chest and said nothing. He uttered not even a syllable.

My father said "well, if he said nothing, it must mean he did do it." Then my father turned around and walked back to his bedroom. My mother shook her head and chuckled at my demeanor. I was left with nothing but fumes. When I returned to my room in shock and amazement at the reaction, my mother called for me in the hallway "Janessa, if that's how you really feel, maybe you need therapy" and she turned around to shut the door behind her. Officially, shutting me out of the family, like she did Randy.

I immediately call my boyfriend at the time {now my husband}, and told him the play by play. He couldn't believe it. It was at that moment that I realized that my strength in life wasn't a culmination of confidence in me; it was a false sense of solidarity due to the shaky foundation built from countless fabricators and posers actually waiting for my downfall. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout, I wanted them to feel the pain, agony, embarrassment and inadequacy that I felt when they ridiculed me.

To McGury, he must have felt validated. Everything he said decades ago, actually happened. My mother didn't believe, my father didn't protect me. My grandmother, the only one who really knew the truth, had passed and even when she was alive, she did her best to separate him from me without relaying the details to my parents at that time. So his disgusting behavior went unpunished and he continues to live with my parents to this day. But I refused.

So March 11, 2004 began my hunt. It was a hunt to find me, the real me. There used to be a strength that people saw in me that I no longer found in myself. I had to get back there without using the same means. So on March 11th, 2004, the old Janessa died like a phoenix and was born again to see March 12th and beyond.

You see, I told my parents for the first time, that my cousin molested me. The same cousin who was being accused of molesting another cousin of ours, 6 years younger than me, in the same house that we stood in and had lived in all our lives up until that point.

I scurried enough courage to face my predator and he said nothing. My mother banished my testimony as lies and scolded me for making up stories. So it was only right to denounce him, my "family" and sever all ties to as little contact as possible. My journey was no longer about the hunt for truth about what had really happened, but the hunt for strength and peace within me.

My life changed dramatically since then, abolishing all ideologies of my parents, because none of them were really true. They didn't practice what they preached, they practiced what was convenient. I spoke up about my past to all those who wanted to hear so that they and I would understand why I used to act the way I did. Many replied with wonderful words of support and outreach. I did most my soul searching alone but it had always baffled me, why did it take so long for me to talk? Why did I protect him? I needed the help of a professional to find this out. I joined a group in New York City and I found out that I suffered from Stockholm Syndrome. Now armed with this valuable information, I emerged into a new realm, where other people's thoughts of me didn't matter including family. I began to live my life anew. I began to not only survive, but thrive.

I met many others who also suffered from the same but never told their parents or their loved ones or let alone confront their victimizer. They still question their judgment, their actions, and worst of all, blame themselves.

Today, I am still part of that group in New York City - thanks to the resources at GMHC. I helped launch SurviveStockholm.ning.com, an online gathering of people of all kinds cope, talk and deal with traumatic experiences. And now I realize that March 11th 2004 was about taking one step closer to healing.

Inside my head and in my heart there is no escape. The reality of what has happened to my family haunts my life and invades my thoughts. I want things to be normal again, but that will never happen. I can ignore it sometimes for an hour, for a day, or if I am lucky, even a few days, but then it comes back harder than before.

The water changes matching my mood--cold and blue. I turn it off and gently step on the warm carpet. My refuge is gone and only reality lays ahead. I will spend the rest of my life dealing with a family divided and broken. I will be the one trying to deal with all sides and to help them see the others side.

Questions pelt my mind: Why can't they listen to each other? Why can't they put aside their own thoughts for a moment and look objectively at what has taken place? Why can't her sisters see what their dad did? Why didn't my youngest daughter tell me sooner? How could I have not known what was going on? How did I fail her and her sisters? How will I live with this?

Drying off I put on my robe and smile. The burden in my heart weighs heavy, but it is for me to carry. My husband wants to help me carry it and he is very supportive, but I feel I cannot keep unloading on him. As the door pulls open, I take a breathe leaving my refuge to deal with my new role and reality... the reality of my life as the mother of a three daughters, the mother of a daughter sexually abused by her dad, and the one who struggles to hold it all together...

Title

I see violent crime like dropping a stone into a pond. The ripples of consequence can spread almost forever.

