I like food. I like food a lot. I'm one of those people now, I guess, who you read about. A "yo-yo dieter." I go from exercising hardcore and eating six little healthy meals a day to eating 3 Drumsticks in one sitting, some Hot Cheetos and home-style mac-n'-cheese. I call myself a lot of names. On an average I-ate-my-weight-in-chocolate-and-sad-feelings day, you'll hear me jokingly talk about what a fatty I am. I call my butt/thigh region a "thutt" (you can't tell the difference between thigh and butt). I call myself pancake-ass, jiggly, cottage cheesy, cellulite filled, and just plain gross. I'm pretty damn funny, actually. But, in actuality, I don't really feel very happy about the way I look and I guess it's pretty obvious. I think my issue now is, after moving out from my parents' place- going from not eating very much food and running all the time, to eating three hearty meals a day, sitting around sad and overwhelmed and stressed about the next phase in my life- I gained quite a bit of weight. I don't look like a whale or anything but I keep gaining weight because after the initial weight gain and lack of exercise, I tried to workout hardcore and I seriously hurt my joints. Initially I thought something was wrong with my knees, which maybe there is, but I think more than anything- the additional weight makes my joints pissed off at me. It hurts to exercise. So then I get into this cycle of "Oh my gosh I'm so fatty I can't even go for a 10 minute run without feeling like I'm an old person."
I'm really trying to work on my consistency and not taking on too much and being kinder to myself- just doing a reasonable amount of dieting and exercise, or rather changing my lifestyle but consistency is tough! I trace my tendency to overeat certain things back to my childhood. My boyfriend always comments on the fact that the only really positive memories I have of my mom are connected to food in one way or another. She nurtured through her cooking and when I'm really sad, I think I equate eating cozy food and specific foods I had as a child to that feeling you get when you know your mom loves you- and I don't have that feeling very often. I don't think it would even be so bad to be an emotional eater....but I just commit food-icide! Moderation is not something I understand... I wonder what the trick to disassociating food from nostalgic memories is.
I think I need a consistency coach, personal trainer, and a nutritionist...and money for those things, haha.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Being an Adult- The Responsibilities of a Sexual Abuse Survivor
What I am about to describe and divulge to you takes a lot of, I guess you could say, "guts" on my part. It may not even be the most intelligent thing to share with the world but as an advocator for openness and healing, as well as moving on and growing up, I kind of feel it really is something I'm obligated to share with you guys.
I genuinely believe that there is no such thing as "good" and "bad" people. Only bad decisions. I also believe that people who are mean or abusive or truly scary didn't start out that way- they, more likely than not, were abused as children or adolescents or maybe in adulthood and that abuse will always shape you as a person-sometimes positively, and sometimes not.
I talk a lot, in my blog, about how my mom sexually abused me (as well as physically and verbally) and I think it's pretty clear I do not like her. As a kid, though, things were different. As a kid, I loved my mom more intensely than any kind of love I've seen someone have for another person. My mom has always been both a very open person, and a very secretive person. With her, the story always changes. My mom would tell me stories about her childhood and I wish I had listened harder. Asked more questions. I find I have so many questions about where she came from, knowing now the things that both she and I struggle with. Maybe having the answers would help me better understand myself.
My mother was always pretty consistent about the fact that her mom was always pretty cold. It seemed like she nurtured mainly through food, like my mom does. My mom always speaks highly of her dad- he died when she was 16 and she was devastated. I always wonder, though, if he wasn't the most abusive of the bunch. She praises him like he was some sort of god she was graced with but I never heard much about why he was such a wonderful father. I wonder if maybe he hit his children and his wife. Maybe he sexually abused my mom or some of the family? Maybe he was, in fact, a great dad. I know that when I asked my mom- "Did your father every rape you or your siblings?" She gets furious with me. She always responds with, "How dare you speak badly about my father. I love him and he was a far better person than you." I don't know about you, but that reaction just makes me more suspicious.
