Seeing through the fog
Sexual-assault victim rebuilds life with power of the pen
By Chris Hopfenspsrger
Editor__'
Editor’s Note: The sections of
bold text in the story are excerpts of
poetry written by the subject, Leslie
Worrell.
“I wrote
myself
into the
sleepiest
play. What
an odd, odd
chapter:
Grandpa Ate
All the Children
All the Children
of the world
Yellow
Red
Black
and White
five
fobr
and Twelve.
He ate
them
mercifully
whole
with nothing
to drip
down his
chin
and no one
suspects
the bulge
above his
belt
are just pre
pubescent stocking
stuffers
no one
no one
suspects, because
eating children
is the perfect
crime....”
Leslie Worrell’s grandfather
devoured her childhood when she
was 4 years old.
But she remembers.
She remembers bits and pieces of
a youth hidden in the fog of her
mind. A fog she created.
Sometimes the mists break, and
she sees through the cloud. She sees,
and she writes.
Words. Sentences. Phrases. They
flow from her fingers, but they come
from her soul.
They come from her past, from
when her grandfather stole her
childhood and left her with deep,
dark memories that will haunt her
forever.
“I remember talking to a cousin
who was my same age about him
touching us and not liking it, and I
hadn’t even been in kindergarten at
that time,” she said. “I remember
being warned by a family member,
by an aunt, that he was a dirty old
man and to be careful.”
The warning wasn’t enough.
■ She remembers fondling. She
remembers fearing. She remembers
hating.
In dreams. In nightmares. In
therapy. The memories come back
to her.
But in a society that demands
details — times, dates, places — she
sees only glimpses through the fog.
Not everything is shrouded in
mist. Not everything is so distant.
Adolescence is vivid. Concrete.
Ten years old. Her mother’s new
boyfriend kisses her sexually, even
in front of her grandmother.
Junior high. Football players spy
on her while she is changing in the
locker room.
Fifteen. A man exposes himself
to her while she is walking alone
just after dark.
High school. Leslie moves in
with her father to escape the chaos
of her mother’s home. But there is
no escape from the trauma.
Her classroom is filled with boys.
Nothing but boys. Bovs who make
fun of her for having large breasts.
She goes to the principal’s office to
change classes.
“He brought me in, and he locked
the door, and he said, T can rape
you right here, and it will be your
word against mine.’ He said, T want
to know if you've ever fucked
anyone,’ and I hadn’t, and he
nr#Tr«« •»•»«*«# i rirrmn a *******
wouldn’t believe that.”
The defense she has built up
crumbles. Collapses. Falls.
“Even though I was very outspo
ken about some things and appeared
to be very rebellious, when an
authority figure who was male
locked me into a room and started
out that way I was completely 5
years old.”
For three months, the story is her
own. Secret Silent Alone.
“I finally told another girl at
school and come to find that it
happened to nine other girls.
“I went home and told my
parents, and my stepmother said it
wouldn’t have happened if I
wouldn't have worn tight sweaters.”
“You poured vour anger
and self-hate into me
until I grew
heavy and plodding.
They thought I ate,
but I was only
pregnant with your
experience
your regret
your bitterness
you. «.*
Leslie’s self-worth plummets.
Her vulnerability skyrockets. The
assaults continue.
Older men. Older men coming on
to a younger woman. Older men
grabbing her butt
“I was just a walking target for
that sort of thing. I used to think
there was something about me that
was giving sexual vibes to old, fat
men.”
College. A year at the University
of Kansas. She loses it. Can’t cope.
So she seeks help. She leaves.
She heads for Lincoln. There is no
family in Lincoln, and that is all she
asks.
But she can’t find an end to the
pain.
Nineteen. Drinking — drunk —
with an older man. He assaults her.
He gets angry because she doesn’t
like it
Sex, like her childhood, is
distant.
UI remember times just laying
there and letting it happen. And it’s
not that I didn't say no. It’s not what
I really wanted to happen. I’ve had
many times where I felt like I just
laid there and did it to get it over
with.”
It isn’t rape, but it isn’t enjoy
able. She finds herself emotionally
helpless.
She strives for attention sexually.
She wants power sexually.
“But at the same time, I was
heavy, and I felt intimidated by that.
And at the same time I was afraid of
being sexually attractive because I
was scared I would lose control.**
Sex leads to feelings of confu
sion. Sex leads to feelings of
disgust. Sex leads to therapy.
“I started therapy because I was
having relationships with older men,
and I didn’t necessarily even like
them. And I couldn’t figure out why
I was doing it. And I just felt really
gross. And I couldn’t figure out
why I was acting out sexi
with the people that I was
Therapy is a good thin
Not an enjoyable
process. A helpful one. /
But questions still
go unanswered. The Jtk
fog remains. The J
darkness of her jm
’“I .h -At jfl
around her.
“1 remember
writing down, ‘I
hate my grandfa
ther,’ and then I
erased it because
I couldn’t come
up with an
explanation.”
And then, he '
calls. Her
grandfather.
“He called me
out of the blue at
8 o’clock one
morning. I
became hysteri
cal. I hung up
the phone. I just
• «n> » »-»« tmn
couldn’t talk to him. I was just
hysterical because I thought he was
going to come get me. Then I started
dreaming, and then 1 started writ
• _ M
mg.
"Some call them
‘death’
poems. Some
say they are too
giim and dark
to be pleasurable.
However,
there are those that
know.
There are those that
can feel
the breath and life
on these *> v
words.