-The Sleeping Doll by Jeffery Deavers, page 40

The Sleeping Doll by Jeffery Deaversis an amazing labyrinthine crime thriller. Intelligent and highly suspenseful, the twist and turns of this novel kept me guessing and surprised me again and again to the very end. There were a few things here and there I could guess at, which is a nice thing for the author to do so I don't feel completely stupid, but I could not anticipate many of the plot twist and revelations. It is one of the best books I've read this year, and Deaver might supplant Coben as my favorite crime thriller writer.

Set in scenic Monterey, California, The Sleeping Doll is the action packed story of Kathryn Dance, human lie detector and Kinesic Interregator for the CBI (California Bureau of Investigation). The first line of the book,

The interrogation began like any other.

Sets the reader's feet on the track... let's you know to lace up your running shoes... and quickly takes off. The interrogation is with Daniel Pell, dubbed "Son of Manson" for his cult-family set up, his belief he was a Svengali, and the clippings and books he had about the infamous La Bianca mastermind, Charles Manson.

When this sociopath is sprung from the minimal security of the county jail in an explosive and elaborate jail break, Pell begins racking up the body count while Dance and her team desperately hunt for him. They use everything at their disposal, including reuniting Pell's "girls" and speaking with the sole survivor of the Crayton family murders for which Pell was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. Theresa Crayton had been found sleeping among all the toys on her bed and had been dubbed by the media, "The Sleeping Doll".

With the help of the women, among others, Dance nearly catches him a few times, but he always manages to be five minutes ahead of them. Is he that smart and lucky? or is someone helping him? Dance wonders. Throughout all this action that comes with the job, she also must balance children and family, and as a widow and mother, not to mention an attractive thirty-something woman, she must balance honoring the memory of her late husband, father of her children, with the practice of dating. I'm not sure which is tougher: Chasing maniac killers or raising teenagers while trying to date and meet people.

For me, this book was a blessing. After reading the disjointed and dull One More Year and the rather sleazy (but fun.. sort of... in that "caught touching yourself" way) Tan Lines, The Sleeping Dollwas a fantastic page-turner that was an absolute thrill to read! The kinesics (the interpretation of body language such as facial expressions and gestures) that is throughout the book made me very aware of my body whenever I spoke, and aware of others, too. It is a fascinating study, one I've always been interested in.

It does contain some profanity, a bit of sex, including forced and S & M, as well as violence, kidnapping and death. This book is not for those who are sensitive to violence, and is wholly inappropriate for anyone under the age of 16 (IMHO). I would rate this book R.

However, anyone seeking an exciting thrill ride of a book, The Sleeping Doll would make an arresting book to read! :-D

5 out of 5 stars

The mere sight of him disgusts me but I play loyal to my parents and instead of wielding a knife into his flesh, I pass him by as if nothing has happened. But it did...

* Stockholm Syndrome: also known as Survival Identification Syndrome, Trauma Bonding or Bonding to Perpetrator Syndrome. It refers to a cluster of symptoms often observed in hostages, cult members, battered women and victims of sexual and physical abuse. These symptoms include: emotional bonding; esteem, approval, security from and befriending of the perpetrator {predator}; lack of report to proper authorities [police, social workers, trauma units], and most importantly "losing one's own identify in order to identify with the abuser/seeing things from the perspective of the perpetrator" (Dr. Joseph M. Carver, PhD., Love and Stockholm Syndrome). Predators would offer gifts, small tokens of affection to lure  you in and show you their "softer" side in order to persuade you from reportiing their ills. 

Growing up in my parents' house was like being held hostage by a cult living out all my prepubescent and adolescent years under sexual, emotional and physical abuse. The moment I tried to speak out and free myself, I was bribed with candy, jewelry, pop-tarts and McDonald's.

We resided in our 2-family home in a once-quaint neighborhood in Rockland County, New York. My godmother/aunt lived upstairs on the top floor combating an arduous fight with a promiscuous husband, two children born HIV-positive and a twisted life knee-deep in Voodoo. Her twin sister, my mother, was on the 1st floor with my father and me. We shared the floor with my grandmother, my mother's mother, and an older cousin. The youngest sister out of my mother's clan, the Boursiquot, had a child at the age of 18. She had only been in the country just over a year and was already pregnant. She later moved to Connecticut, but left her newborn behind. He was raised by all the women in the house. He lived for all the attention. Until I spoiled his day. My mother announced she was pregnant with me. It's well documented how he wimpered at the news, "Now you are going to hav your own, you won't love me anymore." He cursed the day of my existence. But his disdain for me didn't end there. Years later, he would terrorize my childhood with physical and sexual abuse.

