“You’re a dirty little whore, aren’t you? You’re a mistake! A naughty, silly, little girl.” Meet grandmother. Yeah, grandma was a cunt. Let’s call this grandma, Mamaw Malice, that’s got a real ring to it. At four years old, it’s absolutely normal for a child to explore their bodies. Every kid does it. They just do. It’s exploration of their own bodies, it’s human. These body parts are existing and so human children do what human children do. They try to learn about it.
Now, I’ve looked up what I was caught doing [fully masturbating for sexual pleasure with a barbie, which is a human-like object] and that’s not a normal thing for a four-year-old. Masturbating and rubbing on things? Yes. Emulating sexual acts with human-like toys? Nope. That’s not it. Like many things will be, that’s a trauma for another day. At this point I haven’t been able to uncover whatever the fuck got me to that point, let’s get back on topic.
I was then scolded for being a whore and a naughty, silly little girl.
I was caught inside my sleeping bag at Mamaw Malice’s house during a sleepover that dread father had no idea about because mommy dearest never told him. I was dragged out by my arm, while my underwear was still at my knees, pulled into the living room where my cousins and sister, Emily, sat on the couch watching their morning cartoons eating breakfast. I was then scolded for being a whore and a naughty, silly little girl.
Try not to but picture that. A four-year-old child, underwear at the knees, fully visible to a male and female cousin along with a sister, all of whom were about 5-8 years older than I was and scolded like I just got caught selling my body for money on the corner.
A four-year-old child… scolded like I just got caught selling my body for money on the corner.
I want to include some text on dead Mamaw Malice so you can understand what happens with her later on. She’s a fairly main character in my younger traumatic years. Mamaw Malice, MMM, had a lot going on in her personal life to begin with and didn’t really need the exasperated help of me, a really irritating and mirroring child. She had a disease that caused chronic full body pain. She had a crippling deformity in her hand, and she had permanent resting pissed off face.
Now, if you were her favorite grandchild like my sister, Emily or S4, was, then you were good, you could do no foul. But for me, I was an abomination. Our family tree is blended as fuck. You’ve got my dad, dread father or DF, who is married to my mom, mommy dearest or MD. MD had S4 with her ex-husband, and DF has 3 daughters from his ex-wife, S1, S2, and S3. S1 is actually DF’s ex-wife’s daughter, so DF’s stepdaughter. It’s so convoluted, I know. I will make a chart on who is who I swear.
Anyway, S4 and MMM were like peas in a pod, she was the apple of their eye, probably still is from the grave. I hold nothing against S4, in fact, she’s my only sister at this point after some other trauma you’ll get to learn about soon. MMM hated DF because according to her and the rest of the crazies on that side of the family, DF was ruining MMM’s life with S4 and MD or something. You know, to be honest, I really don’t know why she had such a bunch in her panties about him all those years. It’s whatever, and it trickled down to me, I was the least favorite grandchild. Probably on both sides of my family. Alrighty, back to the main content.
The full celebrity treatment from Mamaw Malice.
Can you imagine how a four-year-old would feel in that moment? Lots of shame, lots of humiliation, lots of terror, with absolutely none of those words to name it. But there’s Emily, male cousin, female cousin, they’re just sitting there like nothing is wrong, that must mean my feelings are wrong right? I mean she’s always called me a mistake. Always. She continues to tell me I am a mistake, so I need to be not a mistake, like Mamaw Malice.
That was actually quite a big mistake. Oops. Tiny me thought it was best to then start behaving, acting, and imitating Mamaw Malice. When they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they probably don’t mean a four-year-old undiagnosed neurodivergent cosplaying as her chronically ill and physically disabled, mentally deranged grandmother.
When they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, they probably don’t mean a four-year-old undiagnosed neurodivergent cosplaying as her chronically ill and physically disabled, mentally deranged grandmother.
Mamaw Malice and I were not prepared for what tiny me was dead set on doing. With the thought in mind that this crotchety old woman was apparently the image of Venus, I set upon my path to prepare myself for the future and emulate the worlds truest form. This meant full-fledged please don’t hate me styled mimicry. The type that seeing an adult do would either get you cancelled or win you a presidency.
My mimicry was so epically on point that I was popped in the mouth, swatted on the hand, called names, and even slut shamed for it. The full celebrity treatment from Mamaw Malice. At age four, there are no words to describe that type of abuse, especially not in the household of emotional ignorance and lack of communication style parents I was living with #blessed. It was so bad that for years I had coupled the sexual assault punishments with another grooming and sexual abuse trauma and thought that the reason I didn’t trust people with my body was because of some other deranged adult. Turns out it was her fault. She started it.
Now that I’m all in my feels, I’ll end with this. Teach your kids about proper body part names. Teach your kids from the moment they can speak. And watch who they do and don’t feel safe around. If you don’t even feel safe around those adults, 100% of the time your kids won’t be safe there either.
Traumatized Viridimere 