There are those that
know
each line is a
labored attempt
to take one more step
when the terrain
must be crossed —
and feet and hearts
are tired and
none too trusting.
There are those that
will read my
desire
for what lies beyond
limited human
sight, and what can
only be felt on
the longest
nights....”
Journals, sentences, phrases.
Nonsense on paper.
The death poems came in a flood.
A catharsis. A purging.
“It feels like vomiting.”
The writing just happens. It is a
compulsion. It can’t be forced. It
can’t be controlled.
The writing is personal. Sexual.
Embarrassing.
“I couldn’t imagine what I was
writing about I just felt 'This is so
weird,’ and T don’t know where this
came from,’ but I was just writing
all this stuff.**
The writing is filled with anger.
Hate. Incest.
Incest incest incest
“I felt very compelled to write it
It wasn’t that I thought 'I just need
to write about this.’”
The memories fill her pages and
control her life.
Afraid of the nightmares, she
can’t sleep when it is dark outside.
Afraid of her grandfather, she can’t
lie on her stomach when she does
fall asleep.
“I didn’t sleep on my stomach
until I was in my early 20s, because
I was afraid my grandfather was
coming to get me. I could see him if
I was lying on my back.”
Feeling the fear, she can’t stop
writing.
But Leslie does not write to write
well.
She writes to help herself cope.
To handle the dreams she can’t
control. To make it through the
painful times.
>• “I have a real
I
w
absurdity of being in the midst of th<
celebration that’s supposed to be
geared toward humanity and this
love for one another and me being
scared and feeling gross and wantinj
to get out of there.
‘‘I just have this fantasy about
going back and ruining their
Christmas celebration by talking
about incest.”
So she writes:
“WHO?
(they'll cry)
Who can epjoy
the turkey
with all these
children
chattering
pass the
grandpa
stuffing (the)
partridges
(penis)
bearing gifts
of incest
tinsel
and a hundred
bleeding
(children)
Christmas Cheer (s)
for incest"
She writes to be honest with the
world. She writes to increase
people’s awareness.
Most people don’t think incest is
their problem. They think it is a
community problem. They think it
happens in other families.
Incest happens on Oprah.
Donahue. Geraldo.
Her writing happens to whoever
reads it. Makes incest real. Makes it
personal.
“I did it to describe the event as
best I could, to take it out of those
objectified terms, to take it out of .
that distance. Some people find it
really gross, or offensive, or dark or
weird.
' “But that’s what incest is —
offensive, dark, weird, morbid —
and I can’t paint it any better than
that.”
Writing helps Leslie.
She looks different. She feels *
different
“I’m ten times better than I was. 1
don’t look like the same person at
all.”
She summons the strength to
write her grandfather a letter. She
tells him how she feels. Sexually
assaulted by him. Scared to death of
him.
She summons the courage to 4
return her grandfather’s call. The i
call that started it all. n
“His response was that he It
didn’t hurt me, he loved me. II
“He said that that letter hurt m
him. And I said 'Well you hurt IF
me,’ and he said 'Then I guess If
we’re even.’"
“In the silence between
{uur worus
will call you
In your slumber
In your daily
games of soli
taire.
“I wrote that
poem when I was
feeling very powerful,
and it’s very dark, and I
laughed and laughed
and laughed after
writing it.”
Writing helps
Leslie, and now she
hopes she can help the 1
community.
ft “I lock my
door.
I lock my win- .
dows.
we keep Mice,
• but I really
know there is no
place for me
because
David Baddara/Dl
I am a woman.
I bleed.
And I’ve learned that
they
! like that.’’
Ideas about sex — and incest —
14 go beyond a person’s perceptions.
The roots lie deep in society. Some
of those roots are poisoned.
People learn from the world
around them, and they are learning
the wrong lessons.
They are learning that rape is .
OK. That it isn’t hurtful. They are
taught that women who are raped
really want sex. That they deserve it.
“Where are they getting the
messages? They’re getting them
from the media. They’re getting
them from how we’ve been raised
and socialized to interact.” *
The poisons course through
television and advertising. Women
on TV are concerned about their
Ogilvy home perms and finding the
right vacuum cleaner.
Leslie is not.
“I’m really concerned about my
reproductive rights and the next
president and things like that.”
She is worried about the lessons
violence and sex on television teach
people.
“That’s a cultural problem.
That’s not a psychological problem.
People get desensitized to rape.
They get desensitized to violence
when they see it constantly.”
Leslie is working on the future —
with juveniles who have been
sexually assaulted and other
survivors of incest — but she can
never escape the past. And remem
bering is never easy.
“It’s really hard for me to look
back because I have a tendency to
want to completely disassociate that
1 was ever a child. I don’t own
anything from my childhood.”
Nothing besides a pair of bronze
baby Shoes, yellowing pictures and
memories „
I that haunt her in her ¥
sleep. "
“I can rock myself
to sleep
every night of ^
my life, until \
I finally rest and '
feed the earth, but
I will never be
able
p ' i to convince
j> my eyes
. not to take
■*: one more look
* one more peek
* to see if you might
. be watching....
Editor’s Note: The Bite of the
i Apple collective is seeking written
[ submissions from women survivors
] of rape and incest for an anthology,
k Leslie Worrell, a member of the
collective, said the group was
pleased by the nearly 150 submis
sions it had already received.
The deadline is Wednesday. They
can be mailed to: Anthology, do
. Bite of the Apple, P.O.Box 81724,
* Uncoln,NE., 68501-1724.
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