My mother, who suffers from a distorted sense of self, refuses to admit she's ever wrong. At age 13, I was joking with her about a pair of socks that we discovered under the bed. She accused me of doing it but I rebutted that I didn't. Yes, it was my socks but I was simply kidding with her. She became furious, and as usual, she tried to diffuse her anger by obsessively combing her hair. I made a fresh comment, "You shouldn't comb your hair so much when you are mad, you might just pull all of it out", with a slight chuckle. She stormed over to me and smacked me with the comb, piercing my eye with its teeth. I still have the shaded mark on the outer ring of my iris. I cried so bad; my eye was swollen. She managed to muzzle my tears and fears with a quick run for M&Ms. She was right- it shut me up. When I returned to school and was questioned, I lied and told my teachers that I poked myself in the eye. The abuse became more and more emotional as I got older.  She would call me a whore and a slut for the littlest of upsets. "You didn't wash the dishes-what were you doing- you whore?! You'll die in the street with AIDs like your godmother."

My father was no better. His permanent cologne was the tinged scent of yesterday's vodka. It was such a disgusting fragrance of sucrose oozing out of my diabetic father's skin, alcohol coated saliva topped with pungent aroma of Kent cigarettes and Maxwell House coffee. The breakfast of champions: nicotine and coffee with a splash of vodka. He would rush off to work to further enable my mother's shopping habit, earning his paycheck to split half with mom and splurge the rest on his fixes. Everyday was like clockwork: 7 am off to work, return at 4:30, 5pm news. My mother would leave to moonlight as a medical assistant at the night clinic by 5:30 and thus the drinking began. "Jan, do you have any homework you need help with?" "I replied, "no." More booze for him. By 7 pm Jeopardy, he was trashed. He could down a bottle of Absolut without blinking and no burn. My mother would run her violent episodes every Sunday. Each week was a different victim; but when it was my week, he just stood by, drunk and let her denounce me.

My predator, my cousin, is 4 years older than me - so he was well aware of his conduct when I was just 6 years old. There's not a room in that house that he didn't abuse me in. I dreaded summer breaks, holidays and winter storms. I was stuck, confined to a house, petrified if he was going to touch me again. 

He got worse when my younger cousins from upstairs would come down to visit. He would lock up Randy for hours in his room. Lord knows what he was up to. I caught him when I was 12, "making a movie" with both of them in my parents bedroom. Brother and sister under the sheets, groping like porn. He was bent over the bed, gesturing like a cameraman in the movies, moving  the reel.

My grandmother was the secret-barer. She would do everything to find your secret and use her newfound knowledge to play you like a pawn because the last thing you would want her to do is bare your secret, regardless how petty it was. Who would she bare it to? The banshee of the house, my mother. The woman who would blow it out of proportion and never let you live it down.

So why do I journal, why do I write.... because its my escape. I have kept aq diary since I was 13 and have never stopped writing since. So why online? Because there are so many like me, or worse, searching for that other person in the world who can understand where they come from. That's why I write - to breakfree and regroup with others like me.

When Pastor Chester Mulligan appeared in court for his arraignment in Lake County, Indiana, in January, 2004, Mulligan pled innocent to the charges against him and predicted the case would never go to court. Who knew “never” meant through the manipulation of legal maneuvering rather than because charges were dropped due to lack of evidence. Avoidance is not equivalent to innocence.

Mulligan, currently pastoring Grace Baptist Church in Miami, FL, has been charged with multiple counts of child sexual abuse. He is accused of two instances of sexual intercourse with a minor child. He has a court date scheduled for September and many are praying that this time he will appear.

If you have information relating to this case or Chester Mulligan, please call the Lake County Indiana Sheriff’s Department at (219) 755-3400, or the Miami Police Department Sexual Crimes Department at (305) 715-3300.

HERE’S just the latest example of how our victim industry works, feeding on problems and starving on solutions.

Flying to Sydney for World Youth Day, the Pope told reporters he wanted to express regret to victims of priests who abused them.

But Broken Rites, the victims’ group, said this was not enough, and he must “formally apologise”. Said spokesman Bernard Barrett: “He made some general remarks about regret to reporters and that’s not good enough.”

All right: in Sydney, the Pope gave a formal apology.

But Broken Rites said this was now not enough, and he must apologise directly to a few representative victims. Said another spokeswoman, Chris MacIsaac: “It really needs to be delivered directly to the people who suffered that abuse. They could have looked some victims who represented all victims in the eye and said, the Pope could have said ‘I am truly sorry’.”

