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Malika's testimony

resilient childhood sexual trauma


The Hundred Headed Monster

“  From all the countries of your fathers and your ancestors you must be driven out. It is the country of your children that you must love : let this love be your new nobility, the unexplored in the farthest ocean! This is the country I command your veil to seek and seek.

Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus spake Zarathustra.

This memory, which came back to me.


A terrible memory came back to me in an endless flash a few weeks ago. It is the memory of repeated sexual assaults suffered in my early childhood. The memory of these terrible acts carried out in the silence of all and in my deep amazement, came back to me in a few flashes, 30 years after the events.


She crossed my soul like a breath of madness. And if you had looked into the back of my eyes at that moment, you would have seen the unbearable vision of what I was seeing. Finally.


If you had looked closely into the back of my eyes, in my frightened look when my memory returned, you would have seen  a three-year-old little girl with thin hair, eyes wide open and throat tight, the soul in pain which cried out for help, however. You would have seen at the same time, the touching of my cousin, his hands on my sex, my hands on his when he asked me to excite him, his erect penis facing my small brown eyes. You would have seen the many hiding places in which he blocked me to ask me to touch him : under the cot, behind a low wall, in a camping tent. You would have seen my thin hair and my paralyzed and sexually assaulted body in silence for so many years because that's how I visualize myself. You would have heard the words that came back to me " shut up, you must shut up and say nothing, let yourself do it I'll teach you " because Finally I hear them.

Then, if you had opened your mind and tried to understand my inability to react then, you would have seen the eyes of the adults. Those who said nothing, those who let the attacks happen, those who saw, those who laughed and laughed at what I was going through, those whose conscience is terrible and those whose unconsciousness is irresponsible.

Typhon, Copryright Eijine

Then, if you had grasped my soul at that time, you would have understood the terrible consequences of such acts. Because you would have seen and understood finally, all that followed. Everything that took my childhood away from me. The compulsive masturbation that took the place of my childhood thoughts until I was 7 years old, the bullying in elementary school, my anxieties and my sad thoughts as a child, my anxiety, my strategies to escape and make myself forgiven endlessly, my inability to fully exist.


And then you would have seen what put me in danger so many times as a teenager, finally. The many exhibitionists, the aggressors I let touch me, those who masturbated in front of me, those who ejaculated in front of me in my silence and my dumbness, unable to flee, to cry out for help or to protect. Because indeed, the vision of a sex, of an acorn that I did not want triggered in me since the age of 3,  this system of action and thought: "_cc781905 -5cde-3194-bb3b-136bad5cf58d_ shut up, don't say anything, suffer. This sex, which I undergo and which terrifies me, the adults do not say that it is bad. Men can touch children to the depths of their intimacy since adults have seen but no one has forbidden. The sharp muscles of men are dangerous and terrifying since it was by force that I was kept in the terrible hiding places and by terror that my throat tightened ”.


Finally, if you had been able to see behind my eyes, when my memory returned to me, you would have seen and understood all my other dangerous submissions, those suffered in adulthood. Because this inverted value system, of terror, of sharp muscles, which invaded my neural connections as a child, persisted in my brain and my soul as an adult. Even as an adult, I didn't know how to defend myself and the evil in front of me stunned me like an erect penis can stun a three-year-old child who holds it in her hand under the gaze of a laughing adult. Adult, I accepted that the company attacks me and harasses me, makes me lose my soul and my ideals, without saying anything and without fleeing. Like in my cousin's terrible hiding places. Without saying anything and without fleeing. I also accepted that the world is destroying itself. Without saying anything and without doing.


It seems terrible, huh, to come face to face with so much horror in a few flashes of memory. Besides, how can we accept such an awareness without going crazy ? How to recover such a memory in such a short time without wanting to tear out your eyes, stomach, limbs, heart, in the face of this brutal dread ?


Because more than a resurfacing memory, it is our whole being that experiences, re-experiences horror. But this time, in conscience.


This memory, traumatic.


How to find such a memory  when we understand that these forgotten acts have disappeared from us for so many years because they were terrible, almost murderous ?


This memory is murderous and when it reappeared to me, I thought I was dying. Still, I let her come. And I'm not dead, and I'm not crazy, and I'm free, and happy, now.


Thanks to the therapy undertaken, he was over a year old, I was beginning to know how to look at the world well and I was learning more and more what the normal order of things should be.

One weekend, I met the children of a dear friend. Two little two month premature twins with whom I spent 4 days. A little boy and a little girl.

By helping their mother to feed them, by taking care of them, I realized that they had a soul. And that she was beautiful. Seeing children invested with a soul, from day one of their existence is not the kind of thing that we know when we stole ours at 3 years old by bringing the sexual into our childhood enmity.

I saw that they were already two very different beings, these twins. The little boy was strong and lively. The little girl was weaker and seemed anxious.

It was then that the memory of my cousin, as a child, came back to me. I hadn't thought of him for so many years. He was strong, muscular and mean. I was submissive, kind, weak and naive.

