:Trigger:This crap is a trigger fest, alright? if you will freak, steer clear.
I've been grappling with my self-hatred...and there's a bunch of reasons bubbling between my ears why it's so hard for me to let go:
I'm afraid to feel good-like someone will come along and hurt me for feeling good.
I feel like I MUST punish myself...because I didn't do everything right!
I believe I'm a failure, and to say I am doing my best is to accept mediocrity.
But...I feel like I'm about to decant an abuse memory.
Considering the way it works, probably one where I was enjoying sex with my Dad.
Ultimately...I have to forgive the person who enjoyed having sex with Dad. Who went in there willingly and had sex with Dad. UCK!
It may have started off forced, although the memories are so fragmentary I can't tell. I do remember, have always remembered...standing in the hallway outside his door, crying in quiet terror, knowing that to go back to my bedroom was to be left alone...with all the terror that implied...
And to go in to him was...and memory blanks, but there are blurs, and what's in the blurs...well,now is the child's little body beneath his...and the fact that it hurt, this sort of ripping pain, and aroused me, and comforted me all at once. Oh god...
And that was the price of not sleeping terrified and alone: he got to do with me what he wanted. What I am sure I wanted eventually. Because I wasn't really touched enough anyway, because I came to be turned on also.
There's something that causes me to be revolted at myself for that. That is why I fear people now...because I needed him.
Yes, there's my trust issues...there they are:
I needed him because I was having horrible nightmares from already having been raped by my uncle and orally abused by an upstairs neighbor...I needed him to protect me from the horrors in my head.
He used my need for him...to have sex with me. He didn't need to force me. I needed him, so I paid that price. I let him have sex with me.
And having nerve endings, it felt erotically pleasurable.
I liked it. I wanted it. I was willing to have sex with him.
I find that revolting...that I was so weak.
That's why I feel this sense of helpless terror when I need anybody. I need people and I loathe that I need people...and agh. Because that weakness got used against me so horribly well.
Needing people makes me feel numb and terrified. Disgusted at myself too, for needing them, loving them, trusting them...
But...how do I forgive myself for needing? for being weak, imperfect?
If I were better, I wouldn't need people. If I were stronger, I could be all alone...then I could have pride in myself.
At least that's what part of me thinks.
I hate the part of myself that is human and vulnerable and imperfect. I do NOT want to be vulnerable, human and imperfect.
That person screwed their father out of terror at being left alone. That person was someone's thing because of need for safety, closeness and touch.
That person was weak, and I feel disgust because per is me now.
3 comments:
It was purely by accident that I stumbled across your blog.
You are right, that post is a trigger fest but i think you're onto the right idea in writing your thoughts and feelings down to get it out. As someone who has also lived through child sexual and emotional abuse your post hurt a lot to read but as horrible as it is to know that others have gone through (and are still going through) similar experiences, it is oddly comforting to know that you are alone in the feelings and thoughts you have been left with.
Though it IS a sad dichotomy, I hope you too will let the fact that your feelings of self-loathing and imperfection are shared by others be at the very least a small comfort to you.
erh... typo fix for the above post
- you are *not* alone...
Just read a few posts after zipping over from your comment, which made me laugh, at ptsd and me. There's a great song by the Libertines called "Horror Show" I don't know what the song is about, but I apply it to my family and it kind of works for me. When I get the self hates and the craphead voice telling me everything that's wrong -- usually with me -- I slowly learned to just quietly say "hush...shhh shhh" and be present for the person who went through all the abuse without piling more on. That is other people's crap, not mine, but sometimes I just don't get it, and the hush thing quiets me down, kind of like what a parent should have been like, comforting and protecting without the abuse. Anyway, thanks for your courageous and really real posts, I hope your path to some kind of better life continues.
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