Monsters Don’t Die

Monsters don’t die, they live in my neurons ready to attack. A sudden sound, even Samuel entering a room without hearing the approaching footsteps makes my adrenaline shoot clanging the warning sirens. In the quiet alone, the vast stillness in the house waiting…

Monsters don’t die, they live on. Chet’s kidnapping of my freedom, a toy, a thing, a little captive now grown still trying to untangle the chains of childhood. Shame kept me silent, and he knew it. Though living in a house with seven brothers and a mother, his attacks were as if thousands miles away trapped in a hut with only his disgusting manipulating force.

I want to kill him, though he is already dead. No one to save me, no one would help me. Hostages grow close to their captors. His death did not undo that. They are never gone, the ones who attacked me. They lie waiting to destroy, even as worms eat their rotted flesh in the dirt they are buried in.These are the feelings denied all my life because my mother insisted on niceness— sugar without spice. 

They are never gone. The most violent attack by Dan remains repressed, inside deeply subconscious, yet there in all its horror. Raymond once said, “So what if you don’t remember?”

So what? What is that if it came up all the symptoms of PTSD would magically disappear. And of course that isn’t true. The cure comes in kindness towards self, so hard for a personality shaped by believing my needs don’t matter or even exist. A fake life forced with the silence, the authentic one still rising. 

When a child is sexually attacked by loved ones, the ones that know, and the ones who committed the crimes do not want the child to talk. No one provides attention or care, not even medical care. The shame that one of their own has done this means sacrifice the child, controlled by more manipulations and implied threats of abandonment through shunning. The life meant to be gone.  

I learned what happened didn’t, like painting white over black. Life was dazed by trauma and terror, and still I lived with the monsters who attacked in the night. I was to love them. Love was never to safely come again, not for adults. Rare moments occur with children who have not yet learned deceitfulness, and all pets. Pretending became my reality. 

Progress is made in recognizing my needs with compassion, though numbing also continues  without knowing why. 

 

Forgive, Forgive, Forgive

 

Yesterday was quiet but enjoyable, the warm weather pulling me outside to walk the meadow then meeting Samuel creek-side for a gentle canoe ride, even sighting the beaver a few times. Oh, a sigh of relief while Mother soothed me with her loving arms, the warm sun and centering stillness. 

Our Christmas is yet to come. We gather together Saturday, a once in a year tradition when both sons and families are with us. Cory, wife, and little daughter arrive tonight from a near-by state.

“Promise not to get over-excited,” Cory says on a phone call, and my gut knows the directive is coming from his spouse.

“I promise,” my response comes with a bitter feeling towards her.  

My young daughters-in-law are without the blemish of childhood trauma, so how could they understand? It’s true, my anxiety makes it hard to be around, though sons are very used to me. Anxiety overwhelms even when erupting from pleasurable activities like family gatherings.

Any heightened experience makes my nervous system go haywire. But my intention is keep my promise, and not let resentments towards young women who have never been splintered by trauma to tarnish a special event.

Forgive, forgive, forgive, let love up.

GIFTS

How do you learn to live with others, love them, even like them, when hurts are sure to come, along with disappointments, failure to meet expectations, foibles of character, misunderstandings, just human flaws in general?

Ripped apart in childhood, this task is almost insurmountable, but with enough work, attachments can be made that see one through life, albeit at times just barely.

Trust does not swim back in along with warm feelings full of love, security, and affection for others. No, just about never. The cat is where my love flows. Without the cat there would be none. I ‘think’ others love me, but it is too risky to feel it. 

But some interactions are needed, even if acting is needed to simulate what it should be like. Get by with the act to survive. Maybe the real thing will come, feeling love. What is left of all that was stolen lies buried where it is kept safe. This is not intentional, it happened automatically to survive. 

Complete annihilation of embers left burning that are able to love would remove any reason to live, because love is life. Learning to forgive others for their thoughtless slights and insensitivity happens more readily as the ability to forgive my own shortcomings blossoms.

Give the gift of gentleness to self. Wrap it in kindness.  