All right: the Pope then looked four representative victims directly in the eye, and said: “I am truly sorry.”

But Broken Rites said this was no longer enough, either. MacIsaac again: “I’m afraid that what they’ve done is selected victims who have agreed with what the church’s policies are.”

Can we cut to the chase? What does Broken Rites actually want?

Can the Pope really ever do enough to please it? And bear in mind that the man is being made to jump through endless hoops to apologise for crimes he didn’t commit, never condoned and says offend the most solemn teachings and practices of his church.

But isn’t this in a microcosm the story of professional victimology?

Frankly, an apology for for something as serious as sexual abuse and dereliction of duty is insulting.

Why haven't I? I'm not ashamed, embarrassed or afraid. He may not be able to express his remorse but I want to see anger within him. What if his response is quite non-nonchalant? That would send my trust spiraling down.

Sometimes, I find myself yearning for that 'older brother' convoluted sense of protection.

I will tell my father. Maybe when his reaction won't make me love him any less.

In 2003, Savana Redding, a 13-year old eighth-grade honor student, was forced to strip for Arizona school officials looking for 2 over-the-counter ibuprofen pills.

When the Vice Principal pulled her out of class, Savana agreed to a search of her backpack.  When nothing was found, Vice Principal Kerry Wilson ordered a female secretary and the school nurse to strip search her without bothering to even contact her mother.

The secretary had Savana take off all her clothing except her underwear. Then she told her to "pull her bra out and to the side and shake it, exposing her breasts," and "pull her underwear out at the crotch and shake it, exposing her pelvic area." Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between drug warriors and child molesters.

"I was embarrassed and scared," Savana said in an affidavit, "but felt I would be in more trouble if I did not do what they asked. I held my head down so they could not see I was about to cry." She called it "the most humiliating experience I have ever had." Later, she recalled, the principal, Robert Beeman, said "he did not think the strip search was a big deal because they did not find anything."
Source: The School Crotch Inspector

Is this what "zero tolerence" is all about?  We all know the saying, but seem to forget that it's message holds especially true when it comes to surrendering authority to the government.

Be careful of what you wish for, you just might get it!

These school authorities clearly violated Savana and her constitutional rights, however, the courts first held that the school didn't violate the Fourth Amendment because officials have a legitimate interest in protecting students from prescription drugs.  Luckily, a federal appellate court ruled that the school officials did violate Savana's constitutional rights.

"A reasonable school official, seeking to protect the students in his charge, does not subject a thirteen-year-old girl to a traumatic search to ‘protect' her from the danger of Advil," the court wrote in today's opinion. "We reject Safford's effort to lump together these run-of-the-mill anti-inflammatory pills with the evocative term ‘prescription drugs,' in a knowing effort to shield an imprudent strip search of a young girl behind a larger war against drugs."

"It does not take a constitutional scholar to conclude that a nude search of a 13-year-old girl is an invasion of constitutional rights. More than that: it is a violation of any known principle of human dignity," the court continued.
Source: ACLU

But it's not over ... the government and their "do-gooder" constituency aren't going to give up, and they've got the Supreme Court in their back pocket!

In a 1985 decision upholding a high school principal's perusal of a purse belonging to a freshman who was caught smoking in the girls' room (a search that found marijuana as well as cigarettes), the Court said public school officials, as agents of the government, are bound by the Fourth Amendment's prohibition of unreasonable searches and seizures. But given the importance of maintaining order at school, it said, officials do not need a warrant or probable cause to search a student; it's enough that the search is "justified at its inception" and "reasonably related in scope to the circumstances which justified the interference."

In subsequent cases, the Court has indicated that a search can be deemed reasonable even when officials have no grounds to suspect a student has done anything wrong. In 1995 it upheld random drug testing of student athletes, and in 2002 it said that requirement could be extended to all students participating in extracurricular activities.

To justify compelling a student to urinate into a cup under a teacher's supervision and surrender the sample for laboratory analysis, the Court not only did not require any evidence that the student was using drugs; it did not require any evidence of a drug problem at the school. The fear of potential drug problem was enough, in its view, since "the nationwide drug epidemic makes the war against drugs a pressing concern in every school."
Source: Strip for the Principal

On Monday she is having a picnic party in the town near their home. She is providing dinner and there will be cake. The invitations will be out soon, but she wanted us to have a heads up. Sounds nice right? Well, the only issue is this party is for just us. Yes, just us... those who believe my daughter and do not want to be around her dad. Everyone else will going on Sunday to a party at a farm near their home--the big party. Everyone meaning the other set of grandparents (my daughter's in-laws), my middle daughter and their family (my two granddaughters) and her dad with his new wife. I am also under the impression that any friends etc. will be going on this day. It sounds like this is the big party and we are just the after thought with the Monday party.

