I can't help but dwell on therapy and how sick it makes me feel to even think about. I'm so repulsed by perpetrators forcing small children to do vile, inhuman things to satisfy their perversity, to make the child feel implicated and criminal by harming and abusing another child completely against the child's will.
The memories that bring the most castigation, pain and remorse are those in which I was forced to harm another child. I can't adequately express the depth of my confusion and dismay at the high evil that was my father.
What I did. See, the act was done by me. My physical body did bad things. Trying to get it understood, that it was notnot my wil.
Talk about feeling like a pawn, helpless, the victim taught to victimize. What does that make me? How can I ever feel innocent?
I feel so bad, so sickened by the memory. It's hard to own something that horrendous. Reminds me of the being forced to simulate sex with other boys. Another gruesome scenerio my father enjoyed.
Emotionally, I just want to fucking scream and cry out. It's so overwhelming. I hate myself for even being born, not for what was done to me, but what I was forced to do to others.
People wonder why I do not trust. I was trained and raised by hideous evil and I know what fathers, men are capable of.
I hurt a pain of a hundred deaths. It's hard for me to reckon, to live with these memories. They pain me to the core. I live in pure hell at their remembrance.
I don't know how to begin to forgive myself. Maybe if I imagine a three year old child, and look at her...maybe I can fathom that she had no choice.
It Is hard to believe that fathers molest and rape their young children, boy and or girl. But it is so veryvery true. I wish it weren't so, but I know and trust my memories and how I feel.
Disgusting is an appropriate word, as well as deeply sickened and horribly dismayed.
Every week, we work with and through, the most painful truths that I have kept hidden away. The most difficult to acknowledge, feel and bear.
It is a terrible reality. This is my life. This is me working to heal from complete and utter devastatation. It does not feel good..to feel...for the walls to drop, for the numbness to go away.
One of my few anchors is knowing that others understand and have decided to hold their heads up and march through this broken glass and these fires of hell.
I am not alone. Others have been where I am.
Just trying to figure out...how to heal from this intolerable pain....so I can deal with the next one.
It's challenging to reason with a three year old. To convince her that it wasn't her fault. My inner child so emotionally consumed with sadness and badness, she doesn't deserve. How could any adult...ever..make a child do that? Sick, evil and twisted doesn't begin to describe it.
And shame...I reluctantly admit...I feel great shame for these acts. Remorse, deep, tear filled ponds of remorse. I would never ever think of intentionally hurting another....Surely, that was one reason my dad had me do it. It practically destroyed my soul. It emotionally and morally devastated me. I swore, to myself, a hundred times over that I would never admit what I did. I kept it hidden from myself for over forty years. Then, once I became aware of the memory again, I spoke it aloud, again vowing to never let anyone but therapist know. Now, look at me. Here I am...sharing, disclosing the worst thing about me in the world.
There is hope for me. I know I am not a perpetrator. I know children forced to hurt other children is something perpetrators do. Other survivors have been forced to do bad things, but they are not bad. It was not their choice.
Not sure if I should post. I don't want to trigger bad memories in others. Not sure some people want to know how evil some people can be.
Maybe the guilt isn't mine. Maybe it belongs to my dad.
A three year old child is innocent and will do what his/ her parent tells them to do. Three had no choice.
I had no choice.