 

In Touch

For much of my life, answers were looked for from others because other people seemed to have it together. Being split from my soul meant being lost in the forest, drowning in doubt, spinning misplaced like a wild dervish.

But others don’t have my answers. The solutions come from within, a place unexplored, untouched, unknown. That place had to be protected to survive, but it meant even my own parts couldn’t reach it.

It is only in these past few years that moments of clarity arise from a place where all things flow, the soul. The answers sought are inside me.

Sometimes information lies elsewhere, but the important stuff is there waiting. needing only to be tapped, touched, and connected to. Those moments occur most dramatically while meditating, or out in nature.

The SCHISM

There is a fear of being in my body and staying there. Others seem to check in with their body unconsciously knowing when there is hunger, fullness, cold, pain, and the list goes. Often I’ve checked out.

My fear is internal, also unconscious, yet the terror is there laying wait. Perhaps the rape, repressed, causes this schism between body and mind. Perhaps it is the next couple of years after that when the others took what they wanted.

Coming ‘home’ and staying is fleeting. Zoning in a place other than the here and now still is comforting at times. It takes energy to breath, notice my hand as it washes the dishes, and be among the living.

After time, it becomes easier to be present, yet that far off place still calls, still offers comfort, and still owns me some of the time. And the disconnect, the fissure from the body that others don’t have to deal with yet take for granted, it still a force to be reckoned with.

Wholeness is fleeting, but necessary to take good care of body, mind, spirit, and soul. I may be different, alone in many ways, but still shine. We all offer a specialness no one else can; the tree in the forest set apart from others but still beautiful. 

 

LOVE?

Swallowing Vit C throughout the day has not deterred this cold, probably caught by the grand-children Saturday. Waking at 3 AM, it took work to stay put and go back to sleep till 5.

Thoughts whirled. If you can’t control thoughts, you’re in big trouble, a line, or one similar to it from the Julia Roberts movie, Eat, Love, Pray.

So OK. Flip side to side, then lay flat concentrating on the breath some more. Thoughts quieted, sleep came, albeit interrupted, it came.

With the usual rocking by the fire sipping fresh coffee, thoughts arise. How lucky my life is despite all the struggles. Sons love me, grand-children too, and Samuel, a man unfortunate enough to have a wife almost incapable of love.

Love can be thought of, but rarely felt. There is a glimmer of love deep in the tunnels where it flickers protected. For myself, for others. But it is not accessed easily like most who are trusting, warm, and open.

How could it be out in the open where that kernel of essence could be completely annihilated? When all that was precious shattered, the only whole fragment left  lay in the vault of a vault, so walled in no one gets at it, even safe ones, even me.

It is as it is due to what was done, no fault of my own. It does mean I cannot love or feel love, but do so only in the safety of aloneness where I can think of you without you near me. There love flows.

 

Finding the Light

The repeated traumas as a child of 8, 9, 10, 11, caused a severe ripping inside me, though one sexual attack by an older sibling was enough to cause the life-long rift. And by attack, physical force was not always necessary. There are many ways to ‘attack’ a child that are just as destructive as force.

All that was precious was shattered, and there was no going back to the whole that was. A life has been spent trying to find it from others, a connection to my insides, and a belief in myself. The dependence on others was like hand candy, once dissolving more is needed.

It is only by finding myself in myself that long-lasting comfort becomes permanent, fleeting but a place to return to with self-talk because the ever present bully is there berating, beating down, and smack talking loudly.  

That happens to a child sexually abused by loved ones. Who is bad? I am. Because if it isn’t me, then it is the family I love and trust, and most importantly needed to survive.

So life goes on, dimmed, feeling hunted, and hiding inside. The outer shell lives life, the inner self muzzled and contained, so much so, that touching the place where I really was became inaccessible.

Buzzing through life on the carpet of anxiety, fear, and will, feeding off the light of others, was hardly enough at all. It is only in this later stage of years gone by, only after facing, and telling my real story, that appreciation of just how hard it has been begins to let up my own light, and to feel it warm me.