A difficult childhood

From anonymous:

I don't know if my mom was physically incestuous or simply emotionally. I˙m not sure what that looks like with a young girl-emotional incest, that is. My whole life Ive felt the need to hide from her, to protect myself, as though she could cut out the core of me and consume it. 

In kindergarten I was molested by a female teacher. She came in a bathroom stall with me and put her fingers between my legs. When I think of that little girl now, I˙m angry.

Later I was a latchkey kid. In third grade I spent time at the apartment of a teenage boy and his dad. I can see a room there where I hung out. I see a bed of some kind against one wall. And there are chairs for sitting and watching TV. In my memory this room is very small and dark. They watched pornography in this room. There were also stacks of pictures in here on the floor. The teenage boy masturbated on me in this room. This memory makes me feel a little nauseous.

His father made me pay a toll to get to the bathroom to clean up. He wanted oral sex. I would clench my jaw in protest, trying to keep my mouth shut. I know I felt determined, but I˙m not sure who won the battle. This memory always gives me a choking feeling.

It˙s easier to accept this girl as part of me. I feel sad for her.

All my life I've hated cameras, hated having my picture taken. I think it˙s because from my earliest memories I felt so dirty and ugly. I didn't want people looking at me. When I was little they looked at me a lot. As I got older I was able to fade into the woodwork more. I tried my best to do so.

When I was 11 I had another experience that seems significant. Before then, when I was 10, I had experiences with boys that are not atypical for a girl growing up where I did. I learned to French kiss. I learned to play chicken. (But best I can remember, we were all pretty chicken.)

But when I was 11 I had made a choice to turn away from that group of friends because I realized they were a bad influence and I didn't want to continue on the path they were walking (drinking, smoking, dabbling in drugs). I became friends with another girl who was a Christian. Perhaps she had just moved to our school or she was just a lone--I don't know--but we became best friends my sixth grade year. She was quiet, a good student, fun. One day we went to her house and she wanted to show me what her mom and boyfriend did in bed. We took off all of our clothes. I donâ•˙t know if we kissed, but we lay there together under the covers. Could be we did this more than once.

I feel irritated when I think of this memory. It was just dumb. But it was also comforting.

I feel comfort with women; I am more likely to feel sexually aroused by deep emotional intimacy with a woman than by anything else. I feel the need to completely close up with men. They feel more dangerous. I've only this week been able to look squarely at this first reality. I hate that it's true. I don't believe anymore the lies that the enemy throws at me--the shame, the lies about my femininity. I am a happily married, heterosexual woman. But these experiences marked me and they deeply affected my ability to respond sexually the way that God designed me to.

I'm curious about whether others have found that the abuse deeply affected their relationship with their parents, even if they were "good" parents. Have I made my mom a scapegoat, or did she also do something to me that I have a hard time acknowledging? I wish I knew. I wish I understood why I'm so very afraid to let her into my life.