Survivor…or drama queen?

I find it hard to use the words to describe what it was. They feel so foreign to me as they catch in my throat and choke me. My fingers hover over my keyboard and beg me not to hit the letters. To sit here and say that I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, physical abuse and emotional abandonment feels dramatic. I feel as though I am seeking attention where it is not warranted, as though I am a drama-queen.

I find solace in the anonymity that this blog offers. My family does not know it exists, most of my friends do not know it exists and I have not yet told my therapist I have decided to do this. And for now, I think that’s the way it needs to be.

If someone were to ask me to explain my life growing up in one word, I would say it was hard. Growing up was hard. It shouldn’t hurt to be a child, it just shouldn’t. I want to say none of it is true. I want more than anything in my heart to say that it was not my life, it belonged to someone else. I want to forget. I want to scrape off all of the things that cling to me. I hear stories of other people who forgot what happened to them and some days I feel jealous because I wish I had forgotten what happened to me. Now, like all things, I’m sure they would say the opposite and are screaming to find some explanation for what has happened to them.

When I was growing up I used to pretend that my real family was out there looking for me. That the family I was living with was just temporary and my real mother would never stop looking until she found me. I would tell myself that if I followed the rules, did what I was supposed to do and kept quiet it would be easier for them to find me. Of course, it was just a childhood dream and nobody came to rescue me.

My father was a strict, controlling and demanding presence in my life. We could not speak, we could not have our own opinions and god forbid if we were to ever cry. He died just over 7 years ago and I am still afraid of him. My mother is a difficult subject for me–I love her most of the time, but a part of me absolutely hates her for doing nothing and sending me away when I was too much for her.

I was young, about 3 or 4, when the sexual abuse began. It lasted until I was 16 years old. In total, there were 5 people who abused me and 4 of them were family members. That’s one of the most difficult things for me to accept; that it happened with more than one person and that it happened with people who were supposed to be my family and protect me and love me unconditionally.

There is so much of me that doesn’t understand. Maybe there is a part of me that doesn’t want to. Maybe there is a part of me that is so tired that I don’t even want to give two fucks and simply want to be done with this entire horror-show. The only thing I seem to understand most days is that it comes down to me. I am the common denominator in all of it.

My therapist tells me I should be proud of myself and tells me he doesn’t know how I’ve been able to do what I’ve done. To me, the answer seems simple. I’ve made it this far because the only other option was to not to (an option I keep tucked away in my back pocket). I don’t look at myself as a hero or rock star or superstar because of it. I’m just me, trying to make my way through this world holding myself together, hoping that I don’t somehow screw up my kids and allow them to go through life avoiding the things that I could not.

One thought on “Survivor…or drama queen?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s