My mom immigrated from Austria when she was 3 with her parents and brother and sister, in the fifties I believe. Her mom was jewish and her father was catholic. My mom faced a lot of racism in Iowa and they called her a dirty German. They hit her with baseball bats, pushed her down stairs, and made it really clear that they didn't like her or her background. I think my mom always felt very isolated and just generally unliked- by her family and the people around her. When my mom talks about what she was like as a child and teenager- she reminds me of me and what I was like as a child. She was a quirky creative little girl who kept to herself and hated conflict. She always tried to bring the family together and it upset her more than it would upset most when she felt someone didn't like her. When I picture my mom as a little girl- a very petite, adorable little blonde girl with sausage curls, a pressed dress, and a bow in her hair- I am angry for her and I am angry at whoever hurt her in her past. I stand by the fact that I believe my mom was raped. My mom mentioned in anger or in a drunken slur a few times throughout my life that her brother had raped her. But when I would later ask her about it, she'd get angry with me and say my mind was "in the gutter." Whether or not it happened, I don't know and I have no proof of but I believe with all my heart that she was abused, mistreated, and put in a bad position several times throughout her life.
My mom is a weird person. She's terrified of being homeless, is afraid of the dark, is constantly in a child-like state, very dependent, irrational, angry, manipulative, and helpless. She has an addictive personality, takes 8 vicodin a day (among other prescribed pills taken in excess) and has a tendency to drink and sneak alcohol and Butterfingers. I've always known her to be on "the verge of committing suicide." She has the lowest self esteem I think I've ever seen a person have. She certainly hates herself more than I hate her, and that's saying something. To her, I don't think there's anything more scary than being alone. She's a very overweight, very lazy, chronic pain person and she is addicted to collecting things and spending money she doesn't have- even if she believes she's the best bargain hunter you can find. She's actually...intelligent? I think? But most of what she knows and talks about these days are Indian soap operas, Clay Aiken, and various TV series. She's a Sci-Fi lover and far to open about her sex life and various blow jobs she's given but when you discuss something sexually-normal with her- she'll literally cover her ears, sing a childish song, or tell you you're crass.
Anyway- as a child, I really felt for my mom and her stories about her childhood and the pain she still feels today would bring me to tears. People would hear about and see how I was being raised and they would be very concerned and try to comfort me and I always would say, "My mom's just hurting. She means well and really loves me. She just doesn't know how to love herself." A lot of times I would tell people I didn't really care if she loved me, I just wish she would love herself, and I would be 7 or 8 at the time and people would just stare at me- shocked. I understand why, now. See, moving out of my house, away from my parents was great and crucial in so many ways. I didn't understand until I separated myself from our dysfunction that my parent's love for me was very conditional and therefore my love for myself and other people around me was very conditional.
It's only taken me until now to realize what the aftermath of what the cycle of dysfunction and rape and sexual abuse really is. Here's the tough thing to admit- the thing I really never really say (and the thing you never really say, either, if you've been raped or molested.) I am terrified of myself. When I'm around small children, girls or boys, sometimes I can get myself into this place where I am just hyperventilating, uncomfortable, and overwhelmed with myself. I feel ashamed, anxious, and revolting. That feeling is the IMMENSE fear that I will repeat the cycle. My mom was raped, she raped me- I don't know how people are supposed to interact in a healthy way with children. What if how I interact is wrong? What if I do something? What if I hurt them? What if I break them? What if I damage this precious, innocent life because I am somehow this damaged, gross person? I can't tell anyone. They'll think I've done something to another child. They'll look at me different. Maybe they'll report me if I say something to a therapist? Is this normal? Do all rape victims feel this way? What's the right way to react? How do I heal from this? Do I heal? Am I supposed to not interact with children? I love children and being able to nurture and care for children makes me feel happy and fulfilled. Is that unhealthy? Should I not be allowed to work with children? Will my boyfriend leave me if he knows this is how I feel?
I'm fortunate enough to have some really great friends, a very loving, understanding, and rational boyfriend, and people who share my experiences. Luckily, with that combination of greatness, I feel okay and not so afraid of myself- not so ashamed- not so alone in my fear. I have a few friends who have come to me in private and asked me, "I get really anxious and unsettled around little girls (or little boys or both) and I hate myself for it. Do you feel that way too sometimes? How do you deal with it?" And, boy, am I so glad they came to me. Not only was it comforting for them to hear that, yes, I can feel that way and I have somethings I do and tell myself to work through it, but it's comforting for me too. That's why I'm sharing (even though it's probably the single most thing I'm mortified to share about.) Looking back on my childhood, my mom's childhood, and my "freak outs" I have- I realize the feeling I get isn't a "desire" to do something wrong, but the fear that some day that "desire" my mom and whoever raped her had. I don't want to be some monster and the thought of being an abuser is overwhelming and scary.