I realize it is hard for my other two daughters. They are stuck between their sister and their dad. They try to please everyone and try to balance it all, but they fail to consider feelings of both sides. Their dad sees them on a regular basis at church and religious meetings etc. We do not see them as often because they are so busy at these events etc. He gets invited to the big party part and we have been invited only to the smaller celebrations or the leftover part of the party.

I just wish for once, they would set up a party with everyone but their dad and invite us. The numbers are 5 to 2. The five comes from myself, my husband, my mother in-law, my daughter, and her boyfriend who know and believe that my ex-husband is guilty of sexually abusing my daughter when she was younger. The two comes from my ex-husband and his wife who claim innocence. So the two get invited to the big things, get to socialize with everyone else and celebrate as if nothing ever happened. The five of us get the leftovers...

Right now I just want to say we cannot go, but I am bigger than that... I will swallow my tears, bury the hurt, put on a smile and go... It is not about us, but about our grandson celebrating his first year of life... Afterwards, I will sit in the car and cry.... as I am doing now....

Once again the innocent bear the punishment and the criminal is rewarded..

In a way, the torture victim's own body is rendered his worse enemy. It is corporeal agony that compels the sufferer to mutate, his identity to fragment, his ideals and principles to crumble. The body becomes an accomplice of the tormentor, an uninterruptible channel of communication, a treasonous, poisoned territory.

It fosters a humiliating dependency of the abused on the perpetrator. Bodily needs denied – sleep, toilet, food, water – are wrongly perceived by the victim as the direct causes of his degradation and dehumanization. As he sees it, he is rendered bestial not by the sadistic bullies around him but by his own flesh.

The concept of "body" can easily be extended to "family", or "home". Torture is often applied to kin and kith, compatriots, or colleagues. This intends to disrupt the continuity of "surroundings, habits, appearance, relations with others", as the CIA put it in one of its manuals. A sense of cohesive self-identity depends crucially on the familiar and the continuous. By attacking both one's biological body and one's "social body", the victim's psyche is strained to the point of dissociation.

Beatrice Patsalides describes this transmogrification thus in "Ethics of the Unspeakable: Torture Survivors in Psychoanalytic Treatment":

"As the gap between the 'I' and the 'me' deepens, dissociation and alienation increase. The subject that, under torture, was forced into the position of pure object has lost his or her sense of interiority, intimacy, and privacy. Time is experienced now, in the present only, and perspective – that which allows for a sense of relativity – is foreclosed. Thoughts and dreams attack the mind and invade the body as if the protective skin that normally contains our thoughts, gives us space to breathe in between the thought and the thing being thought about, and separates between inside and outside, past and present, me and you, was lost."

Torture robs the victim of the most basic modes of relating to reality and, thus, is the equivalent of cognitive death. Space and time are warped by sleep deprivation. The self ("I") is shattered. The tortured have nothing familiar to hold on to: family, home, personal belongings, loved ones, language, name. Gradually, they lose their mental resilience and sense of freedom. They feel alien – unable to communicate, relate, attach, or empathize with others.

Torture splinters early childhood grandiose narcissistic fantasies of uniqueness, omnipotence, invulnerability, and impenetrability. But it enhances the fantasy of merger with an idealized and omnipotent (though not benign) other – the inflicter of agony. The twin processes of individuation and separation are reversed.

Torture is the ultimate act of perverted intimacy. The torturer invades the victim's body, pervades his psyche, and possesses his mind. Deprived of contact with others and starved for human interactions, the prey bonds with the predator. "Traumatic bonding", akin to the Stockholm Syndrome, is about hope and the search for meaning in the brutal and indifferent and nightmarish universe of the torture cell.

The abuser becomes the black hole at the center of the victim's surrealistic galaxy, sucking in the sufferer's universal need for solace. The victim tries to "control" his tormentor by becoming one with him (introjecting him) and by appealing to the monster's presumably dormant humanity and empathy.

