Here, Wait, I Believe This Dead Is Yours

Oh, by the way, have I shared my expertise regarding the long term effects as a result of a dark childhood? Unfortunately, I know all too well, the life-long repercussions – the DEAD they placed inside of me, in us. Never belonged to us, we never deserved it. But, yet, I’m still full of gratitude. Gratitude I’m alive.

I made it out. On my terms. Many don’t. Often, the pain, humiliation, shame are too overwhelming.

Isolation. Yes, lonely, I feel so different, everyone else seems to be happy, getting on with their lives. No-one understands me- THAT isolation. It’s real and can be long lasting. Understandably so. If, early on, we get the message that were story tellers or we make things up or just want attention – met with this bullshit – it rebounds as terror around reaching out to others. The seeds of self denial have spread into a forest of self doubt and pulling away from connection. Too hard to reach for help – too many victimizers in our head telling us that it’s better to stay protected, don’t reach out to others cause it will be more of the same from childhood.

Well meaning onlookers remark that we must just reach out to other people. Well, that suggestion comes with assumptions, 1) your going to choose someone who will listen and be receptive, 2) you are not afraid to tell your secret (abuse) because everyone will understand, 3) you were met with love and kindness when you reached out for help as a child (OMG, lol). Seriously, we begin to wrap our head around some insight into how unfair the following are…”Gee, why won’t they just get help” or, sadly after they’ve comitted suicide, “why didn’t they ask someone for help”.

The shame and feeling out of place can be crushing. Everywhere you go people are behaving “normally”, so it seems. Folks hide their dysfunction extremely well. No-one, well maybe that street person you occasionally see, wears their troubled past on their person for the world to see. We have to look like we’ve got the world by the balls, everything is going as planned, we have total control over our lives. When inside, many of us want to curl up into a ball and stay in our soft beds, with a box or two of tissues, for a month, with a bottle of pills in one hand and booze in the other. Softening the edges of a painful existence.

We process our hurts in private, if you are lucky… you have someone in your life who knows the REAL DEAL about you. No sugar-coating, saccharine sweet version of you – the real, the raw, the ugly. What a cleansing experience, to finally let the words drip out into a soft lap landing of a human, equipped with a receptive heart.

When I first came out with my truth, my tragic past, luckily I met up with some beautiful humans with soft heartspace. But I so wanted to stand on a mountain top and scream everything I knew to be true. Although I never went to the mountain, I did write and write and write all of my feelings, emotions, memories. Many hateful, rage-filled entries, deliciousness. I read through them now and then to revisit and ponder things, sometimes differently than I had previously.

I had some fantasies….just a couple hehe. One was taking an old trunk, an interesting leather, map of the ancient world type of trunk and fill it up with all the images, words, feelings, fear, protests, manipulation, lies, betrayal, hate, rage, grief, shame, guilt, indifference, icyness, etc. Pack all that SHIT in there tight, get it all in with a shoe-horn. Then walk to a street corner on a busy city intersection and drop it off. For someone else to unpack. For years, I would have such a fantasy. The idea that I could just give it ALL up for some stranger, some Randy, to unpack? Delicious. The second part of the fantasy would be to watch the reaction – see, I craved a “normal” reaction to my shitty circumstances. How amazing it would have been for someone to gasp, weep, have to sit a while to gain their composure. THIS would have been the cats pajamas, unusual, real and oh so healthy to be witness to.  mmmmhealing.

Another fantasy was to win the lottery, 30 million. ( I don’t even play LOL) and give each family member 1 million dollars…. of course with a stipulation muuuhaaaaaaa. For starters, my Mother (and I use that term loosely) would have to pose for several billboard shots (to be displayed in her town and mine), holding a sign at her chest level, that reads, “I refuse to see or live in the truth, I have no room for YOUR or MY own feelings. I will do anything to get you to believe I am a caring, compassionate person. My shield of denial is more important to me than believing and supporting my daughter. Oh, btw I have the same childhood history of sexual abuse in my life, but if you ask me I will deny it to my grave, God forbid, anyone think I’m tarnished”.

Brilliant. Just Brilliant.

My siblings, would have various signs to hold…ranging from, “I treat my sister as THE problem – so it takes the heat off me…even though our entire family structure is the problem” to “I was abused also but I refuse to admit that to anyone, our family is perfect” and let’s not forget, “I molested my sister for years and refuse to SEE or take responsibility for how I devastated her light, joy and future – I was only concerned with using her to fulfill my dead soul”.

I don’t know, I don’t think any of them would take the million 😂. I might have to increase it to 2 million each. I actually chuckle when I picture them holding the signs.

When your voice is suppressed for soooooooo long, these fantasies really, really help you to regain some personal power.  I think revenge is completely normal. I choose to visualize different scenarios in my head and then sit with the pleasing calm that comes from the feeling of “winning”.  Smiling af

To be continued with more regarding the total impact on an adult life. Yes. Both positive -whaaaaat? You say… and of course negative. Peace ✌️