Reply #257: Was I involved in something like the Franklin Cover-Up?

[CoffeeCat]

(I also posted this in GenPol, but I thought I would post it in this relevant thread as well. I hope that's ok).

I'm relatively new to DU, and I feel selfish asking for some help on such a disturbing topic. However, my past issues with abuse have been so triggered by the recent DU Johnny Gosch/Franklin cover up discussions--I just felt compelled to throw out my situation and see if anyone can help.

So many of you have displayed amazing insight, sensitivity and wisdom into the Gosch/Franklin/Gannon situation. I am looking for suggestions about where I can turn--to find out what happened to me.

(If anyone has sexual abuse in their past, or if you're easily triggered by discussions of sexual abuse--this post may not be an easy read).

I am a survivor of sexual abuse. I'm highly functional and I have an amazing support system and a great therapist. He's diagnosed me with acute PTSD due to childhood trauma. I don't want pity. I feel really strong and lucky to have everything I do today. I consider myself a fortunate person.

Although I don't know exactly what happened to me, I have been slowly putting together the puzzle pieces since I entered therapy 4 years ago. I do know these things:

--I have always remembered my picture being taken--having sex with adults and with other children.
--I remember screaming at my father, "I don't want to do this anymore!" and crying I "don't like those people." He left me crying on the floor, returned to my room and said, "Do you want mommy and daddy to go to jail? Is that what you want? I can't get you out. Stop crying or we will go to jail." I was 8 when this happened.
--My father's friend, who was a police officer--was heavily involved in this. He was a "photographer" and he had lots of photographic equipment. I vaguely remember him taking the pictures. I distinctly remember asking him one time, "Why is this happening to me?" He replied, "We needed a cute, brunette little girl."
--I have flashbacks of having sex with the police officers oldest son, and pictures being taken. In my memories there are always many people, and lots of equipment in the room.
--I remember being taken from my bedroom, in the middle of the night. I vaguely remember being sexual with older men, but I don't know who.
--I was hospitalized 10 times, before the age of 12, for acute bladder infections that required overnight stays. Through the years, I've asked my mother, why I was hospitalized and she said, "Because your bladder was too small and it had to be stretched." I obtained my hospital records, which clearly stated that my bladder was of normal size, but they found damage to my urethra (a sign of sexual abuse).
--I remember acting out sexually with younger children--and using very vulgar sexual language. When I acted out with these children, I would say, "Ok, now you're supposed to do this...then I'm supposed to do this." One of the children, with which these things happened, told me that I said, <<<<warning trigger>>>> "I think you're supposed to put yourself in my mouth, until you go to the bathroom or something." Clearly, I learned this somewhere, but have barely any recollection of where I learned it.
--I have flashbacks of being injected with needles--by the policeman involved--and being sedated.
--I have serious memory blocks related to a traumatic incident, in which I was being screamed at for "telling." I was severely beaten, psychologically terrorized and I was thrown in a landfill and told I would be picked up with the garbage after I died. I always knew I was thrown in a landfill, but didn't know why. My foot hurt, sitting in the garbage--because I had stitches in it from stepping on a piece of glass a week prior. I checked with the hospital ER, where I received the stitches--to see if I came in with additional damage to my food--after the stitches were initially sewn in. They said they had no record of me even getting stitches and no ER record for me at all. I know I had stitches. It's been discussed in our family through the years, and I still have the scar. I called my former pediatrician's office to obtain records. I was informed there were no records because my records were housed in a warehouse that had been burned to the ground in the mid 1970's. I contacted my childhood urologist--the one who treated me for the bladder infections. He died in a car accident three years ago.
--I demonstrated serious signs of trauma as a child. I wet the bed until the day I left home, at age 18. I woke up every morning, panicked. All of this stuff stopped, the day I left home for college.

<<<triggers in this paragraph>>>
Two years ago, I confronted my father and asked him what in the heck happened to me. He denied any knowledge of anything. I accused him of sexually abusing me and he replied, "That's not MY style. Not MY style at all." I replied, "Dad, I remember having a penis in my mouth when I was a little girl and he replied, "Are you sure it was mine." Clearly, he has knowledge of something happening to me (since when is sex with a child "a style" and his "are you sure it was mine" remark indicates that he knew someone was abusing me).

Also, I was an adopted child. I don't know my birth parents. There are some odd things--that could be misunderstanding on my part. However, there are no pictures of me when I was an infant. I asked my mother about this (and maybe they do exist) and she snapped back, "Well! They exist!" I have never seen pictures of me when I was brought home from the hospital or when they first got me. That seems strange. Wouldn't you mark that significant occasion with a picture or something?