This bonding is especially strong when the torturer and the tortured form a dyad and "collaborate" in the rituals and acts of torture (for instance, when the victim is coerced into selecting the torture implements and the types of torment to be inflicted, or to choose between two evils).

The psychologist Shirley Spitz offers this powerful overview of the contradictory nature of torture in a seminar titled "The Psychology of Torture" (1989):

"Torture is an obscenity in that it joins what is most private with what is most public. Torture entails all the isolation and extreme solitude of privacy with none of the usual security embodied therein... Torture entails at the same time all the self-exposure of the utterly public with none of its possibilities for camaraderie or shared experience. (The presence of an all powerful other with whom to merge, without the security of the other's benign intentions.)

A further obscenity of torture is the inversion it makes of intimate human relationships. The interrogation is a form of social encounter in which the normal rules of communicating, of relating, of intimacy are manipulated. Dependency needs are elicited by the interrogator, but not so they may be met as in close relationships, but to weaken and confuse. Independence that is offered in return for 'betrayal' is a lie. Silence is intentionally misinterpreted either as confirmation of information or as guilt for 'complicity'.

Torture combines complete humiliating exposure with utter devastating isolation. The final products and outcome of torture are a scarred and often shattered victim and an empty display of the fiction of power."

Obsessed by endless ruminations, demented by pain and a continuum of sleeplessness – the victim regresses, shedding all but the most primitive defense mechanisms: splitting, narcissism, dissociation, Projective Identification, introjection, and cognitive dissonance. The victim constructs an alternative world, often suffering from depersonalization and derealization, hallucinations, ideas of reference, delusions, and psychotic episodes.

Sometimes the victim comes to crave pain – very much as self-mutilators do – because it is a proof and a reminder of his individuated existence otherwise blurred by the incessant torture. Pain shields the sufferer from disintegration and capitulation. It preserves the veracity of his unthinkable and unspeakable experiences.

This dual process of the victim's alienation and addiction to anguish complements the perpetrator's view of his quarry as "inhuman", or "subhuman". The torturer assumes the position of the sole authority, the exclusive fount of meaning and interpretation, the source of both evil and good.

Torture is about reprogramming the victim to succumb to an alternative exegesis of the world, proffered by the abuser. It is an act of deep, indelible, traumatic indoctrination. The abused also swallows whole and assimilates the torturer's negative view of him and often, as a result, is rendered suicidal, self-destructive, or self-defeating.

Thus, torture has no cut-off date. The sounds, the voices, the smells, the sensations reverberate long after the episode has ended – both in nightmares and in waking moments. The victim's ability to trust other people – i.e., to assume that their motives are at least rational, if not necessarily benign – has been irrevocably undermined. Social institutions are perceived as precariously poised on the verge of an ominous, Kafkaesque mutation. Nothing is either safe, or credible anymore.

Victims typically react by undulating between emotional numbing and increased arousal: insomnia, irritability, restlessness, and attention deficits. Recollections of the traumatic events intrude in the form of dreams, night terrors, flashbacks, and distressing associations.

The tortured develop compulsive rituals to fend off obsessive thoughts. Other psychological sequelae reported include cognitive impairment, reduced capacity to learn, memory disorders, sexual dysfunction, social withdrawal, inability to maintain long-term relationships, or even mere intimacy, phobias, ideas of reference and superstitions, delusions, hallucinations, psychotic microepisodes, and emotional flatness.

Depression and anxiety are very common. These are forms and manifestations of self-directed aggression. The sufferer rages at his own victimhood and resulting multiple dysfunction. He feels shamed by his new disabilities and responsible, or even guilty, somehow, for his predicament and the dire consequences borne by his nearest and dearest. His sense of self-worth and self-esteem are crippled.

In a nutshell, torture victims suffer from a Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Their strong feelings of anxiety, guilt, and shame are also typical of victims of childhood abuse, domestic violence, and rape. They feel anxious because the perpetrator's behavior is seemingly arbitrary and unpredictable – or mechanically and inhumanly regular.

They feel guilty and disgraced because, to restore a semblance of order to their shattered world and a modicum of dominion over their chaotic life, they need to transform themselves into the cause of their own degradation and the accomplices of their tormentors.

The CIA, in its "Human Resource Exploitation Training Manual – 1983" (reprinted in the April 1997 issue of Harper's Magazine), summed up the theory of coercion thus:

"The purpose of all coercive techniques is to induce psychological regression in the subject by bringing a superior outside force to bear on his will to resist. Regression is basically a loss of autonomy, a reversion to an earlier behavioral level. As the subject regresses, his learned personality traits fall away in reverse chronological order. He begins to lose the capacity to carry out the highest creative activities, to deal with complex situations, or to cope with stressful interpersonal relationships or repeated frustrations."

