Indirect AbuseChapter 2
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Indirect AbuseChapter 3 free porn video
About 6 months ago I participated in a psychologists and psychiatrists conference dealing with sexual abuse. Some of the people I met were ones that I had studied with at UCLA. We went out for dinner and reminisced about our school time. But when one of them, John Bart, asked me for dinner next day — my face became blank and I refused as politely as I could. He looked at me for a long time and said:
"I detect something I don't like. Would you like to talk about it?"
"John, I admit that I have a problem, but even our dean at UCLA gave up after three years of trying to solve it. No offense meant, but what makes you think you can help?"
"I've had the same length of experience that you've had, and I've dealt with quite a few cases that were very strange. I also succeeded in some cases where more experienced professionals failed. If you have a problem you must keep trying to solve it. It does not have to be with me, but you must do something about it."
"Well, this conference still has 3 more days. I'll think about it."
"That and the fact that you admit you have a problem are the first steps. For your own good — take care of it."
On the last day of the conference, two people are allowed to present cases they are having a problem in curing. After the presentation there is a group discussion and people suggest ways to resolve the cases. I was very curious when I saw my friend John Bart take the stand. He spoke of his accomplishments, and then he brought up a case he hasn't been able to resolve as yet.
"My problem," he started, "is not so much a problem of curing my patient, as it is of having to find another person who is deeply involved and who disappeared completely. I have a good reason to believe that the person I'm looking for is or was in therapy, probably as a case of Indirect Abuse."
Now he had my full attention.
"My patient is a 35 year old male. His mother was a very extreme case of Sexual Insatiability who did not seek and did not get any professional help. As in such cases, as time went by she became worse and worse. She forced her entire family to have sex with her, starting with her father and her husband's father, moving to brothers and then moving on to her own sons. Getting worse, she forced her sons to bring their school friends into the action, and then she moved on — simply to any male she found. My patient also had a sister who was forced to watch her mother's activities since she became 14. This sister, on the verge of insanity, left her family and disappeared. She changed her name and cut any kind of possible contact. This was about 18 years ago and there is no trace of the sister. A short while after the girl's disappearance the parents committed joint suicide. They both took a large dose of sleeping pills. A year later the older brother committed suicide also, he shot himself.
My patient is the younger son in the family. As I said, he is now 35 years old which means that the sister, if she is alive, should now be about 37. My patient also wants to kill himself, but he made some kind of a vow that he will do so only after finding his sister and talking to her. He says the sister was never told that her mother's condition was due to a sickness and that she thought her mother was just a slut or as she said — a whore. It also seems she had blamed her brothers for having sex with their mother out of lust, she never knew that the mother threatened the boys that they will have no mother at all unless... So he swore he would not kill himself until he finds his sister and explains everything to her. Only then, he says, he will be able to die quietly. So, I took it upon myself to try and locate the lost sister, and then my big work will be to prevent him from killing himself. As I said in my opening, I'm quite certain that the sister is, or was, going through therapy, probably for Indirect Abuse in the past 18 years. If this case reminds any of you of a case you have treated or are treating at the present, please contact me after this presentation so that we can find a way to help them both."
I got up from my seat and ran out. I found a seat at the far end of the lounge and threw myself into it and burst into sobs. John's presentation opened all my wounds and was like a knife digging into me. His patient must be my brother Pete. The similarities were too strong. I knew nothing, of course, about my parents' apparent suicide and the same for Tim. But it was logical. The pieces all fit together. I was not crying for my parents or for Tim. In my mind they all deserved to die. Pete's condition touched me, though. God, was he really waiting 18 or 19 years to kill himself? He must be totally insane!
I was so absorbed in my thoughts and sobbing so hard that I did not notice that someone came over to where I was sitting. I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder: "Sandra!" I looked up, and there was John. He had a worried look on his face.
"I saw you running out. There can only be one reason for your reaction, Sandra. Or should I call you Pamela..."
