My story, as you will read in the following documentation, began 48 years ago, when my brother, Ronald Gamel, decided to turn his inner demons against me and my younger sister, Mary, by sexually and physically abusing us.  Whatever force awakened the predator in him, whether parental negligence or abuse by another or both, remains unknown.  It is my obligation to my well being and my sister’s, as well as that of other victims with which I concern myself here and now.  Had I been aware, I would have taken this path at an earlier time, but it has only recently become clear to me that the way through the darkness and secrecy is to expose it to the light of knowledge.  That is the key to the recovery of my personhood, and, perhaps, the way for others who read my story and see themselves in it.  In as much as childhood sexual abuse is a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, in a very real sense, we can go back to the scene of the crime while many other types of survivors cannot: We can remember the atrocities and shout them from the rooftops and street corners, on the internet, through the mail and in our court systems, telling the world who our abuser is.  We can name names and point fingers now where shock, fear, and suppression prevented it then.  We can give details and warn others, thereby reclaiming some of what was stolen from us: our dignity, our power, our health, our very personalities which were stunted and changed at such a young age.

“You have to do something about this!  You have to get a hold of it!  It’s taken way too much power from you and he still controls you!”  These words, recently spoken by a trusted friend after a long night of tears and confession, echoed back to me and became the foundation of a plan that began to take shape under the light of awareness.  She was right.  It would be my choice to proactively change the course of my remaining life, or continue to live as a victim, whose pain that was caused by an abusive brother had defeated me even before my eighth birthday.

In the days following my epiphany all I could think about was ending my suffering; helping my sister to end hers; reaching out to nieces, cousins; indeed, anyone who didn’t yet understand the necessity — really, the simplicity and justice of outing our abuser.  Hence, this blog was born, as well as a notarized affadavit, mailed to each member of my extended family, which I reprint below.  Following my letter is a narrative written by my dear sister, Mary, who also suffered Ronald’s unrelenting abuse.  My deepest hope is to help all victims to lessen their own pain, as this venture has helped me, and to forewarn would-be abusers that the power of the pen can and will overwhelm the perversion to destroy innocent lives.  It’s taken me 48 years to speak out, but I remain silent no longer.

My Letter to My Family

Mary’s Narrative

Martha, The Face of the Abused