Inevitably, in the aftermath of torture, its victims feel helpless and powerless. This loss of control over one's life and body is manifested physically in impotence, attention deficits, and insomnia. This is often exacerbated by the disbelief many torture victims encounter, especially if they are unable to produce scars, or other "objective" proof of their ordeal. Language cannot communicate such an intensely private experience as pain.

Spitz makes the following observation:

"Pain is also unsharable in that it is resistant to language... All our interior states of consciousness: emotional, perceptual, cognitive and somatic can be described as having an object in the external world... This affirms our capacity to move beyond the boundaries of our body into the external, sharable world. This is the space in which we interact and communicate with our environment. But when we explore the interior state of physical pain we find that there is no object 'out there' – no external, referential content. Pain is not of, or for, anything. Pain is. And it draws us away from the space of interaction, the sharable world, inwards. It draws us into the boundaries of our body."

Bystanders resent the tortured because they make them feel guilty and ashamed for having done nothing to prevent the atrocity. The victims threaten their sense of security and their much-needed belief in predictability, justice, and rule of law. The victims, on their part, do not believe that it is possible to effectively communicate to "outsiders" what they have been through. The torture chambers are "another galaxy". This is how Auschwitz was described by the author K. Zetnik in his testimony in the Eichmann trial in Jerusalem in 1961.

Kenneth Pope in "Torture", a chapter he wrote for the "Encyclopedia of Women and Gender: Sex Similarities and Differences and the Impact of Society on Gender", quotes Harvard psychiatrist Judith Herman:

"It is very tempting to take the side of the perpetrator. All the perpetrator asks is that the bystander do nothing. He appeals to the universal desire to see, hear, and speak no evil. The victim, on the contrary, asks the bystander to share the burden of pain. The victim demands action, engagement, and remembering."

But, more often, continued attempts to repress fearful memories result in psychosomatic illnesses (conversion). The victim wishes to forget the torture, to avoid re-experiencing the often life threatening abuse and to shield his human environment from the horrors. In conjunction with the victim's pervasive distrust, this is frequently interpreted as hypervigilance, or even paranoia. It seems that the victims can't win. Torture is forever.

Note – Why Do People Torture?

We should distinguish functional torture from the sadistic variety. The former is calculated to extract information from the tortured or to punish them. It is measured, impersonal, efficient, and disinterested.

The latter – the sadistic variety – fulfils the emotional needs of the perpetrator.

People who find themselves caught up in anomic states – for instance, soldiers in war or incarcerated inmates – tend to feel helpless and alienated. They experience a partial or total loss of control. They have been rendered vulnerable, powerless, and defenseless by events and circumstances beyond their influence.

Torture amounts to exerting an absolute and all-pervasive domination of the victim's existence. It is a coping strategy employed by torturers who wish to reassert control over their lives and, thus, to re-establish their mastery and superiority. By subjugating the tortured – they regain their self-confidence and regulate their sense of self-worth.

Other tormentors channel their negative emotions – pent up aggression, humiliation, rage, envy, diffuse hatred – and displace them. The victim becomes a symbol of everything that's wrong in the torturer's life and the situation he finds himself caught in. The act of torture amounts to misplaced and violent venting.

Many perpetrate heinous acts out of a wish to conform. Torturing others is their way of demonstrating obsequious obeisance to authority, group affiliation, colleagueship, and adherence to the same ethical code of conduct and common values. They bask in the praise that is heaped on them by their superiors, fellow workers, associates, team mates, or collaborators. Their need to belong is so strong that it overpowers ethical, moral, or legal considerations.

Many offenders derive pleasure and satisfaction from sadistic acts of humiliation. To these, inflicting pain is fun. They lack empathy and so their victim's agonized reactions are merely cause for much hilarity.

Moreover, sadism is rooted in deviant sexuality. The torture inflicted by sadists is bound to involve perverted sex (rape, homosexual rape, voyeurism, exhibitionism, pedophilia, fetishism, and other paraphilias). Aberrant sex, unlimited power, excruciating pain – these are the intoxicating ingredients of the sadistic variant of torture.