This is where being an adult just plain sucks. When you're abused as a kid, it's easy to feel like you're still a kid, what is expected of you is the same as what is expected of a kid, and you are as fragile as a kid (or at least that's how I sometimes feel). The issue is, when you feel worried about the potential you have to do damage to another child- it's time to be an adult. Yes, you were abused. Yes, your boundaries aren't always as clear. Yes, being around children is hard for you to navigate. But you have to learn when to be really honest with yourself and gauge your situation. I think it's okay to feel anxious and nervous around kids sometimes, because as a survivor, you are at a greater risk of repeating the abuse and I don't think you need to beat yourself up for being cautious and afraid that that is a possibility- but if you do feel you're at a place where the line between "wrong" and "right" is blurred- you need to remove yourself from the situation, regroup, and maybe have a therapist help you sort through those feelings and fears and help give you perspective.
It's your responsibility as a survivor to break the cycle, not repeat it. I think, as a person, you always have the choice to make good and bad decisions. It's figuring out which one's which that gets tough.
I genuinely believe that there is no such thing as "good" and "bad" people. Only bad decisions. I also believe that people who are mean or abusive or truly scary didn't start out that way- they, more likely than not, were abused as children or adolescents or maybe in adulthood and that abuse will always shape you as a person-sometimes positively, and sometimes not.
I talk a lot, in my blog, about how my mom sexually abused me (as well as physically and verbally) and I think it's pretty clear I do not like her. As a kid, though, things were different. As a kid, I loved my mom more intensely than any kind of love I've seen someone have for another person. My mom has always been both a very open person, and a very secretive person. With her, the story always changes. My mom would tell me stories about her childhood and I wish I had listened harder. Asked more questions. I find I have so many questions about where she came from, knowing now the things that both she and I struggle with. Maybe having the answers would help me better understand myself.
My mother was always pretty consistent about the fact that her mom was always pretty cold. It seemed like she nurtured mainly through food, like my mom does. My mom always speaks highly of her dad- he died when she was 16 and she was devastated. I always wonder, though, if he wasn't the most abusive of the bunch. She praises him like he was some sort of god she was graced with but I never heard much about why he was such a wonderful father. I wonder if maybe he hit his children and his wife. Maybe he sexually abused my mom or some of the family? Maybe he was, in fact, a great dad. I know that when I asked my mom- "Did your father every rape you or your siblings?" She gets furious with me. She always responds with, "How dare you speak badly about my father. I love him and he was a far better person than you." I don't know about you, but that reaction just makes me more suspicious.
My mom immigrated from Austria when she was 3 with her parents and brother and sister, in the fifties I believe. Her mom was jewish and her father was catholic. My mom faced a lot of racism in Iowa and they called her a dirty German. They hit her with baseball bats, pushed her down stairs, and made it really clear that they didn't like her or her background. I think my mom always felt very isolated and just generally unliked- by her family and the people around her. When my mom talks about what she was like as a child and teenager- she reminds me of me and what I was like as a child. She was a quirky creative little girl who kept to herself and hated conflict. She always tried to bring the family together and it upset her more than it would upset most when she felt someone didn't like her. When I picture my mom as a little girl- a very petite, adorable little blonde girl with sausage curls, a pressed dress, and a bow in her hair- I am angry for her and I am angry at whoever hurt her in her past. I stand by the fact that I believe my mom was raped. My mom mentioned in anger or in a drunken slur a few times throughout my life that her brother had raped her. But when I would later ask her about it, she'd get angry with me and say my mind was "in the gutter." Whether or not it happened, I don't know and I have no proof of but I believe with all my heart that she was abused, mistreated, and put in a bad position several times throughout her life.
My mom is a weird person. She's terrified of being homeless, is afraid of the dark, is constantly in a child-like state, very dependent, irrational, angry, manipulative, and helpless. She has an addictive personality, takes 8 vicodin a day (among other prescribed pills taken in excess) and has a tendency to drink and sneak alcohol and Butterfingers. I've always known her to be on "the verge of committing suicide." She has the lowest self esteem I think I've ever seen a person have. She certainly hates herself more than I hate her, and that's saying something. To her, I don't think there's anything more scary than being alone. She's a very overweight, very lazy, chronic pain person and she is addicted to collecting things and spending money she doesn't have- even if she believes she's the best bargain hunter you can find. She's actually...intelligent? I think? But most of what she knows and talks about these days are Indian soap operas, Clay Aiken, and various TV series. She's a Sci-Fi lover and far to open about her sex life and various blow jobs she's given but when you discuss something sexually-normal with her- she'll literally cover her ears, sing a childish song, or tell you you're crass.