And all of a sudden, I remembered something else. But in restraint, in my head, without expressing it. My cousin asked me to excite him when I was little. And he touched me. And it lasted a long time. He was older, but not much. There was a physical and psychological difference between us. His little muscles were sharp and his gaze seemed so cold to me.

I remembered this difference as I turned my attention to the beauty of the twins' souls. Our soul had to shine through to the world, too. I realized that the adults around us at that time must not have seen us invested with souls as children. Because my gaze would have frozen them, because they would have seen in it a terrible call for help.

It was then that these words came back to me “ shut up, you won't say anything, eh ”. These words connected with this thought : in fact, I was not consenting !

I called my mother “ do you remember the doctor's games with my cousin ? ”. She cried when I described the scenes to her. She shouted the injustice and explained to me that they were not " doctor's games ". She told me it was sexual assault. I thought she had always known, for these " jeux du doctor " which became, 30 years later, sexual assault.

I thought they were " doctor's games " all these years because another adult saw us, laughed and didn't ban us. I had logically made this link : all the adults therefore think that what is happening is not serious. 

Because of that, and because I knew what was happening was terrible, I believed all my childhood, then all my life, that an adult could never, in fact, protect me. So I had to suffer without ever saying anything, several years in a row in childhood.

A few days passed, with the twins.

I felt something coming inside me. 

Cold sweats.

I was sweating. I no longer slept. I dreamed strangely.

But I knew that in their presence, I had to be careful. There was an exhausted mother, my friend, and I was hundreds of miles from home. 

I remembered that after I turned 4, my only memories were sexual. Masturbating. Compulsive. Which replaced my shivers of knowledge and my childhood imagination. I punished myself when I masturbated too much. I only thought about that at night.

I then remembered all the times a man had shown me his penis while assaulting me. I remembered that each time, I lost my speech, sometimes for several days.

These memories came back to me in a few hours, it sent shivers down my spine. They cascaded down these memories, it never stopped.

And then, on the way back, I went to the beautician. Waxing of the jersey. Impossible to let the beautician come near me. Cold sweat. What was going on?! 

I went home. 

I kissed the one who shares my life. 

I burst into tears. What was going on inside me was scary. I felt I had to let it all go back though. Despite the fear rising in me.

What was happening was that I was getting ready to let myself see the madness of repeated sexual assault, and of the adult who knew, saw, and let it happen.

For what. Why all of a sudden I see. Why suddenly I understand. Why not before? How about this weekend when I finally remembered a lot of things ? Why not either, at a specific time in the last 30 years ?

I shouted then. Ahhhh. Without words I screamed. 

Then I shut up. I lost my word. How to explain to my friend all that I was discovering. How do I explain it to myself ?

I shouted again then. Everything went up even more with the cries that I allowed myself to say.

And with the thoughts that I reformulated in me. There was madness in my eyes. If anyone had looked at my eyes at the time they would have seen this.

He would have seen pass through my paralyzed eyes and at breakneck speed the memory of the touching, his penis, his glans. Rouge. His threatening words. His sharp little muscles.

He would have seen the adults and their eyes. The adults who knew and said nothing. Who saw. Who were laughing. which did not prohibit.

The memory of the vision of me so small and vulnerable came back.

If someone had looked at my eyes at that moment, he would have seen my hair so fine and my body so small, flabbergasted by the sexuality that should not have entered my intimacy.

He would have seen the memory of the compulsive masturbation that took up all the space in my life.

And the memory of speech. The word that had been taken away from me and that I never had.

I am silent. And I screamed.

I wanted to take a knife. Stick it in my stomach.

I wanted to take a knife. Stick it in my friend's stomach.

So I shouted : " PARS, I'm going to be dangerous ". This is the last word I managed to get.

He left.

I drank. Half a bottle of wine.

He came back.

I screamed. Ahhhhhh. He said to me “ you are crazy ”. Shouting. More than me. 

I broke down in tears. Collapsed. On the floor, drooling.

And in my cries this time I managed to say. To say aggression. I no longer screamed ahhhh. I was shouting “ protect me unconditionally”. "  Protect me without word, without question, I need your protection ". Why, he asked me.

" Don't ask the question, it's unconditional ". 

He didn't understand. I sank deeper and deeper.

The ground was pulling me so strongly. As if weightlessness was stronger today. I was rolling on the floor like a collapse. Literally collapsed.  

But I felt that I had the possibility to say, in my cries. 

So I said it all. Everything explained. He said to me “ explain everything to me, I can't understand without words.

I said. 

“ My cousin sexually assaulted me and I thought it was no big deal and now I realize it was and he was telling me to shut up and he was asking me to arouse his cock and he hid me in his hiding place and it lasted for years and the harassment in my company ensues from it and everything ensues everything we can understand everything now. I almost died because the world is crazy." 

He understood. He promised me protection and I knew he wasn't lying.

Then I was silent. Because to the memory of the attack was added the sudden awareness of the injustice of a whole bruised life.

And I lost my speech for 3 days.

And my eyes were full of madness every morning. 

Because in my eyes again and again, memories circulated.

And I felt this madness come and go, every time I put the assault into words in my head. 

