the beginning is not the beginning, this is how it starts but this is not the beginning, the beginning was before, the beginning was before that time, that time was a new beginning, that time was a death and a rebirth, the beginning was the beginning, then there was death, a death, the death, followed by a slow re-entry, a
i’m lucky that it happened so long ago. i was lucky before the internet. cameras existed including polaroid instants but they weren’t present at that time. the only images of my abuse are fading in the aging brains on which they’re stored. there were five of them — brains not pictures. three abusers one witness and one victim.
Ten minutes into my first Bikram Yoga class I hated it. The heat was overwhelming and I discovered that my body had an unnatural and obscene capacity to sweat. My eyes were burning, my clothes were heavy with sweat and I could barely breathe. I spent much of the class lying down and promising myself to never come back.
This past Sunday I opened the NY Times to see the screaming headline, “The Internet Is Overrun With Images of Child Sexual Abuse. What Went Wrong?” I then read the article which as impressive as it was disturbing.
The first thing that impresses is the formatting, layout and presentation. The headline was dramatic enough but the experience of clicking through
This was originally posted on my yoga studio’s website in 2013. It was my first public admission about being a survivor of sexual assault.
I am 53 years old. I was 40 when I first told anyone that I had been sexually abused as a child. Having kept my secret for more than 30 years it wasn’t easy