"NO!" I shouted. "Pamela is dead! She's been dead for 19 years now! Why do I deserve this? I worked so hard on forgetting! Why did you open all my wounds?" I kept sobbing and couldn't stop. I couldn't think rationally. I wanted to run away — but I didn't know where to run.
John just hugged me, pulling my head to his shoulder and let me cry. I tried to pull away but he held me tight until I gave up and just kept crying into his shoulder.
"Now I understand." He murmured into my ear. "Indirect Abuse with its worst and longest lasting symptoms. I'm only surprised that our dean could not cure you."
We sat like this for an hour. A few friends and colleagues came towards us but John waved them away. They were all professionals and they all had heard John's presentation, so most of them probably added one and one and got the expected two.
When I calmed down a little John said:
"I'm delaying my return to Houston for a few days. I suggest you clear up a few days too. We have a lot to talk about and do. I've cured two cases of Indirect Abuse, and I'll be damned if I don't get your head fixed too."
I called my office and cleared a whole week. John did the same. He then said he wanted me to come with him to Houston for a concentrated set of meetings. He wanted to finish my 19 year old case in one week. I was quite skeptical, but he said he had the right experience and I decided to do whatever it takes to become a normal person again. Maybe even start living...
When we arrived in Houston I checked into a hotel and we went straight to the hospital where he served as chief of Psychology. He showed me around and told me about some of his cases and then said:
"I'm going to do two things with you that you may not like and may even resist. I'm going to hypnotize you a few times, and then I'm going to give you an emotional shock. I know the shock will be very strong for you, but I think you'll be able to hold through it. For your own good I hope you'll cooperate with everything I'm going to do."
For the next three days he hypnotized me, over and over again. It turned out I was easy to hypnotize. He pushed hard, bringing up things I already knew but could not deal with. The fact that my mother was a sick person and not just a slut. The fact that her phenomenon was not hereditary and that it could have been cured by the right psychiatric treatment had it been given at the right time. And maybe the most important — that my family did not really ignore me, they were just so ashamed of what they did that they could not face me at all. He hammered into my head that my family — grandparents, uncles and aunts but most of all Dad and my brothers - were in pain just as I was, yet by Dad's orders no one could explain to me what was going on. He kept hammering into my head that if there had been any blame it should be my Dad. First, because he did not insist on getting professional help for mother on time, second, for involving so many people and yet giving the order not to tell me anything, and third — for running away to his overseas jobs and not being nearby to help those who needed help.
On the fourth day he gave me the shock. A strong shock just as he said it would be.
An orderly brought a man into the room. At first glance the man reminded me of photographs taken at the concentration camps at the end of World War II. He was terribly thin, bald, two front teeth missing, unshaved for at least a week and smelled like a toilet bowl. He was trembling all over and could hardly hold himself standing up. The sight was simply... revolting.
No one spoke. No one uttered any sound. The man took a long look at me and collapsed. A close inspection told us he fainted. After a while he came to his senses and looked at me again. He then threw himself at my feet, started sobbing loudly and then went on kissing my feet while crying out:
"Pam, Oh Pam, you are alive! For 19 years I've lived only for this moment — to see that you are alive and well."
"Don't you dare touch me!" I screamed, feeling that I'm going to throw up. I quickly looked around, found a trash can and vomited into it. My stomach heaved again and again until I calmed down.
"Pam! Pam, I'm Pete! Your brother! I understand your feelings about me, but please, give me a chance to tell you what went on with Mom and with all of us."
"Mom, Dad and Tim are all dead. So are our Grandparents and two of our uncles. They all committed suicide not long after you ran away. I want to die too. I plan my own death every day, every hour."
"When Tim killed himself we actually drew cards — the winner was free to kill himself, and the loser had to promise he'll find you and tell you the real story. We decided we could not leave the world with you hating us so much. One of us had to find you, tell the story and ask for your forgiveness. I lost. Look at me — I'm locked up in a hospital because I'm totally insane. There are only two things on my mind — finding you, and then killing myself. They locked me up after I started accosting strangers in the street with your old photo in my hand, and telling them the story of our life."