Anyway- as a child, I really felt for my mom and her stories about her childhood and the pain she still feels today would bring me to tears. People would hear about and see how I was being raised and they would be very concerned and try to comfort me and I always would say, "My mom's just hurting. She means well and really loves me. She just doesn't know how to love herself." A lot of times I would tell people I didn't really care if she loved me, I just wish she would love herself, and I would be 7 or 8 at the time and people would just stare at me- shocked. I understand why, now. See, moving out of my house, away from my parents was great and crucial in so many ways. I didn't understand until I separated myself from our dysfunction that my parent's love for me was very conditional and therefore my love for myself and other people around me was very conditional.
It's only taken me until now to realize what the aftermath of what the cycle of dysfunction and rape and sexual abuse really is. Here's the tough thing to admit- the thing I really never really say (and the thing you never really say, either, if you've been raped or molested.) I am terrified of myself. When I'm around small children, girls or boys, sometimes I can get myself into this place where I am just hyperventilating, uncomfortable, and overwhelmed with myself. I feel ashamed, anxious, and revolting. That feeling is the IMMENSE fear that I will repeat the cycle. My mom was raped, she raped me- I don't know how people are supposed to interact in a healthy way with children. What if how I interact is wrong? What if I do something? What if I hurt them? What if I break them? What if I damage this precious, innocent life because I am somehow this damaged, gross person? I can't tell anyone. They'll think I've done something to another child. They'll look at me different. Maybe they'll report me if I say something to a therapist? Is this normal? Do all rape victims feel this way? What's the right way to react? How do I heal from this? Do I heal? Am I supposed to not interact with children? I love children and being able to nurture and care for children makes me feel happy and fulfilled. Is that unhealthy? Should I not be allowed to work with children? Will my boyfriend leave me if he knows this is how I feel?
I'm fortunate enough to have some really great friends, a very loving, understanding, and rational boyfriend, and people who share my experiences. Luckily, with that combination of greatness, I feel okay and not so afraid of myself- not so ashamed- not so alone in my fear. I have a few friends who have come to me in private and asked me, "I get really anxious and unsettled around little girls (or little boys or both) and I hate myself for it. Do you feel that way too sometimes? How do you deal with it?" And, boy, am I so glad they came to me. Not only was it comforting for them to hear that, yes, I can feel that way and I have somethings I do and tell myself to work through it, but it's comforting for me too. That's why I'm sharing (even though it's probably the single most thing I'm mortified to share about.) Looking back on my childhood, my mom's childhood, and my "freak outs" I have- I realize the feeling I get isn't a "desire" to do something wrong, but the fear that some day that "desire" my mom and whoever raped her had. I don't want to be some monster and the thought of being an abuser is overwhelming and scary.
This is where being an adult just plain sucks. When you're abused as a kid, it's easy to feel like you're still a kid, what is expected of you is the same as what is expected of a kid, and you are as fragile as a kid (or at least that's how I sometimes feel). The issue is, when you feel worried about the potential you have to do damage to another child- it's time to be an adult. Yes, you were abused. Yes, your boundaries aren't always as clear. Yes, being around children is hard for you to navigate. But you have to learn when to be really honest with yourself and gauge your situation. I think it's okay to feel anxious and nervous around kids sometimes, because as a survivor, you are at a greater risk of repeating the abuse and I don't think you need to beat yourself up for being cautious and afraid that that is a possibility- but if you do feel you're at a place where the line between "wrong" and "right" is blurred- you need to remove yourself from the situation, regroup, and maybe have a therapist help you sort through those feelings and fears and help give you perspective.
It's your responsibility as a survivor to break the cycle, not repeat it. I think, as a person, you always have the choice to make good and bad decisions. It's figuring out which one's which that gets tough.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
The Story We Tell (And the Things We Keep Private)
I'm just curious...I really want a show of hands here. I know this is true for myself, and I knew it's true for some of my girlfriends: Are you telling the whole story? Being me, I have a lot of really badass strong friends (male and female) who have been through some serious shit. I'm talking serious beatings, poverty, verbal abuse, rape....the stuff that's hard to talk about. I feel blessed because, generally, my friends and I feel safe enough to share the horror stories but I've been noticing: there are a lot of dirty details we omit when we talk to certain people. Maybe it's our family, or our boyfriends, or teachers we admire, or certain friends who maybe intimidate us or make us feel just a little bit insecure.
