**TW-sexual abuse, violence
A few days ago, I went and trashed my last two posts. I don’t expect to be judged or scorned by anyone who follows my blog nor do I expect any of the people I write about to actually read my blog, so I still cannot figure out what the problem is and why the extreme urge to keep everything so very close.
Today I’m feeling a bit braver (although I expect that feeling to be short-lived) so I thought that I would write a little (which probably won’t be that little) synopsis to try to sum up what’s been going on and how things have been proceeding. I’m going to leave it posted for at least a few days (hopefully longer) and just sit with whatever comes up for me.
I haven’t done anything wrong. I know I haven’t. Yet, I feel so awful about everything that’s happened. The shame is front and centre and so much of me is still convinced that everything is mine to own. Part of me cannot understand that others won’t be able to see the badness that I feel about myself if I say out loud what happened.
I feel off. Unsettled. Scared. I cannot shake off this, this feeling of uneasiness. It feels like a gathering of dark clouds at a distance indicating a storm is coming.
Nightmares and lack of sleep…a.k.a. holy shitballs I am so fucking tired. I am actively struggling with this at the moment. Like a lot of people with similar experiences, I’ve had nightmares for as long as I can remember. Most of the time, they’d only last a night or two and then go away for a little while creeping back in when least expected. Lately though, they’ve been constant and sleep has been quite sporadic with me averaging only about 3-4 hours a night.
It’s been quite hard to function normally and it feels like everything is falling by the wayside. I’m trying but not getting much work done and I have no interest in doing anything other what is absolutely necessary.
Yesterday T told me that sleep is too important and suggested that perhaps I should think about seeing my doctor about some medication because it’s been going on for too long. T usually doesn’t advocate for anything like that so I think it means I should pay attention. I was hesitant to call though because I have recently (T will say it’s not even close to being recent) developed the feeling like I need to be quiet now and stay out of the way – below the radar – to avoid getting into trouble or something worse.
More will come out of this I’m sure…
My family. I’m trying to find a level of acceptance of what I know and feel. When I think of everything that happened, it is so mind-blowing overwhelming that most of the time I don’t even know what to do with it. So, I do what I’ve always done and keep it all to myself until I can find my way to T and try to deal with it a little bit at a time.
How do you describe the the pain from a lifetime ago that still lingers in the back of your mind regardless of how many times you will it away?
I don’t know the words to explain how a family can cause a child to hide in a closet willing the sun to come up. I am afraid to speak because it’s too hard for people to hear about things done to children. They don’t want to know that your father absolutely terrorized you in all ways possible or that your mother left you at a place that was anything but safe. People don’t want to know that you were raped by your sibling and your cousins. Nobody wants to hear about the threats that they whispered in your ears–ensuring that they got away with it.
I wasn’t going to tell anyone what they did. I would rather have torn myself to shreds than tell anyone about the things that were happening. They could have done what they wanted and then left it at that, but they always had to make sure I would never say a word to anyone.
My father was the worst type of human. As a small child I found him absolutely terrifying. He was angry and violent but he never yelled which I think added to the terror that I felt around him. Most of my nightmares lately have been about him and the things that he did. He used to stand in the doorway of my bedroom. I knew his shadow. I knew what was about to happen. I could never hide. I couldn’t win. He was stronger and more determined than I could ever be. I will always believe that my father had the capability of killing another person. He follows me out of my nightmares and into the daylight. I cannot shake him no matter how much I want to. Even though he is dead, it’s like I am drowning in a sense that he will always be able to hurt me anyway that he wants.
My aunt and uncle finally moved away. They left two days ago. Them leaving also means that the fear of my cousins coming back has been drastically reduced. Yesterday, I sat on T’s couch and cried for the entire session. He wanted to know if I was relieved that they were gone. All I could say was that I had spent more time with them then I did my own mother and I was relieved that I would never have to see them again or go into that house again. Knowing that I was left there makes it feel like I was fed to the wolves. T says that it was like being left in a house of torture with no means of escape. All he could say was ‘I’m sorry’ as he tried to hold the hurt for me.
My mother is someone that I don’t think I will ever understand. I resent her a lot of the time. In many ways it feels like I am now providing for my mother what she never provided for me. But I am not her mother and I cannot take care of everyone all the time. I am not prepared for it. I just don’t know how to let her go–just a little bit–because I still hope after all of these years that I will feel important to her.
My family has made it hard for me to love people. Like truly love them because for the most part I don’t even think I know what it means.
I struggle over the question of whether I would have been better off if I had never been born. Sometimes I wish that one of them had just killed me because I think anything would have to have been better than what was happening to me.
I feel betrayed. Childhood sexual abuse has to be the ultimate form of betrayal. When the very people who are meant to love and protect you intentionally hurt you the implicit promise to ensure your well-being shatters. While T assures me it might be possible to pick up the pieces (I’m honestly still on the fence about this), it feels like there will always be fractures and nothing will ever fit quite right again.
I don’t know how to change the way it feels or how to stop believing that I will never be able to wash the filth away. I don’t know if I will ever reach the point where I no longer want to tear the flesh from my bones. I still want to run away from everything because it never feels quite safe enough to just exist in my own skin.
After this type of betrayal you spend a lifetime trying to be okay in the here and now. To just live without the heavy weight of what once was. To push back against the nightmares and the shame. It invades every crack and crevice of your being. It decimates you as a human being. Old emotions and pain are always at close hand, waiting to remind you that nothing will ever be the same. It’s really, really fucking hard and unbearable some days.
My relationship with T. It feels like he is who I have right now. When I feel so crushingly alone, he’s it. When I need someone to help hold on to everything, he’s it. When I feel scared and lost, he’s it. Him. At least for the next little while.
I told him that if I tell him everything that happened and he ends up leaving, it will be like before, and I will go silent. If he goes away, I go away. While it sounds melodramatic, it’s how it feels. Nothing feels safe—not yet—so he’s it. I asked him if he was okay knowing that was how it felt or whether it was too big, too hard, too much. He told me that while it’s hard to hear about the things that happened because he wishes it never happened, he would never leave me because of something I said or asked for.
So what now? It feels as though in order to feel better, you have to uncover the awful wounds, tend to them and let them heal. It’s absolutely exhausting and I often question whether we’ll make it through all of this. Whether we’ll survive what feels like the impossible.
There is still so much fear–fear that I won’t be believed; fear that they will somehow find out that I’ve said something and bring to fruition the threats from all those years ago; fear that T will finally have enough and send me out the door. The fear sometimes consumes me. It makes me want to close myself off to the world, stop talking and disappear.
All I want is to understand–to just understand all that happened. Maybe one day they’ll take up less space inside and I will barely even think of them at all.
Right now though, the only thing I can think and feel is that it’s just so categorically unfair.