I broke down and started crying. I held my arms open for Pete and hugged him. "I'm sorry, Pete. I thought my wounds were closed for good, and then Dr. Bart came and told me about you. Now all the wounds are opened again. I've been under treatment for a long time also, and maybe — just maybe — I'll be able to listen to you, thanks to Dr. Bart here. But please don't call me Pam. I changed my name 19 years ago, and there is no reason for me to revive that old name. I'm now Dr. Sandra Howell. Sandra for you."
At this point John, who was silent up until then, interrupted us.
"I think you two are exhausted by now. Let's call it a night and continue tomorrow."
Pete was taken away, and John asked me out to dinner. To my own surprise — I accepted. Has John's therapy already helped?
John took me to a very nice and very quiet Mexican restaurant.
We had an enjoyable meal while quietly chatting about any subject other than the day's happenings. John was one of the guys who tried to date me at the university and I sent him on his way like all the others. Now I enjoyed his company. Our conversation flowed easily, finding many mutual subjects (not work) and John turned out to be a very pleasant companion. The next morning at his office, I said:
"Yesterday's shock was a real one. You did not warn me you were setting me up to meet Pete, and the way he looked was an additional shock in itself. What do you plan for today?"
"Don't forget I'm on a double mission here. My original patient is Pete, and now you have jumped in on his treatment. But these two cases are really overlapping. I would like you to listen to Pete's story as I believe it will be the start of a cure for you also. You heard most of it on my presentation at the conference, but please act as this is the first time you hear it. Pete looks better today — he allowed us to wash him, shave him and put some clean cloths on him. He also had some food this morning which is unusual. As you are my colleague, you know that after he unburdens his story my main purpose will be to stop his suicide notions. I hope you will help me although I can't force you to do so. I think your attitude will have a lot to do with his choice between life and death and that yesterday proved that we achieved some progress with you and my way of treatment helped a little. Before this treatment it was clear to me that you would not be able to sit with Pete even for one minute, and also the fact that you had dinner with me and I think you actually enjoyed it too, were signs of progress."
"I think so too, John. Instead of hatred I now feel pity for Pete. I also enjoyed our dinner and your company. That is the first time in 19 years I have been out with anyone. But I think now a new problem is developing and I'll need your help to fight it."
"Let me guess," John said quietly. "Now you are beginning to feel guilty about the way you left home, and you think you are responsible for the death of your relatives."
He really caught me surprised. "You are really good, John. Those are exactly the feelings I'm beginning to have. Again the same thing — my logic tells me I shouldn't have those feelings, but I can't control having them."
"You let me know if those feelings remain by the end of your stay here, and if needed — I'll hypnotize you again. Feelings of guilt are much easier to get rid of than what you had up until yesterday. I'm having Pete brought here so you can hear his story. I'll leave you alone with him as I have heard his story so many times I can recite it while sleeping."
Pete's Story
Pete was brought in and John left. Pete really looked better. He was clean, shaved and looked more relaxed. I had to comment:
"You look much better than you did yesterday. Did you have a good night's sleep?"
"Oh, God, yes. I think this was the first night in over 20 years that I really slept without nightmares and without waking up several times. I only had one dream and it was a very good dream — I dreamed we are brother and sister again, and that you forgave everything. I feel so much better now that I can't recognize myself."
"I feel much better too. Although I went through therapy for several years and with the best psychologists existing — only Dr. Bart has made the most progress with me."
"I heard that you and Dr. Bart are on first name basis. Where does this come from?"
"Pete, we have a lot of catching up to do. I am Dr. Sandra Howell now. When I left home I went straight to a university and studied Psychology. I am well known in my field and am quite well respected among my colleagues. For obvious reasons I specialize in matters of sexual abuse. I've helped a lot of people, but the only person I could not help was myself. Dr. Bart was a student in my class too. We studied together, so we have known each other for a long time. We met again at a professional conference two weeks ago where he was actually trying to locate me. He knew me only under my new name so how could he know of my past. I reacted very strongly when I heard his story and he just added one and one. I'm very grateful to him. He has helped me a lot with my problem, and without him we wouldn't have been sitting here together."
