A lot of survivors have stories to tell, and most of them are kind of the same. I mean, as bad as it is, most of them are about being beaten or neglected or thrown out or something. These are kind of typical and usually kind of sad and violent. The worst memory for me is very, very subtle. It isn’t violent or typical. It’s just plain ugly. It’s embarrassing. Nobody will know who I am, right?

This is going to sound so strange - so sick. My worst memory is..........can we just forget this? I don’t think I can do it.

Ummm...well, it was the enema bag. A horrible, red rubber bag with a long bed rubber hose that she hung on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. That’s my worst memory of being a kid. She used to tell me, “Mommy’s going to take an enema. I want you to stand at the door in case I pass out.” I’m not sure I even knew what “pass out” really meant, but whatever it was, I was really afraid it would happen and I don’t think it ever did. Of course I know what it means now, but back them, I was just a little kid. She used to go in the upstairs bathroom and take off all her clothes. Stark naked. Then she mixed up hot water and soap in the enema bag and hung it on the door hook. Then she laid down on her back and raised her legs up, sort of like they were in stirrups. Then she stuck the hose from the enema bag in her and let the water start coming through. While she was doing it, she sort of moaned and groaned and cried out, as if she were in pain. All I could do was stand there in the doorway in case she “passed out.” It was horrible to watch her. I don’t think I really knew exactly what she was doing, but it was all so gross and hateful.

Now I know a lot more than I did then. Usually a person gets an enema on their side with their knees drawn up. They don’t really hurt, and people almost never pass out. I didn’t know that when I was little.

Finally she sat on the toilet and I could hear all that water coming out of her. She kept on moaning and groaning and crying out. God, I guess I thought she was dying or something. It seemed to take forever until she was done. And all the time, I just had to stand in the door and watch...the spectator at a horrible scene.

Then she started using the enema bag on me. It wasn’t really a punishment. It was just something she did. Of all the things that happened to me, I think this was the worst. It was just so gross. She used to say, “Mommy’s going to mix up the enema bag,” and all I wanted to do was run away. I wanted to run and run and run and never stop. Then I had to get her damned enema. She made the water pretty hot, but she never put as much in me as she put in herself.

Was this abuse? I honestly don’t know. It certainly wasn’t abuse in any of the well recognized forms, but I believe it was abuse of the worst kind. I would much rather have been yelled at or hit. It was so humiliating! I even remember somehow realizing that there were two separate holes - one for piddling and the other for the enema. I guess I didn’t even know that.

I told you this was going to be pretty gross. I’m sorry.