As far as my adoption, it was "handled through an attorney." When I asked my mother about contacting the attorney or doctor who delivered me for information, my mother said they were both dead. I thought it was strange that my adoption was through an attorney--but my sister was adopted through Catholic Charities. I have no knowledge of how this adoption was arranged. I noticed on my adoption papers that my birth date is a day off from the date on my birth certificate. Maybe it's an honest mistake. I don't know. The adoption papers are typed on crinkly, transparent paper. They are not on letterhead or anything.

During the past three years, I've attempted to find answers. After a year of therapy, I felt strong enough to contact law enforcement. I mainly wondered if anyone suspected my father or the cop of anything. I was hoping I might find that I wasn't the only survivor out there. I called our local US Postal Inspector's office--because I heard they handled child pornography issues. The Postal Inspector investigator asked me to share a bit of my story. I shared most of what I remembered and he asked if he could interview me in my home and get childhood pictures of me. He said he might recognize me, because they deal with images of many children who have been abused in the past. I agreed and he interviewed me. He was kind and very professional. I gave him pictures. He wanted me to name names, and even though I was scared to death--I agreed and I gave him my father's name and the name of the police officer.

Three weeks went by. I called back the investigator back and thanked him for listening and for being helpful. I asked him if he could let me know if everything was ok--because I was having a very rough time after "telling." A lot of fear was kicking in. I didn't hear anything back. I called back once a month for several months, and politely asked if he would call me. I never heard back from him again. I felt as if I had done something wrong by reporting.

I also ended up at our local police department one day, because I was feeling incredibly vulnerable and frightened. I drove there and just sat in the parking lot--I guess, to feel safe. An officer saw me crying and I agreed to go inside. I told him my entire story and he was absolutely amazing. He said he understood trauma and how it affects children and he said he believed me. I didn't tell him my name, but he referred me to the head of the childhood sex crimes unit in his dept. I called and the dept head told me there was nothing they could do. He said my story, although tragic, wasn't even enough to get a search warrant on the police officer who abused me. Another dead end. (Also, I don't know if this is important, but the Police Dept is the same one that Johnny Gosch's mom had so much trouble with). I live in the same city that JG is from.

Finally, several months ago, I called the police dept in my childhood hometown; the dept where the officer who molested me, worked. I spoke with another top-notch officer who urged me to name names. I told him I would consider it, but I was grappling with panic attacks and other PTSD symptoms and I wasn't sure I was ready. He validated my experience and he said, "You are relaying exactly what survivors of child porn/child sex rings experience--right down to the threats your father used." I told this cop I wanted to go outside the system and find out what happened to me--because I didn't want the abusive cop to know I was digging around. I told him I wanted to contact people who had been convicted of looking at child porn--and show them my childhood pictures to see if anyone recognized me. The officer urged me not to do that. He said, "You have many missing memories and they're missing for a reason. If you go digging around in this seedy, awful underworld--you may be unprepared for what you find and I caution you." I trusted this officer and I was just about to give up named. All of a sudden, I felt like someone was choking me. I could barely breath. I couldn't speak and I told the officer I had a cough and I had to go. I felt like I was going to die. I was panicked and I felt as if someone had their hands around my neck. I looked in the mirror and I had a bloody nose and I had broken out in hives.

I feel as if I don't know where to turn. I'm trapped between fear of telling and wanting to find out what in the heck happened to me. My father will not divulge info. After I confronted him, he sought guidance from his priest (he's a staunch Catholic). My father positioned himself as the victim. A family member told me that my father moped around the house for days after I confronted him, "She's ruined my life. I'm so depressed." Apparently he had no regard for me, but a great deal for himself. The priest advised my father, "Sometimes you just have to let people go."

Never mind, that my father had an affair with a 16-year old employee of his--when he was 35--or that my mother had a nervous breakdown when I was 18 (and she has no recollection of why) or that my siblings show obvious signs of trauma. One sister has bulimia so severe, that all teeth had to be pulled. My parents do and say nothing about it. Another sibling made a suicide attempt. The police officer's children are all drug addicted or alcoholics. One of them has an eating disorder and a few have been in jail. I want to contact them, but I'm scared.

I'm sorry this is so incredibly long. It's difficult to know what--and what not--to say. I feel very compelled to find out answers.

I just want to know what happened to me. I'm not saying I was involved in the Franklin Cover-Up--but maybe the abuse I endured mirrors many of the ritualistic and sadistic methods used by those who perpetrated the Franklin Cover Up.

Does anyone have any ideas on where I go to find out what happened to me?

Thank you for reading--if anyone got this far. I appreciate any input or suggestions. Please don't worry about me. I know this all sounds awful, and it was. However, I'm very strong and they did not break me. What happened is in the past and I have a wonderful life. My therapist says that only the strongest move on to deal with and process the pain, and I firmly believe that.

Thanks, everyone.