Both of us cried quietly, hugging each other. God, I was not repulsed! I actually started having a long forgotten feeling for my brother. I will have to thank John again, maybe invite him to Las Vegas and spend some time with him..."
"I'd better start with the story," Pete said. "It's going to be long and hard, so I can only hope I won't break down in the middle."
"Even before you turned 14 you were probably aware of Mom's "visitors" who went with her to her bedroom. Tim was already one of Mom's lovers. She took every available male from age 14 up. When Tim turned 14, Dad had a long and painful conversation with him. Dad explained to Tim that Mom was sick, and that because of her sickness she needed sex several times a day and that without it she would turn totally insane. The word Dad used was "Raving Mad." Tim, who was shocked by the revelation, made the connection and asked Dad about all the visitors in Mom's bedroom. Dad broke down, and while crying very hard, explained to Tim that every male in the family plus all the male friends he (Dad) could trust regarding health and a closed mouth — were helping Mom with her problem. Tim continued pressing with the next question — why wasn't Mom getting any medical help. Dad was even more agitated. He said that Mom refused treatment and was threatening to kill herself if she was forced into it. For reasons I still didn't know until today, Dad made Tim swear not to tell YOU anything."
Pete took a break, drank some water, and then went on.
"When Mom demanded Tim should bring some friends over to have sex with her, Tim really broke down and stayed in bed for three days. He was crying constantly and was without food. The only thing for which he left his bed was the bathroom. Tim could not tell you anything but he just had to unload the burden from time to time. I was only 10 when he started, but I was the only one he could talk to. He confided in me, and we used to sit for many hours in his room or in mine and talk, cry a lot or just hold each other. Three days after the original demand Mom burst into Tim's room and threatened to kill herself if he did not get "back on the job". He had no choice, but with Dad's permission he went seeking advice. He talked to the social worker at school and to the school principal. As a result, they helped him very carefully to pick boys of his age who would "help" without talking about it too much. Actually the principal and the social worker interviewed the boys and gave them a rhetorical question — if a woman, who also happens to be the mother of a friend of yours, has such a problem, will you be willing to help out without talking about it to your friends? They explained the humiliation and shame this "friend" of theirs will suffer if this becomes the topic for general gossip. All boys apart from two — agreed. Well, what teenager will let some free fucking sessions with an older woman get wasted? This was when some of the school staff joined in the fun and games too. Tim started bringing the boys home. We would have a joint crying session in one of our rooms when we had to bring our friends over. You still knew nothing about what went on, and Mom didn't care for our feelings. Whenever Dad got home, once he found out about our "crying sessions", he would join us and we would all cry together."
He stopped again, the tears running down on his cheeks, and drank some more water. "I need a break," he said. He knocked on the door and an orderly opened the door. "I'd like to walk with my sister in the hospital garden. I know I have to be watched. Can you arrange it?"
"I'll check with Dr. Bart and let you know. I must say — you look much better today. I hope it means that you ARE getting better."
"Thank you. I'm much better now that my sister is here with me."
After a few minutes the orderly returned. "All right. Let's go. I'll be chaperoning you."
We went down to a very nicely cultured garden and started walking on a gravel path. "I'll get on with the story while we walk."
"When you turned 14, Mom decided, and I don't know why, that you should become part of the game, at least by knowing. That's when she moved her activities from her bedroom to the living room. She claimed that you were old enough to know about sex in all its forms. I know that you spoke to Dad and wanted to leave the house, and that he refused. I still don't know why, and I'll never know why, but in spite of the fact that you saw everything every day — Dad still refused to let you know about Mom's sick condition. I can't explain it because Dad knew very well what this was doing to you."
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