I remember the taste of feces in my mouth when my stepfather smeared my soiled underwear in my face when I was four. I remember being dressed in diapers, teased for being a baby and being photographed like this. I remember finding the photographs at twelve years old. I remember showing them to my mother and her destroying them. I remember the smell of burned photographs. I remember asking my mother about it in my thirties and listening to her defend my stepfather. Where did my stepfather get the diapers? Was this premeditated? Did he take me out to the supermarket to buy them while I was in soiled underwear? What kind of man does this to a four year old? Why did my mother cover it up? He would be in jail under today’s laws.
I remember showering with my stepdad. I remember not liking his penis. I remember it in my face. I remember that I NEVER wanted mine to look like that. I remember not wanting a penis at all. I remember not wanting to be a boy. I still don’t want to be a boy. Life would be so much easier had I been born a girl.
I remember loving Coca-Cola. I remember drinking my stepfather’s when he left it alone. I remember that sometimes it tasted horrible. I remember him telling the story to my uncle and laughing. I remember avoiding them so I would not be laughed at.
I remember screaming and crying when my mother left me with my stepdad. Why did she do that? Why could she not see what was going on?
I remember hiding in my second grade class room crying that no one loved me. I remember being molested by my thirteen year old stepbrother. I remember seeing him do that to my younger brother who was two years old. I remember the teacher confronting my mother and I about the crying. I remember lying about it because I knew my mother would be mad.