Thanks Persephone,
I don't think I am hypnotizable, as I maintain control of my own mind too closely and no one has succeeded yet!
and Hops
I was never afraid of thunderstorms, so didn't need comforting.
Mom and Dad never shared a bedroom that I remember. Later Dad would share one of the three, that I never slept in, with my brother who was born at the time of this event I mention.
I shared another room with Mom and my eldest sister at one point, and shared this room with my next eldest sister at another point, and I have no memories where my younger sister (the one coming to see me) slept when we lived at that farm.
Yes, Dad beat his children and the animals, but I don't know if he ever laid a hand on Mom, except to impregnate her 7 times, one miscarriage and the youngest was a boy who died at 6 mos.
There was a huge dresser, 5-6' tall, painted green against the wall beside the head of my cot and on the other side was where Dad would dress in the morning, out of my sight. His bed was kitty-corner to my cot.
Yes these details raise questions in my mind, and I recall only what I said, and don't really want to know the answer if sexual abuse were there. I've never said anything to anyone, until now, and, like you, find it disturbing anyway, at the possibility.
He rather replused me and other than beatings with the razor strap, I don't remember any other time, when little, that he attemped to touch me. He was not a loving man, but when his chest hair showed over his shirt top, I disliked it.
After he was diagnosed with cancer, I had no pity for him. A bunch of us where at the house one day, and I came in on my crutches. He started toward me as though to maybe hug and give me a kiss, but I dodged him, in front of everyone, as I didn't want that, as well as a move like that could throw me off balance.
When he was finally hospitalized (3 mos) I went only once, to have him sign his Income Tax Return and didn't stay. He came home for his last 3 mos and I went to see him the day before he died, but by now he couldn't speak, just stared out of a skelton body, while Mom guarded his door. I don't recall what I said, but then left and he died at 4:30 the next morning. I never cried. That was 1986 and I was 47 expecting my first grandchild.
If something happened and my mind buried it, then that could have been the beginning of compartmentalizing pain from abuse. I understand that regular pain, like from a broken leg does not compartmentalize.
Mom and his 4 girls were 'farm slaves' and my little brother got off easy. I know his mother was a hateful old bitch...an N....who dressed him as a girl until he started school at age 6.
It's only the smothering furry bear that makes me raise this question, plus the mark on my shoulder/back, a scratch as I tried to escape...in my dream... to find it there in the morning.
If I were much younger I might pursue the matter, yet when I first saw a therapist, at 19, and sporadically throughout my life, I've never mentioned this, as I heard of false memories being implanted.
Maybe ignorance IS bliss.
Love
Izzy