I find myself censoring what I have to get out because I'm afraid of how it will be received and how it will impact the ones I love and the relationships I love (or maybe just don't want to make any worse.) I found out the hard way, a lot of people just can't stomach what my every day life looked like. To them- it sicks them out and that just honestly bums me out and makes me feel like maybe I'm just this dark cloud. Maybe I'm a bummer? But I've learned to acknowledge who can and can't take what I have to say. I say it directly, and openly, and repeatedly: I was sexually abused/raped/molested by my mom. You can take it or leave it. I'm sure you've heard me say it plenty (especially if you read this blog) but I don't think everyone realizes, being able to say that publicly, casually, or among friends is such an amazing, freeing family. I can be honest, I can omit what I want or need to, and I can just let me be me. Whatever that may be today.
That being said, sometimes I don't always feel like I CAN be honest, even with those who may be able to stomach it. There are parts of my story, parts of my past, and parts of my thought process I am not proud of- even if I'm not responsible for the way or the extent to which things happened. It's embarrassing, I don't personally feel good about those things that DID happen, even if I can openly name the generic term that is associated to the act (rape) and I kind of honestly feel trapped by the details.
If I don't talk about the dirty details of my sex life, why in the hell would I admit to the dirty details to my "sex life" as a five year old? What's the art of being direct without being TOO direct? How much can someone else really hear? At what point have you crossed the "TMI" line and why do I have to feel like something that weighs heavy on me and I didn't ask for could ever be "TMI" for anyone around me? It's TOO MUCH INFORMATION for me too!
I was talking to someone once and she mentioned how a near stranger walked in one day and started opening up to her slowly about her childhood and the excessive sexual abuse she had endured from her father. She soon divulged that the first orgasm she ever had was in fact from her dad and she went into some detail about how it felt and how she felt emotionally. The person telling me this story about the stranger then tells me in a "How gross and inappropriate is THAT?!" kind of tone that that was just TMI for her. Now, right off the bat, I can tell you- that story was TMI for ME because most of the time, I can't take any sort of sexual anything being recounted when it's any kind of negative like that. I start feeling triggered and vulnerable and gross. But then I thought, "Hey! What if I wanted to let go of some sort of trying story of mine about something like that. I HAVE STORIES LIKE THAT TO TELL. Would you be grossed out by me? Would you tell my story to some other person and talk about how I unloaded this awful story on you?"
I don't know. Just food for thought. Just what exactly do you omit?
I find myself censoring what I have to get out because I'm afraid of how it will be received and how it will impact the ones I love and the relationships I love (or maybe just don't want to make any worse.) I found out the hard way, a lot of people just can't stomach what my every day life looked like. To them- it sicks them out and that just honestly bums me out and makes me feel like maybe I'm just this dark cloud. Maybe I'm a bummer? But I've learned to acknowledge who can and can't take what I have to say. I say it directly, and openly, and repeatedly: I was sexually abused/raped/molested by my mom. You can take it or leave it. I'm sure you've heard me say it plenty (especially if you read this blog) but I don't think everyone realizes, being able to say that publicly, casually, or among friends is such an amazing, freeing family. I can be honest, I can omit what I want or need to, and I can just let me be me. Whatever that may be today.
That being said, sometimes I don't always feel like I CAN be honest, even with those who may be able to stomach it. There are parts of my story, parts of my past, and parts of my thought process I am not proud of- even if I'm not responsible for the way or the extent to which things happened. It's embarrassing, I don't personally feel good about those things that DID happen, even if I can openly name the generic term that is associated to the act (rape) and I kind of honestly feel trapped by the details.
If I don't talk about the dirty details of my sex life, why in the hell would I admit to the dirty details to my "sex life" as a five year old? What's the art of being direct without being TOO direct? How much can someone else really hear? At what point have you crossed the "TMI" line and why do I have to feel like something that weighs heavy on me and I didn't ask for could ever be "TMI" for anyone around me? It's TOO MUCH INFORMATION for me too!