And every new thing I looked and saw and thought. Everything took on a connection and meaning. And the connections and the meaning were so hard to think about and live with.

So I was sweating. I remained silent. I was shaking in madness.

And my eyes. I had madness in my eyes. Again.


Then what passed through my eyes, what I was experiencing this time in consciousness, over time, and with the help of my loved ones and therapy, ended up being digested by my body. I was freeing myself from the clutches of a hideous monster, so complex, so mad. A hundred heads.


This essential memory, so as not to be part despite oneself, of the hundred-headed monster.


I believe that there is a monster with a hundred heads, which prevents souls from being free, and which prevents children from existing. This hundred-headed monster is all of you adults who don't protect us unconditionally.

This monster has a hundred heads, but it only has one body. Together you have the same monster body. Sharp muscles, strong arms that put their hands on children's mouths and grind our little bones, harassment, sharp sex, manipulation, terror, trivialization of evil, perversion, mocking laughter, stupidity , the shadow in all its corners.  The powerful and forward jaws, the gaping teeth, the eyes full of blood. Without hair, without humanity, without skin, in coldness. Creepy.


This hundred-headed monster is subtle. If we're not careful, we can all be part of it.


The monster is my parents because they didn't see my suffering.

The monster is the rapists, the exhibitionists, the aggressors.

The monster is my uncle and my aunt because they broke the taboos with their son, my cousin.

The monster is the harassing company, the employees in denial, the deregulated finance and the exacerbated capitalism.

The monster is my aunt, because she saw the touching, and authorized it.

The monster is corrupt politicians, doctors who don't understand suffering at work, teachers who don't talk about bullying at school.

The monster is my grandmother, because when she saw her daughter being sexually abused by her grandfather 60 years ago, she said nothing.

The monster is those who trivialize aggression and those who do not defend women when their bodies are discussed in an indecent way.

The monster is my grandfather because like my father, he was unable to protect his daughter.

The monster is the adults who don't see the beauty in all things, who don't respect souls, and who don't know how to make sense of themselves.

The monster is my great-grandfather because he sexually abused his granddaughter several years in a row in the silence of an entire family. The monster is me, because I destroyed myself and prevented myself from being so long. 

It's me because certainly me either, I was not able until then to see the horror of this world.

The monster reproduces itself, repeats the same things, the same gestures, tirelessly. A man who sexually assaults a child, a woman who sees and says nothing, an entire family who keeps silent. And society. The whole society that reverses its values.

If nobody gets out of the monster, the monster stays, you see.


I am sad, because I still wonder why this hundred-headed monster continues to destroy children? Why does he continue to let children be abused, abused, sexually assaulted in silence, in the most terrible horror, and in oblivion? Why do we let this monster destroy the beauty of children? The beauty of their so pure soul? Why do we let all of humanity lose its breath? 


Because there is no more sense, is that it? 

We let violence enter the hearts of children because humanity no longer has any meaning, right? 

I only see that. 


This memory, like a new breath to bring meaning and see the beautiful soul of all things.


I dream that we make this monster lose some strength. But I know how difficult it is to extricate yourself from its clutches. The attacked child, flabbergasted, is under the claws of the monster. To get out of it, we have to work on our adult memory. You have to see the monster in hindsight. I believe in the adult man, in his strength and in his capacity for evolution and change on the scale of a lifetime. I believe that a good part of the monster's heads have the capacity to watch the beast in retreat, and thus to free themselves.  And thus to no longer be dependent on the cogs of horror, but to become a full actor in his life, in an incredible and joyful and creative energy, the one that comes simply from the fact that we let our soul be freely in the world and that we see the soul of all things, in the world.

As an adult, the child who was under the influence of the monster can decide to extricate himself from his sharp muscles. He must then look the hundred-headed monster in the face. He must face the horror. 

He must recover his memory. Let us seek the memory of our aggressions and of all the aggressions of the world. The adult must take responsibility and look for this. Even if it's difficult. 


Believe in beauty, look at the monster. 


If you become or are those adults who have understood the monster, then you will be able to help children when they are children. You will be able to protect, naturally. Without condition. You will be able to pull them out of the monster when it shows up. They will become autonomous children who seek meaning within themselves, who seek to bring their soul to life in a luminous and free way. And they will never be part of the monster.


And when you die you will be at peace, for the children will see the beauty in the heavens and in all the things of the world.

They will be in free and eternal bond with you and humanity as it should be : beautiful, without the hundred-headed monster that destroys childhood and human angels._cc781905-5cde-3194- bb3b-136bad5cf58d_

They will not seek to make their bodies live forever since they will find their eternity at every moment.

They will not seek to leave ceaselessly and aimlessly, since there will be a breath in them which, by embracing all things, will allow them to know everything in space and time.

They will not seek to colonize space and the planets and the stars as well, for they will know they are theirs when their soul sails away from their body, and when they gaze at them intently.

At a glance, they will know the Earth, and the water, and the air.

They will not deplete the Earth's resources.

They will have fire in them. The creative and joyful fire.

They will have a soul, what. How beautiful, a soul.

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