From Ankle-Deep: Surviving Child Sexual Abuse: A Tell-All, Self-Help Book for Fellow Victims & Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) by

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From Ankle-Deep: Surviving Child Sexual Abuse: A Tell-All, Self-Help Book for Fellow Victims Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse (CSA) by Scott Thomas Sieg

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781481729697
  • Publisher: AuthorHouse
  • Publication date: 3/15/2013
  • Pages: 176
  • Product dimensions: 5.00 (w) x 8.00 (h) x 0.38 (d)

Read an Excerpt

FROM ANKLE-DEEP: SURVIVING CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE

A Tell-All, Self-Help Book for Fellow Victims & Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse (CSA)


By Scott Thomas Sieg

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2013Scott Thomas Sieg
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4817-2969-7


Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

"The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder the hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiples violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate multiplies hate, violence multiplies violence and toughness multiplies toughness in a descending spiral of destruction ... The chain reaction of evil—hate begetting hate, wars producing more wars—must be broken, or we shall be plunged into the dark abyss of annihilation."

—Martin Luther King, Jr. (1929-1968) U.S. civil rights leader and Nobel Peace Prize winner


On Thursday, August 1st, 1996, it was my eleventh birthday. We had only lived in Lombard, Illinois for two months after our family moved from the East Coast that June before. I had no friends yet, because I did not have school to meet people or find many children in my neighborhood that I felt comfortable around thus far. The neighborhood kids all did their thing and I was already a timid person even before what would happen later that evening.

Even when I lived in Pennsylvania, I had started to take Tae Kwon Do lessons through Jack & MaryBeth LaSavage. My brother, Peter, had signed up with me but quit after his first month. I almost followed suit two months later, but parents insisted on me sticking it out and did not want me to give up so abruptly seeing that I was older than he was.

So now, in a suburb adjacent to Lombard in the Chicago Land area, I had started taking lessons with another establishment. The man who ran this place was close to my age now, mid 20's. He was in his mid-twenties, tall, dark hair, athletic. He drove a nice sports car, white, if I remember correctly. My karate instructor had a nice girlfriend.To me, he had it all. He was someone I looked up to. After all, he was even friendly with our family, knowing we were new to the area. Basically, in a short period of time, my karate instructor earned a level of trust. He even had taken me home once or twice and told us places for food, gave us directions, helping us grow comfortable and at ease with our relocation.

The plan was to take a few classes, two children's classes and one adult one, all in order to gain more experience with their system and curriculum of karate to get back to the blue belt level I was at for them. My mom had dropped me off to start the evening and the plan was to have my father pick me up. There was some disruption in the duration of my plan to say the very least.

The two children's classes went along smooth as could be. The adult class was about to begin, until upon my instructors observation, he cancelled the class. There were only two other individuals outside of me and the head instructor. Those two adults left with their belongings within two or three minutes. I was told to go ahead and wait for my dad to pick me up when the class would originally leave. I was welcomed to stay behind and he would keep me company.

I will not hesitate to share this observation of my own, as it never struck my mind until typing the prior paragraph. I was never offered to call my mom or dad to tell them about this development. He just told me to sit down in the office and to hang out there. He closed the door behind him. I was distracted by the pictures of him he had on his wall with different celebrities like Chuck Norris and 'Bozo the Clown.' Yes, people ... in 1996 these two were celebrities.

Before I had looked aside from the pictures and back at him, he began to tie my hands down to the chair at the wrist. My right hand first, then my left. Then, stepped behind me, over my right shoulder and started to massage both of my shoulders for about a good minute or so. He said nothing, which made for an awkward silence.

He had reached for a bottle from his cabinet behind his office desk. The cap was removed and placed on his desk. Walking over with the bottle, my instructor had walked over to me and began to pour the liquid past my lips and into my mouth. I had a choking, gaging response to it as I identified it as a form of booze or hard liquor right away. By comparison from sipping on my parents' drinks a few times following this incident, when they were not looking, my best hypothesis is that the liquor was vodka.

The next twenty minutes or so changed my life forever. I was sexually molested by my karate instructor in a grotesque and perverse manner. I was forced-fed liquor, taken advantage of and became a victim of Child Sexual Abuse that night, on my eleventh birthday. The details of my attack were so vivid and terrorizing that it would eventually reside in my nightmares, on and off for years. Even today, but in a more off-set, unrealistic way.

I was in tears, but not yet crying. My eyes were filled up with moisture so quick, but my cheeks still felt dry. Not a tear ran down my face yet. Then, I remember using my sleeve to wipe my face, following a sniffle and the first couple of tears. After he left the bathroom, he yelled back at me to get ready before my dad gets here. I looked at the clock and my dad was not there yet, as it was six minutes until 8 p.m.

I quickly gathered my uniform into my bag after changing into another t-shirt and gym shorts. The instructor came over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders, no longer massaging but squeezing as if he needed to exert anymore force or control over me. The words he uttered were 'I know where you live and if you tell anyone, I will find out.'

From that night on and many nights after that, for years, I kept tight lipped about that evening, about the whole experience. Even when my father picked me up and saw my eyes were a little red and I had my hands shaking the slightest but noticeable to him. He asked if I had a good time. I did not cry, but I screamed back at him and said 'I hate this place. I don't want to come back!'

I remember coming home and rushing straight to my bedroom. I skipped dinner and snack, preoccupied with burying my disturbed face into the pillow. I would fall asleep not long afterwards. That was the last time I ever set foot in that establishment. The last few weeks of summer dragged on, as I had very little interaction with anyone outside of my family. If I had a friend to hang out with, maybe things would have turned out different, perhaps better for me.

In addition to now being an introvert as well as both mentally/emotionally distressed, I had to begin the 6th grade, a.k.a. middle school, with a whole new group of peers, three states and a time zone away from anyone I had already been familiar with.

My new academic foundation for the next 3 years was Glen Westlake Middle School, home of the Wildcats. My teachers were Mr. Grumbles and Mrs. Bucholz. Mr Grumbles taught Math, Science and Social Studies, Mrs. Bucholz taught English and Reading/Literature, but also had another Social Studies class.

I had an accent that my classmates picked up on, being from the East Coast. The Pennsylvania heritage I developed I guess merited a nickname, Quaker Oats. Cute, could have been worse, ... oh but give it time. I am all about ownership and I was a nerd in middle school. At Glen Westlake, I was an honor student, on Student Council, a member of the Environmental Club and I even tried the Drama Club but I figured after my summer, drama was the last thing I needed. Though, my membership to both has panned out since I sometimes come across to
(Continues...)


Excerpted from FROM ANKLE-DEEP: SURVIVING CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE by Scott Thomas Sieg. Copyright © 2013 by Scott Thomas Sieg. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Sort by: Showing all of 2 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 6, 2013

    Honestly, I commend any who is making an effort to provide more 

    Honestly, I commend any who is making an effort to provide more awareness to the public about sexual abuse
     of children, however this book is severely poorly written and focuses on someones trivial day to day life
    rather than tackling the issue of child sexual abuse.  Not the book I was looking for, title very misleading.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 6, 2013

    Just not what I excepted

    Just not what I excepted

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
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