Still, torture rarely occurs where it does not have the sanction and blessing of the authorities, whether local or national. A permissive environment is sine qua non. The more abnormal the circumstances, the less normative the milieu, the further the scene of the crime is from public scrutiny – the more is egregious torture likely to occur. This is especially true in totalitarian societies where the use of physical force to discipline or eliminate dissent is an acceptable practice.

Also Read:

The Business of Torture

The Argument for Torture

How Victims are Affected by Abuse

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

The act of giving enhances the narcissist's sense of omnipotence, his fantastic grandiosity, and the contempt he holds for others. It is easy to feel superior to the supplicating recipients of one's largesse. Narcissistic altruism is about exerting control and maintaining it by fostering dependence in the beneficiaries.

But narcissists give for other reasons as well.

The narcissist flaunts his charitable nature as a bait. He impresses others with his selflessness and kindness and thus lures them into his lair, entraps them, and manipulates and brainwashes them into subservient compliance and obsequious collaboration. People are attracted to the narcissist's larger than life posture – only to discover his true personality traits when it is far too late. "Give a little to take a lot" – is the narcissist's creed.

This does not prevent the narcissist from assuming the role of the exploited victim. Narcissists always complain that life and people are unfair to them and that they invest far more than their "share of the profit". The narcissist feels that he is the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat, and that his relationships are asymmetric and imbalanced. "She gets out of our marriage far more than I do" – is a common refrain. Or: "I do all the work around here – and they get all the perks and benefits!"

Faced with such (mis)perceived injustice – and once the relationship is clinched and the victim is "hooked" – the narcissist tries to minimise his contributions. He regards his input as a contractual maintenance chore and the unpleasant and inevitable price he has to pay for his Narcissistic Supply.

After many years of feeling deprived and wronged, some narcissists lapse into "sadistic generosity" or "sadistic altruism". They use their giving as a weapon to taunt and torment the needy and to humiliate them. In the distorted thinking of the narcissist, donating money gives him the right and license to hurt, chastise, criticise, and berate the recipient. His generosity, feels the narcissist, elevates him to a higher moral ground.

Most narcissists confine their giving to money and material goods. Their munificence is an abusive defence mechanism, intended to avoid real intimacy. Their "big-hearted" charity renders all their relationships – even with their spouses and children – "business-like", structured, limited, minimal, non-emotional, unambiguous, and non-ambivalent. By doling out bounteously, the narcissist "knows where he stands" and does not feel threatened by demands for commitment, emotional investment, empathy, or intimacy.

In the narcissist's wasteland of a life, even his benevolence is spiteful, sadistic, punitive, and distancing.

Also Read

The Silver Pieces of the Narcissist

The Pathological Charmer

The Compulsive Giver

The Inverted Narcissist

Eventually the niece and her little sister were put into foster care as the parents drank and spousal abuse and child neglect prevailed in the home. She stayed with her maternal grandmother and then with dad's other brother and wife. They had six children of their own and after two years they felt they could not keep the girl and her little sister. She and her sister went to a foster home. It was in this home that the foster parents noticed the girl's response to men and realized she had been sexually abused. They also noticed that her little sister did not display any signs of abuse. They gently worked on getting the girl to talk about it. It took many years and their hearts ached for this girl who they considered their own now. Eventually she opened to a social worker and her foster mother whom she now called "mother," but to no one else.

Her birth father kept in contact with her as did his parents. She continued to see her six cousins and eventually when they were all adults the revelation came forth what this uncle did to all but two of them (the two youngest cousins). The uncle was now married and had a child of his own. The cousins, the girl and her little sister all had children of their own now too. One of the now adult cousins must have said something to the uncle, because he stopped coming to family events.

Then a couple of weeks ago, the girl received a call from her aunt that took care of her for a short while. The aunt told her that the uncle had died a few days before. The girl, now a grandmother, started to tell the aunt about the uncle. The aunt stopped her and with a shaking voice said she knew what happened and she was so sorry. Her second to the oldest son had just told her that the uncle had molested him, two of his brothers, his sister and some of his cousins, including the girl. He told her that the molestation did not affect his two youngest siblings (as sister and a brother) nor the girl's little sister. She said she did not know until he told her. The girl could hear the ache and sorrow in the aunt's voice. The aunt did not want to talk about it, but just kept saying she was sorry. The girl hung up the phone as silence hung in the room. Tears streaked down her face and she fought to breathe. She called her little sister to tell her.

The secret kept all those years--46 years for the girl--remained secret no more... the girl is my sister...