So, far I have only written a bit about my childhood and my fears, to tell the truth not sure were this one is going or how it will end up.
Always fearful of sharing my truth, that it will be misunderstood or worse. It is not that I want attention or anyone to feel sorry for me, it is very therapeutic for me to write. But, publishing it, on however small a scale, is always frightening to me. It is a vulnerability and I don’t do vulnerable very well. No, trust was stolen from me at an early age.
Told never to trust in love (my mom) at the ripe age of 8 and abused sexually shortly thereafter by family member.
No, innocence and trust was officially lost
Our house was a house of secrets, which helped fuel my abuser’s ability to molest me.
They didn’t want to know. That is my truth.
I mean when a kid goes from being almost too forward to withdrawn and fearful, don’t you think someone would notice?
I was fed and clothed, I had toys, went to movies, went on family vacations,not rich by any standards, but I didn’t look neglected, either.
But, behind close doors things were very messed up.
Think of putting a sensitive child in the most chaotic hell you can think of, give them little to no praise, tell them to “not talk about the family to anyone outside the family”, let them witness verbal and physical abuse between the parents,and then on top of that, let a family member rape and use her several times a week, You are not going to be “normal” after all that.
“Normal”is no longer an option.
Survival is all you got left.
Always being in a survival mode leaves little room for vulnerability or for trust. You doubt everyone’s motives, you trust no one, and you fight to make sure you are never used that way again.
Anger can lie dormant for many years, as in my case, but somehow-someway it is going to erupted.
Once the molestation stopped, I tried real hard to be “normal” once again.
But, I would have nightmares and flashbacks.
Those I ignored. I pushed forward, it was all I knew how to do.
Things caught up to me in my early thirties and I went spiraling down into a long, deep depression lasting almost 10 years.
I honestly believe one of the greatest impediments against me getting well, was when at last my molester was made known, no one gave a damn, in fact they rallied around the molester and told me I needed to forgive him.
If you ever want to make someone feel like they are not worth a damn thing to you, the tactic above works real well.
I guess that is bitterness, but it still hurts like hell.
I now can see that none of this was my fault and that I didn’t deserve it , because no one deserves this.
Knowing this and acknowledging I had the right to be angry about it has helped me heal.
I still have a lot to work on, but I realize things can get better and that is very powerful.