I was talking to someone once and she mentioned how a near stranger walked in one day and started opening up to her slowly about her childhood and the excessive sexual abuse she had endured from her father. She soon divulged that the first orgasm she ever had was in fact from her dad and she went into some detail about how it felt and how she felt emotionally. The person telling me this story about the stranger then tells me in a "How gross and inappropriate is THAT?!" kind of tone that that was just TMI for her. Now, right off the bat, I can tell you- that story was TMI for ME because most of the time, I can't take any sort of sexual anything being recounted when it's any kind of negative like that. I start feeling triggered and vulnerable and gross. But then I thought, "Hey! What if I wanted to let go of some sort of trying story of mine about something like that. I HAVE STORIES LIKE THAT TO TELL. Would you be grossed out by me? Would you tell my story to some other person and talk about how I unloaded this awful story on you?"
I don't know. Just food for thought. Just what exactly do you omit?
Being Five
I talk a lot about the things I do for myself and the things Ethan does for me when I'm overwhelmed. I talk about the way I understand myself and the way I take care of myself as though I am proud. In a sense, I guess I am proud. It takes a level of honesty and self awareness to understand what you need in your own time of need. I have to be honest though, I don't like the things that I need. I don't mean to say I don't enjoy the self nurturing or being nurtured by others, but that I hate that I constantly, and probably in moments throughout my life (however far apart they eventually get) feel five. I am a five year old.
When I cry my voice gets mousey, I kick my feet, I hide behind and under things and I revert to this little afraid child who can't handle things that go bump in the night. Why five? Can't I be twelve, or fifteen, or maybe even *gasp*...my age? I'd like to think the people around me view me as responsible and mature but I do not feel mature at all. I treat my friendships and all my falling outs with friends like a child would. "Why don't they like me? Will they come back? I feel so sad and confused. People are stupid." When an adult criticizes me, even with merit, I fall apart. "I'll never amount to anything. I'll never be a grown up. Well, they're just stupid. I'll do what I want. But why don't they like me." I even treat my achievements as a five year old would. "I did this small thing. Why haven't you complimented me? Please look at this small thing I did and praise me! This small thing I did is stupid and doesn't matter. I don't matter."
Maybe these aren't all things typical five year olds say but when I was five- I always felt this way. I don't matter, no one sees me, no matter how hard I try I'll always feel, why don't they like me? I feel afraid and I don't feel comfortable around people.
I'd like to say I'm more high-functioning than the afore-mentioned puddle of a person I can be, and I am...but sometimes I'm just not.
I try to find the root to my problems and flaws, because obviously I don't always want to be a five year old, and I think I've got a handle on this one.
The combination of the age most of my abuse happened (five years old) and my general feelings towards adults and family members greatly affects the mode I revert to when I feel least secure. I feel like I did at the worst time in my life. I find I crave family and parents and general snuggly things more than anyone I know. I try to explain: I love and need gentle unconditional affection. I eat it up! Then I get mad at myself. God dammit! I don't want to "need" anything. Especially CONSTANT affection. And besides, I could get all the affection and acceptance in the world from everyone I know and it still wouldn't be enough. Because these people around me now are not my parents. I don't feel safe and I don't feel quite right because the people who teach you what it is to be loved and to love back broke that bond and so five year old me is still confused, and scared, and overwhelmed and really needs to watch some Little Bear and feel protected from all the scary things that are out there.
I guess I can't be too hard on myself. I don't know one five year old I could look at and say: It's okay to be molested by your mom. No big deal, get over it. Totally normal! Or, it's no big deal your mom tried to commit suicide in front of you for the fifth time this year and that she tried to tell you it was all your fault. That you were just too much to be around so she wanted to end her life. Or, it's okay that your dad says you're always going to come last. That he calls you deceitful and awful and selfish for trying to reach out for help. It's okay that no one has taken care of you and no one ever will. It's okay that you feel alone, and ugly, and ashamed and you're only five. I'd be mortified and you'd be fucking right to think that I would step in and do something about it if I knew someone who went through something like I went through. I suppose a part of me is angry with everyone (which is so beyond unrealistic) for NOT stepping in and rescuing me. The difference it would have made. Always looking for a big rescue....
The funny thing to me is, I used to feel like such an adult, growing up. And I was! Had you met me, you would have thought: Wow, that girl has got it TOGETHER! She's strong, she has a lot on her plate, and she doesn't bat an eye. AND she's loving and patient. Impressive. I don't know if I'm any of those things sometimes.
