Child sexual abuse: On custodians of our memories

If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.

- Kafka on the Shore, by Haruki Murakami.

In his poignant article on August 5, 2015 in The New York Times ("Hiroshima atomic bomb survivors pass their stories to a new generation"), Jonathan Soble wrote on the "denshosha", the designated transmitters of the atomic bomb survivors' memories.

It is a brave experiment - designed to share the traumatic experience of the survivors, whose numbers are rapidly dwindling owing to deaths. The number of officially recognised survivors fell by 6,000 last year; their ranks number less than 2,00,000 this year. Their average age is 80.

For survivors of child sexual abuse, the issue of keeping the memories alive is a tricky one, as we grapple with self doubt (did the abuse happen?) and amnesia. But for those of us who are further along the healing journey, being able to recall what happened to us is critical for the lessons it holds for others. For instance, it is a myth that strangers are the ones likely to abuse your kid sister or your little nephew. More often than not, it is someone you know: a trusted family friend or relative, with regular access to the child.

It is a crime of opportunity and access.

I hardly remember when my abuse started or when it ended. I suppose it matters little now. The most important thing is that my mother and I recognised that it had taken place. And that we will take steps that it will not occur in my family again.

But I've often wondered: is it mere hubris that compels me to record what had happened to me through my writings? Some indelible way of marking the abuse? So that I know in my mind's recesses that it had happened? Or am I only intent on being clever: a turn of the phrase, a catch of the tongue? No, no, that will only serve the ego. That is not me.

Does writing expiate the pain? They tear me up from the inside; the memories do. But write, I must.

The custodians of our memories? Just us, until our memories fail us.

Until we are no more.

Read part 17 here.

Read part 16 here.

Read part 15 here.

Read part 14 here.

Read part 13 here.

Read part 12 here.

Read part 11 here.

Read part ten here.

Read part nine here.

Read part eight here.

Read part seven here.

Read part six here.

Read part five here.

Read part four here.

Read part three here.

Read part two here.

Read part one here.