- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, January 6, 2014
Saturday, January 4, 2014
I Am a Childhood Sexual Abuse Survivor, Incest
I like using photos of myself because I want people to see that I am a very real person. I am not anonymous, or just a statistic. I am an adult who survived a torturous, panic and pain filled childhood. I never, in my wildest dreams, ever thought I'd be able to talk and share what happened to me. I was full of shame, guilt and embarrassment.
I'll admit I've found inner strength and courage. I've had help from others as well, a couple damn good therapists, two very caring health care professionals, one remarkably loving partner and a couple of great kids.
I have found my voice. I will speak for those victims who cannot. I understand how scary it is to admit and acknowledge. I know too well, the fear of intimidation, threats, alienation, disbelief and ridicule. I know how you were hurt by someone you trusted, maybe even loved. I'm sorry you hurt. You are not alone.
I will be your voice. I will speak loudly, clearly and often.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I'll admit I've found inner strength and courage. I've had help from others as well, a couple damn good therapists, two very caring health care professionals, one remarkably loving partner and a couple of great kids.
I have found my voice. I will speak for those victims who cannot. I understand how scary it is to admit and acknowledge. I know too well, the fear of intimidation, threats, alienation, disbelief and ridicule. I know how you were hurt by someone you trusted, maybe even loved. I'm sorry you hurt. You are not alone.
I will be your voice. I will speak loudly, clearly and often.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
My Parents Never Loved Me
It's a no-brainer to anyone who has read about my childhood. As I sat hugging and kissing my son, it suddenly struck me that I cannot remember a single instance where my mother was warm or affectionate. Oh, she vehemently, loudly would proclaim how much she loved me, in addition to hugs and occasional kisses goodnight, but I never felt anything but hollow, cold, emptiness.
There were many outward signs of this mythical "love" that she supposedly had, never once, not even for an instant, was the actual emotional feeling of love felt by me. My mother lived in a warped delusion. I didn't buy it. I felt nothing at her words or showy gestures. Mom taught me that words and gestures are completely meaningless and only for show.
My father, well, that's another story, as he showed me great love and affection, all of it only sexual. That was the extent with which he "loved" me. His "love" never felt right either. It is with great ease and honest truth, that I say I grew up completely unloved.
Feeling unloved is like feeling unwanted, valueless, a trinket mounted to the wall. I was something to look at, not someone to hold.
Parents are supposed to love us, ground us, anchor us to reality, trust and love. Instead, I turned into a makeshift flounder, uncertain of my own boundaries and having no self-worth. Never sure if I belonged here or what exactly the purpose of life was. I grew up profoundly depressed and a native of unhappiness.
I never thought I would ever find self-worth, or someone to love me. Two miraculous incidents took place in a few years time that completely changed the world and my place in it. First, I decided to have a baby. Ahhh, so this is what giving love feels like. Second, I met my Partner (of 18 years now) and oh, this is what it feels like to have someone love and care for me.
I'm not sure why the Universe smiled on me so, but I am grateful.
I've learned that my parents failure to love me, was no fault of my own. They were both severely abused and disturbed individuals. It was beyond their capabilities to love their eldest daughter. I did nothing to deserve it. Children believe they are responsible for everything, for their parents mood and abuse, among other things. I was no different. I thought something was inherently wrong with me....for decades. Therapy and introspective and the grace of God have shown me that I am worthy and lovable. I believe that now.
Stop blaming yourself. Every child deserves and is worthy of love. Many adults are too damaged to actually be capable of pure, genuine love.
I understand the pain of not having a parent love you. It hurts. I'm sorry so many have this similar issue.
You are worthy and lovable:) Amy
There were many outward signs of this mythical "love" that she supposedly had, never once, not even for an instant, was the actual emotional feeling of love felt by me. My mother lived in a warped delusion. I didn't buy it. I felt nothing at her words or showy gestures. Mom taught me that words and gestures are completely meaningless and only for show.
My father, well, that's another story, as he showed me great love and affection, all of it only sexual. That was the extent with which he "loved" me. His "love" never felt right either. It is with great ease and honest truth, that I say I grew up completely unloved.
Feeling unloved is like feeling unwanted, valueless, a trinket mounted to the wall. I was something to look at, not someone to hold.
Parents are supposed to love us, ground us, anchor us to reality, trust and love. Instead, I turned into a makeshift flounder, uncertain of my own boundaries and having no self-worth. Never sure if I belonged here or what exactly the purpose of life was. I grew up profoundly depressed and a native of unhappiness.
I never thought I would ever find self-worth, or someone to love me. Two miraculous incidents took place in a few years time that completely changed the world and my place in it. First, I decided to have a baby. Ahhh, so this is what giving love feels like. Second, I met my Partner (of 18 years now) and oh, this is what it feels like to have someone love and care for me.
I'm not sure why the Universe smiled on me so, but I am grateful.
I've learned that my parents failure to love me, was no fault of my own. They were both severely abused and disturbed individuals. It was beyond their capabilities to love their eldest daughter. I did nothing to deserve it. Children believe they are responsible for everything, for their parents mood and abuse, among other things. I was no different. I thought something was inherently wrong with me....for decades. Therapy and introspective and the grace of God have shown me that I am worthy and lovable. I believe that now.
Stop blaming yourself. Every child deserves and is worthy of love. Many adults are too damaged to actually be capable of pure, genuine love.
I understand the pain of not having a parent love you. It hurts. I'm sorry so many have this similar issue.
