FAMILY

Tenderly, like rocking a child, cuddle the little girl left alone terrorized by those she loved. You forgot how it was, how it is now, because others groomed you to. Be like it never happened because the shame of those that did those things to you, and the others doing nothing to stop it, or help in any way, is too uncomfortable for so called family— then, and now.

So alone I am. But do not abandon myself. The loneliness comes because no one stands witness to what happened. The story goes that others have so many other hurts, so how can I just think of myself? More honestly, they want family, even if those remaining are holey, not holy, but full of holes like a tattered old shirt blowing in the wind.

My gut pulls for family too. It always will. But just get on with life which is one I created of great beauty. I do so much better being apart from it, yet like a moth to flame still try.

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TERROR

A queasiness comes and goes. Covering one eye with my hand, like a pirate with a patch, my vision improves. The left cataract has progressed a great deal this year, making the idea of going through with the removal procedure more imminent.

The self- advocacy and extra considerations needed exhaust me. The level of sedation my body requires in order not to fight off anyone getting near me, is a deeper sedation than what most need, and deeper than what my eye doctor uses at his clinic where the surgeries are performed.

I would need to be at a hospital, which means meeting another doctor who does them there. My doctor has agreed to this, but it still means going to the city several times, first to meet with the new doctor, then the anesthesiologist, and on and on.

But to see clearly afterwards might make this worthwhile. It is the same reflexive reaction as with killer bird. While Samuel drifts around the yard unaware, or unperturbed about an animal droning down on him, my body goes into fight or flight. All sensors take off before my mind fully grasps the concept of what is happening.

And so it is with medical interventions. My body prepares for a fight for its life. And this will not go away as long as the memory of what Danny did stays repressed, which it probably will. If it hasn’t become safe for it to surface at age 66, then it won’t.  Every time anyone comes close, the shadow of the memory also does, and with it terror.

It takes a great amount of courage to seek care, dental or medical. If taken step by step carefully, by treating myself as gentle and compassionately as if it were another going through this, then I can do this…

JOY

People have always been fearsome. How could they not be when childhood was fraught with brothers who held me down, manipulated, lied, and broke trust so completely it never comes again? The snakes, bees, and killer bird are much more easily dealt with on this little plot of land called home.

And it is more home than ever was, because in it an internal home has also been found. Luckily the feeling of wholeness that others take for granted has occurred in me. First, writing the book, where the child in me let loose like a steam pot exploding.

Each week a chapter arose, one week joy, the next, severe pain. And most weeks included tears sliding down my cheeks sometimes in rivers. Sometimes needing a choking rain, but always healing in ways the word was meant to be.

Others in the origin family will interact with me, but only if the game of secrets is played, and only on their turf or in groups. The insanity of this brings upheavals of anguish, the mental confusion bringing only pain.

No one wants to know me as me. And I get it. We each have our own hell and cannot hear the other’s or let it in. Yet the façade of invisibility won’t wear on me anymore. It’s not that I want to talk about the past, just not be chained from it as it relates to my life now.

But you don’t want to know me, just own me, control me, and have me be a puppet. No. The craziness of this tips me over and I can’t have it. No.

People scare me, even those that call themselves family. There is a piece missing in me that has been lost forever. And these souls needy of their own take advantage of the hole. That is how it is.

So take joy in the life created, and know it is OK. You don’t have to fix what is not fixable. It is OK. You are OK, in fact beautiful.

 

WORTH

Thoughts swirling about this and that, all about others and how they feel, what they might think. The old ways grab at me pecking away. Then the voice of reason which abandoned me all those years of suffering over others that came with feelings of wrongness and badness in every encounter and situation.

You have a right to feel your feelings, but first you must find them. After a childhood where my body was not mine, and certainly not my feelings or anything else, at this late stage of my life the search goes on. Centering into my core by meditation is not just helpful, it is necessity. Otherwise I go blithering off the stratosphere, thinking I’m grounded but being anything but.

You have a right to feel your own unique feelings and own them. Be brave and live your life. It is easy to sink into another’s perceptions because I had none— no center, no core, no me. There is a me, and there is beauty there. Go there, find her, be her.

FRIENDS

Tinted, like looking at the world with dark glasses. When the growth of a personality is embedded with feelings of ‘badness,’ feeling abnormal, even dirty, it separates a being from others in so many ways… emotionally, spiritually, and intimately. Closeness is feared.

Anxiety arises. Any interaction with another human makes it pop like hot mercury. Though much of that has lessened, anxiety and the customary feeling of wrongness, or badness, are still issues dealt with daily. 

Living in a bubble is not my desire, but my needs require an environment that includes a great deal of solitude that is steadily familiar. Upsets in equilibrium interfere with my health setting off a reaction that is out of my control. But outings are still pleasurable.

A friendly gathering offered a place to really talk. Later at home the harsh voice began banging, “You monopolized the conversation. Can’t you see what they have been going through?”

Then a softer voice quietly budged in, “Give yourself a break. It’s OK to share. It doesn’t mean you aren’t aware of their struggles or pain, or that you don’t care. Let yourself off the hook. Think of the supportive things that were said, like, you are a good friend. Remember that?”

Remember that.

The Child

Too easily she is tossed aside, that child in me, forgotten, abused and alone. There she hovers quietly afraid because I forget her too… don’t want to be her.

Wrapping my arms around my core, as a friend reminds me, “take care of her,” warmer feelings arise to envelope me.

Treating myself as I was treated, ignored and tortured, because to a child abused sexually it is torture committed with brutality, even if no force is used, because the cajoling, syrupy, sweet words take all that is innocent…

There she is abandoned and alone unless I accept her, and all her fears, take her to play, keep her safe, and remember she is always there needing comfort and love.

 

GROWTH

photo by Patricia

My head knows what my heart does not. When a child is sexually abused by loved ones, her world turns and does not recover. My head knows the blame is not mine, but the soul, my core, became damaged in ways that won’t be undone.

People my age die. It is not uncommon. The growth so far may have to be. That is the way for everyone. We keep growing until we die. And mine is enough. I cannot have what I would have, but I can have now with hope.