Maybe it's finally my time to be a regular 5 year old.
When I cry my voice gets mousey, I kick my feet, I hide behind and under things and I revert to this little afraid child who can't handle things that go bump in the night. Why five? Can't I be twelve, or fifteen, or maybe even *gasp*...my age? I'd like to think the people around me view me as responsible and mature but I do not feel mature at all. I treat my friendships and all my falling outs with friends like a child would. "Why don't they like me? Will they come back? I feel so sad and confused. People are stupid." When an adult criticizes me, even with merit, I fall apart. "I'll never amount to anything. I'll never be a grown up. Well, they're just stupid. I'll do what I want. But why don't they like me." I even treat my achievements as a five year old would. "I did this small thing. Why haven't you complimented me? Please look at this small thing I did and praise me! This small thing I did is stupid and doesn't matter. I don't matter."
Maybe these aren't all things typical five year olds say but when I was five- I always felt this way. I don't matter, no one sees me, no matter how hard I try I'll always feel, why don't they like me? I feel afraid and I don't feel comfortable around people.
I'd like to say I'm more high-functioning than the afore-mentioned puddle of a person I can be, and I am...but sometimes I'm just not.
I try to find the root to my problems and flaws, because obviously I don't always want to be a five year old, and I think I've got a handle on this one.
The combination of the age most of my abuse happened (five years old) and my general feelings towards adults and family members greatly affects the mode I revert to when I feel least secure. I feel like I did at the worst time in my life. I find I crave family and parents and general snuggly things more than anyone I know. I try to explain: I love and need gentle unconditional affection. I eat it up! Then I get mad at myself. God dammit! I don't want to "need" anything. Especially CONSTANT affection. And besides, I could get all the affection and acceptance in the world from everyone I know and it still wouldn't be enough. Because these people around me now are not my parents. I don't feel safe and I don't feel quite right because the people who teach you what it is to be loved and to love back broke that bond and so five year old me is still confused, and scared, and overwhelmed and really needs to watch some Little Bear and feel protected from all the scary things that are out there.
I guess I can't be too hard on myself. I don't know one five year old I could look at and say: It's okay to be molested by your mom. No big deal, get over it. Totally normal! Or, it's no big deal your mom tried to commit suicide in front of you for the fifth time this year and that she tried to tell you it was all your fault. That you were just too much to be around so she wanted to end her life. Or, it's okay that your dad says you're always going to come last. That he calls you deceitful and awful and selfish for trying to reach out for help. It's okay that no one has taken care of you and no one ever will. It's okay that you feel alone, and ugly, and ashamed and you're only five. I'd be mortified and you'd be fucking right to think that I would step in and do something about it if I knew someone who went through something like I went through. I suppose a part of me is angry with everyone (which is so beyond unrealistic) for NOT stepping in and rescuing me. The difference it would have made. Always looking for a big rescue....
The funny thing to me is, I used to feel like such an adult, growing up. And I was! Had you met me, you would have thought: Wow, that girl has got it TOGETHER! She's strong, she has a lot on her plate, and she doesn't bat an eye. AND she's loving and patient. Impressive. I don't know if I'm any of those things sometimes.
Maybe it's finally my time to be a regular 5 year old.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Dear Parents
Every day, I find new reasons as to why biological parents are so important. Parents are like your very own possession, essentially. It is their duty to love you (and your siblings) and only you (and your siblings) more than anyone else in the world. You are theirs, and they are yours and it's this snuggly very intimate bond. They provide for you, care for you, and protect you- and over everyone else- they look out for you. They care about your life choices, how your day was, what your new haircut looks like, what your favorite shows, books, and outfits are. They like the way you cook and the way you present yourself and they love to watch you grow and develop as a human being. They love all that you are.
