That fucking birthmark

I have a birthmark on my neck that looks like a hickey in the very faded stages of healing. I hate hickeys. I hate them because I have had this birthmark all my life and I have been teased and picked on to the point where I won’t even acknowledge it. I would rather they think I’m being stubborn and crazy. So I say, “What hickey?” Over and over until they get bored.

The thing is, it’s not random strangers or friends. It’s always the same people. My uncle-by-marriage, my stepfather, and once upon a time, my mother’s ex-boyfriend. Yeah. The one who molested me. That’s a great association.

So now and then, when I’m at Thanksgiving or Christmas and it comes up, I want to reply, “What hickey?” a few times. Then I want to say,

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about because I don’t have a hickey. I have a birthmark which you have been inappropriately teasing me about all my life. Let me tell you a few things about that, Dad. First off, you know who else teased me about it, poked fun at me for it, and never let up about it? Yeah. Him, the guy who molested me when I was eleven. And you know what has always been true for me, Dad? When you look at me and joke and pick on me for having a hickey on my neck that has never been a hickey and will never be a hickey, all I can remember is being eleven years old.

I remember being eleven, and having that scum ex of my mother’s in my room. I remember him teasing me about it in public, and then in private I remember him telling me that it looked like I let boys suck my neck. I lay there scared and terrified thinking, ‘My dad says the same thing.’ And when he went on to tell me it proved I wanted it, it was really hard not to think my dad was telling me that too. It was one among many many thoughts that went through my fucked up little head as he was jerking off onto my thigh, Dad. All the same, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop fucking referencing sexual acts at family gatherings for the sake of humiliating me and making me feel like either a whore, or a prude.

Because, Dad, you shouldn’t have a goddamn thing to say about if I’m a whore or a prude. And I’d like it if you’d stop fucking crossing that line.”

~ by oniongirl13 on September 5, 2011.