Friday, September 11, 2009

Hell Is For Children

What can I say? I had a meltdown of major proportions yesterday. In cognative therapy we happened to hit on some old wounds in the process of dealing with new ones. That happens sometimes. It isn't wrong. The old wound is directly related to the new one. Unfortuanately we reached this point just before the session was over. Alan (therapist) made sure I was okay enough to leave, which I was, and I went home. From then on all this anger and rage boiled over like a volcano spews lava and pyroclastic flow. This anger and rage comes from deep rooted wounds caused by neglect and disregard for my life that was the status quo when I was a small child. Of course those are in addition to the sexual, physical, and mental abuse that I endured. Not to mention the absence of protection from the outside world; my siblings and I were fodder for whoever desired us. Mostly me, then my sister. Not only that, there was no one to guard us, no refuge from the torment of being used and abused. We were on our own.

During this time it was drilled into us, my sister and I, that if we were touched sexually in any way before marriage no decent man would want us. We'd never get married or have kids. No one would ever love us. For now, neither she nor I posessed anything that made us loveable. No innocence, or virginity, no love. Our bodies would be ruined - beyond redemption. Our souls forever stained. This was pounded into us all the time. In addition to that I was the neighborhood doormat; I was put on display for any boy who wanted to see what a girls genitals looked like. I did not have a choice in the matter. I was forced to perform blow-jobs against my will for God knows how many people too. I was the neighborhood whore. At least that is what I heard at home. The people who forced their will on me never had to answer for their actions. I did. I paid for their actions. I was told it was my fault and that I needed to be punished, and was. I was used goods. Not good for anything now. Beyond redemption. My parents never asked questions about what happened. They never went and talked to the boys' parents. They did nothing but castigate me for the crimes committed against me. That's just the tip of the iceberg. There is much more. I'll probably write about those events in the not too distant future. Poor Mary was lured into someone's house, stripped, tied spread eagle, and repeatedly raped with various objects from the person's house. The parents were not home; the girl's brother came and watched for a while, then convinced her to let Mary go. As soon as my sister got up, she put on her clothes, and ran all the way home. Then, because she was only 5 and out without our father knowing where she was, she got the snot beat out of her. Not to mention the ugly words that came out of his mouth while beating down his own child. He was too selfish to make sure he knew where his little ones were at all times, and when his daughter came home from being tortured, he never saw it on her face. She wasn't important enough. All that mattered was him. Which was usual. He was the most important person in the house. Life had to revolve around him. We children were parasites that demanded too much of him. "Why do I have to take care of all these kids?"; I always pictured him thinking this. We certainly felt like parasites. We wanted and more truthfully needed his time and attention but we were not worth it. It cost him too much. Sometimes I felt like both parents saw the five of us as animals who swung from the chandeliers. Mom and Dad seemed contemptuous of the five of us because we had needs that were supposed to be met by them. But instead we were led to believe that we put them out and made their lives more difficult because of needs that were supposed to be met; even though we were children and couldn't do it ourselves. I remember being made to feel guilty for having needs that made life difficult for them.
This and probably more is at the root of the struggle in me to believe that I really do have worth and value and should be treated as such. Intellectually I know I have the same worth as anyone else. But deep in my heart lives much doubt. I thought I had dealt with it already. I guess not enough. What will it take to make me believe I don't need to be punished, that I don't have to live with someone who ignores me and my needs. And that if a certain someone refuses me sex for a year again, I will throw him out on his ear. The last time I craved attention, not necessarily sexual, just to look at me and connect with me - I had to cut myself. That is what it took for me to get him to notice me. And then his attitude was, "Oh here we go again. She's whining about something else now." Of course now he doesn't remember any of it. He swears he doesn't remember keeping sex from me for a year. He never remembers any of it.
Much better today. Emotionally exhausted, though. This is a long row to hoe, and, after last night I don't know if I can keep doing it. Last night I really wanted to die. I shook my fists at God and screamed at him. I swore a lot too. This is usual for when I go through this. Thankfully God looks into your heart at what is motivating you. Although I still have doubts about Him guiding my footsteps, I still want to stay on this road to recovery. I'll write more later.

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