Now, every day, I find new reasons to feel sad. I feel sad because my biological parents, though they will say sometimes to other people or maybe even me if I'm lucky that they do love me (they just don't agree with anything I do or the person that I am today) do not love me. The definition of healthy parent to child love is....just unconditional love, support, and the willingness to defend and protect your child. To not feel loved by the woman who gave birth to you, nursed you, and watched you grow....well it just sucks. It more than just sucks but explaining the feelings of rejection and confusion and hurt and shame is just a lot for me. To not feel loved by the man who carried you on his shoulders, shared many a heart to hearts with you, kissed your booboos, and promised you the world is painful. I feel that pain every day and I feel it when I see loving parents. Parents who are proud of their children and would fight the world for them. I deserve those parents. I want those parents. But somehow, I ended up with dysfunctional, unhealthy, unhappy, mean and nasty doo-doo head parents who hate, resent, and reject me. To them: I am a bad person and I am undeserving and dishonest. How I wound up with an alcoholic, suicidal, verbally, physically, and sexually abusive shit pile of a mom- I don't know. How I wound up with a weak, spineless, backstabbing and less than insightful father-I don't know. Obviously, I am angry about the cards I was dealt. (I hope to one day work through that.)Having the parents I had- lacking that stability and love and support kids are supposed to get, I never really trusted any other adult, or person really, to step in and step up and be that unit or that emotional source I needed. People say "I love you like my own" but they don't really mean it. Eventually, when push comes to shove- that biological bond a parent has to their child that says "I am yours and you are mine and that's all I have room for in my heart" becomes obvious. I think I've made the mistake of waiting around for and seeking out replacement parents. And while I've found plenty of wonderful, loving adult role models, I've come to the realization that it's time I become my own "emotional mom and dad." And what I mean by that is, it's time I learn to provide for myself: financially, emotionally....and everything in between. Family is so important to me but I missed the "We all love each other and we're one big happy family" train and now it's time to accept the cards I was given, count my losses, and move on. I don't have parents, I don't consider myself to have family, I'm my own and I'm on my own. In the end, once it stops hurting so bad....I'll be glad I learned to consider myself enough. I am enough family for myself and the friends that come into my life are the icing on the cake.
So in the spirit of closure, here's a letter ( I unfortunately cannot send) to my parents. My parents don't know me and I guess they never will and sometimes I wish I could tell them who I am. But I guess that's cool. I've met myself and I think I'm pretty neat?
Dear mom and dad,
I really like to cook, eat at fancy places, dance around and be silly, and the word I use most out of my vocabulary is "cozy." I'm a nester and I believe in the idea of "home." I don't drink. I don't smoke. I don't party. I love my boyfriend and I love my cat and we're a little family. I work hard, love kids, and I eat fancy cheese spreads. I also love tadpoles and little frogs and I still sleep with my stuffed animal Peanut. I workout, have trouble losing weight, and feel kind of hideous a lot of the time. Sometimes I feel really pretty and I always feel proud of myself and how far I've come. I'm strong, independent, and I make my own money. I bought my first laptop and felt like an official adult. The thought of being a mom scares me, and the thought of being anything like the two of you scares me even more. I don't like baths, scary movies, or suspenseful video games. I still freak out sometimes after sex and I think about you every day...and how much you've hurt me. Sometimes I feel like I did something wrong and I'm a bad person and a bad daughter and I wonder how parents can treat someone the way you treat me. I'm afraid of driving fast, people holding knives, people leaving me, and failure. Things and places that aren't clean make me feel unclean. I cry on my birthdays and Christmas makes me sad. I feel lonely and unloved and very much so unseen. You make me angry. I read your stupid Facebook pages almost every day and think "Why aren't I mentioned? Why don't you talk about how much you love ME? Why do you only talk about how much you love my sister?" Your financial instability makes me afraid for my financial future. Saving and planning and list making are very important to me. I am a very organized person and I'm the person to go to if you want things organized and tidy and made beautiful. I am a master at making things cozy and I celebrate a lot of traditions we shared as a family. I make a lot of the foods we had at home. I love coffee and snow and watching movies cuddled under blankets. My favorite qualities in a person are: being nurturing, being patient, being consistent, and being funky. I have lots of friends and spend lots of time out and about. I feel like no one really likes me very much. I get my nails done, have my hair professionally cut, and take spa trips and coffee trips because I can afford to and I'm allowed to treat myself and when I go, I know if you knew-you would say it was selfish of me. I laugh really loud, wear grey and tie my hair up, even though you think it's unattractive when I do. I'm going to school in 6 months and I'm going to kick butt. And I'm going to do it all on my own. I'm moving to Boston and after that, I'll probably never see you again. Thanks for all the love, help, and support!
Your daughter, Tara.
P.S...... I celebrate the day I moved out like it's a holiday. It's great to be away.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
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