You are worthy and lovable:) Amy
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Childhood Sexual Abuse ***TRIGGER ALERT***
HIGH TRIGGER WARNING
VERY DISTURBING
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.
Upset
I'm just so upset over so much. When I say very sick, it means I can't function without help. I hate it. If my partner hadn't been off work yesterday....there wouldn't have been anyone to call to take me to the dr, the pharmacy and the hospital for X-rays. It's hard to think about.
Feeling so ill, is feeling helpless. I spend a lot of time researching, doing massage and energy work, changing diets and supplements and for what? It never seems like I'm healthy, much less feeling any bit better. Rarely are my physical problems easily diagnosed, treated and cured. I continue to wrestle with the pain and discomfort, and worry of lichen sclerosus. No known cure. I'm not sure if my Lyme has improved or is just kept in check with the antibiotics. Not sure if my detox regiment is helping at all. Unknown variables. All I know is I'm fucking sick of being sick and not being able to fix this shit and fucking tired of being subpar and unable to do all the shit I want. Yes, it feels like I am being punished. And I'm damn tired of it.
I keep beating myself up for not being healthier, not eating better food, or getting enough sleep and exercise. I Am Pissed That I Cannot Easily Tell When My Body Is Unwell. Here's my autsm again. I didn't realize that the Double Over pain I was having warranted a dr visit. HELLO? I'm a fuckin idiot.
If I'm not a ten on the pain scale, I must be ok, or faking it, or it's a body memory.
Just fuck this shit. Fuck this shit. I'm tired of this.
It's like I'm working my hardest and getting Absolutely Nowhere fast.
And I'm doing a real good job of irritating everyone around me because I feel like shit.....and can't get myself better. I am just so fucking pissed off.
My emotions, oh shit, are a force to be reckoned with. If I even think, for a moment, about therapy this week, my eyes form droplets, pools, rivers and streams. And I cant control it. Seriously, how many hours can one cry That hard? Shouldn't I be dehydrated by now?
It sure feels like every fucking aspect of my life is out-of-my-control. And I can't slow down the triggers. Not even going there....today.
My dreams, oh, that seems to be my only relief as my sleep has been heavy and mostly dreamless.
Then I think..when Was the last time I actually sat and talked with a friend? Or had one to talk to? I get too bottled up when I go this long without conversation, open, honest, conversation. Everything has been this appointment or that one..this meeting or be here at this time. Running around. Completely ensnared in obligatory schedules. Yes, I feel trapped, locked it, no way out.
Can't help myself and can barely help those I'm responsible for.
Vicious is life. Unpleasant, an understatement. Beleaguered. Weary. Extremely frustrated. Way pissed off.
Feeling so ill, is feeling helpless. I spend a lot of time researching, doing massage and energy work, changing diets and supplements and for what? It never seems like I'm healthy, much less feeling any bit better. Rarely are my physical problems easily diagnosed, treated and cured. I continue to wrestle with the pain and discomfort, and worry of lichen sclerosus. No known cure. I'm not sure if my Lyme has improved or is just kept in check with the antibiotics. Not sure if my detox regiment is helping at all. Unknown variables. All I know is I'm fucking sick of being sick and not being able to fix this shit and fucking tired of being subpar and unable to do all the shit I want. Yes, it feels like I am being punished. And I'm damn tired of it.
I keep beating myself up for not being healthier, not eating better food, or getting enough sleep and exercise. I Am Pissed That I Cannot Easily Tell When My Body Is Unwell. Here's my autsm again. I didn't realize that the Double Over pain I was having warranted a dr visit. HELLO? I'm a fuckin idiot.
If I'm not a ten on the pain scale, I must be ok, or faking it, or it's a body memory.
Just fuck this shit. Fuck this shit. I'm tired of this.
It's like I'm working my hardest and getting Absolutely Nowhere fast.
And I'm doing a real good job of irritating everyone around me because I feel like shit.....and can't get myself better. I am just so fucking pissed off.
My emotions, oh shit, are a force to be reckoned with. If I even think, for a moment, about therapy this week, my eyes form droplets, pools, rivers and streams. And I cant control it. Seriously, how many hours can one cry That hard? Shouldn't I be dehydrated by now?
It sure feels like every fucking aspect of my life is out-of-my-control. And I can't slow down the triggers. Not even going there....today.
My dreams, oh, that seems to be my only relief as my sleep has been heavy and mostly dreamless.
Then I think..when Was the last time I actually sat and talked with a friend? Or had one to talk to? I get too bottled up when I go this long without conversation, open, honest, conversation. Everything has been this appointment or that one..this meeting or be here at this time. Running around. Completely ensnared in obligatory schedules. Yes, I feel trapped, locked it, no way out.
Can't help myself and can barely help those I'm responsible for.
Vicious is life. Unpleasant, an understatement. Beleaguered. Weary. Extremely frustrated. Way pissed off.
Brutal
I saw my dr on Tuesday. She checked me out, ordered blood tests and an X-ray. It may take awhile for my body to get rid of all the excess fats. I have started back on a low low fat diet. I can barely eat without discomfort, so I eat less as a rule. I have pain pills as needed and I haven't needed as many today, so something is improving.
Therapy was Monday, immediately preceding my abdominal pain attack Monday night. At session..it was brutal...highly highly emotional. Very upsetting. It felt like a scar that started mid-chest and ran to my navel, had been ferociously ripped open. I'm at a loss as to if it is related to my physical pain.
And I don't want to write anymore now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)