This piece is a continuation of my original post with the same title (JULY 7, 2018)
So I’ve lost so much body weight….. I look down and there’s the body of a nine-year old. I suddenly feel distant/cold. My body is betraying me, this feels like a dirty trick, where’s my fat? my padding? my womanly curves? my safety from physical betrayal of my past?
In full-blown panic, memories of abuse tormenting every waking and sleeping experience. My skeleton frame only exacerbates my panic and desperation. Most food at this point, is purposely turned away (if attempted), which is rare. Mostly chewed half-assed and spit out – as if it was not edible, poisonous.
I had digested one to many lies – the bullshit tank inside was full. FOOD, in light of all of my abuse bubbling to the surface of consciousness, became a weapon I could use both to 1) be in control of wtf I allowed in, and 2) be mean to myself – instead of giving my anger a voice outward. BUT, gaining steam to power my F.U. was on the horizon.
I slowly was starving myself. 2 things were true for me… I was pulling the anger inward and making MYSELF pay for being born, yes, that basic – somewhere inside me believed that maybe I was better off not even being here to give anyone the satisfaction to fuck with me. Another truth: limiting my intake of food was deeply satisfying as I FINALLY had some control over my life. But this carefully orchestrated plan was backfiring as I now had the body of a child – which triggered terror in every breath as the small frame of a helpless child stared back at me in the bathtub.
There were many, many, many days, weeks, months of terror pumping through my body. Pupils dilating for absolutely no reason, panic attacks at night, half of my body going numb, vomiting undigested food 8 hours after eating. My digestion was trying to shut down. My blood pressure skyrocketed. Graphic, Stephen King quality nightmares !!!!! graphic and gore. Children showing up at the side of my bed, covered in blood. I became the aggressor in my nightmares – attacking those who wanted to hurt me. And not just attacking – massacring is a more appropriate choice of words. I would slice predators up. Crazily enough, this was deeply satisfying and extremely therapeutic. When I closed my eyes, every violent fantasy of revenge…granted.
I began to worry about my anger. My family (of origin) and other well adjusted souls (LMAO) let me know that I had way too much anger. AYFKM (are you fucking kidding me). What I know now is that Anger saved my life. It was the only thing that felt REAL, ALIVE, POWERFUL – just everything I never had!!!!! It was justified anger. I had been degraded, shamed, invisible, silenced, betrayed, deceived, used, etc.. for the first 18 years of my life. Just for being alive, present, compliant and needing love (as all children are).
Who wouldn’t be seething with anger? retaliation? revenge? rage? hate? I might add that most victims feel as if they are partially to blame for what happened to them. ABSOLUTELY NOT. not for one minute did I believe I deserved to be violated over and over and over. Not for one minute did I believe it was ok for my mother (and I use that term loosely) to act as if none of the abuse was happening – she was supposed to protect me. I think it all comes down to your belief in yourself, as victim of this bullshit….
It’s been rare, but I have met up with a handful of people in my life who are deeply touched by the injustice and horror of my story and respond as such…..But, most people I have told about my abuse attempted to somehow talk me out of my truth or make excuses for the crazy bastard abusers or somehow minimize what happened. All because if they REALLY, REALLY were able to take in the horror of the situation they would crack wide open to their own “story” that they have pushed down so deeply, consequently they can not/do not support (fully realize) the darkness within themselves. Just an astute observation.