I really can’t say when I started being abused; it was really as though I was born into abuse. My mom told me that my dad had admitted to molesting me when I was 18 months old. He was an alcoholic and he used this as one of his reasons to act out violently towards me. I thought the way he treated me was the way all fathers acted towards their daughters. When I was 5 years old, he told me I was pregnant, and after I bled heavily after he penetrated me with some kind of tool, he told me I killed the baby. I carried a lot of guilt for many years. I didn’t understand that physically, it was impossible for me to be pregnant. I have been in denial for many years about what he did to me. He loved me. He was my father, he would never do anything to hurt me. That was what I always told myself. It has only been recently that I have realized that what he did was wrong. A few weeks ago I found a tape that he made of the abuse. A lot of what I saw, were things that I didn’t remember, other parts of it brought a flood of memories back. A father that pours hot wax on her child’s genitals is not doing this out of love. With the help of therapy, I am beginning to see the reality to my situation. I realize that when I tried to commit suicide at the age of 5, because I was afraid of my father, clearly shows that he failed to make me feel safe and protected; a duty that all parents have. I’m moving on from what happened to me. I’m beginning to realize that I am truly a beautiful person, and I deserve to be happy. What he did does not define me. I’m currently attending University, with the goal of getting my doctorate in psychology. I truly want to help people. I believe that the experiences that I have had as a child have helped me have to have a different outlook on people around me. I am more compassionate and understanding towards people who seem just plain grumpy. Everyone has their own story, and to keep this in mind, makes it easier to love the people around you who seem angry and unhappy.
-Lindsey
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Post 19
All this started several months ago when I added the documentary Searching for Angela Shelton to my Netflix watch instantly queue. I work 3p-11p, my schedule sucks because I'm not ready to go to bed when I get home and the rest of the world is. So during my shift I often look for a movie to watch when I get home and somehow unintentionally I must have added this one (and obviously watched it). To say it "changed my life" or was "fate" sounds pretty melodramatic especially for me; however, I guess it kinda did or was.
It took me several days to watch the entire film, the best analogy I can give is that it was like hitting a brick wall. My first thought was: "I'm doing great now, I graduated college, have a stable job, bought my own condo, have great friends, and am basically a stable and functional person. So why bring this shit up now? It's over!" This thought still continuously crosses my mind on a daily basis. However, when being completely honest with myself, I know things are not all OK. Sure, I have great friends and a best friend who knows everything about my past and would do ANYTHING for me in an instant. The thing is that none of my close friends have been through what I have (which is a good thing, I wouldn't wish this on anyone); therefore, they can't relate to me. In fact, I haven't even talked to my best friend about this stuff in over six years because it upsets her so much. I'm not saying that she makes it about herself or anything but I can imagine it's hard to hear this stuff. You know what I mean?...
For the first time in my life I have connected with people who understand what I’ve been through. Being raised under the “suffer in silence” and “get over it and move on” philosophies, talking about what I’ve been through is a work in process. However, I know it’s a move in the right direction. My new friends totally rock. I really appreciate you all and Squish!
-Anonymous
It took me several days to watch the entire film, the best analogy I can give is that it was like hitting a brick wall. My first thought was: "I'm doing great now, I graduated college, have a stable job, bought my own condo, have great friends, and am basically a stable and functional person. So why bring this shit up now? It's over!" This thought still continuously crosses my mind on a daily basis. However, when being completely honest with myself, I know things are not all OK. Sure, I have great friends and a best friend who knows everything about my past and would do ANYTHING for me in an instant. The thing is that none of my close friends have been through what I have (which is a good thing, I wouldn't wish this on anyone); therefore, they can't relate to me. In fact, I haven't even talked to my best friend about this stuff in over six years because it upsets her so much. I'm not saying that she makes it about herself or anything but I can imagine it's hard to hear this stuff. You know what I mean?...
For the first time in my life I have connected with people who understand what I’ve been through. Being raised under the “suffer in silence” and “get over it and move on” philosophies, talking about what I’ve been through is a work in process. However, I know it’s a move in the right direction. My new friends totally rock. I really appreciate you all and Squish!
-Anonymous
Post 18
Not
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to:
not feel their breath, not feel their touch, not hear the door creep open, not hear the belt buckles, not hear the zippers, not smell their cologne, not smell their sweat, not sense fear, not sense anger, not sense loathing, not see their smiles, not see their eyes, not see them, not taste disappointment, not taste shame, not taste them. Ever wonder what innocence would be like.
-Anonymous
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to:
not feel their breath, not feel their touch, not hear the door creep open, not hear the belt buckles, not hear the zippers, not smell their cologne, not smell their sweat, not sense fear, not sense anger, not sense loathing, not see their smiles, not see their eyes, not see them, not taste disappointment, not taste shame, not taste them. Ever wonder what innocence would be like.
-Anonymous
Post 17
Evil vs. Child: The Game Less Played
Evil had come and stole me just a child,
A child that I wasn’t allowed to be.
I was no longer a child,
I was bound by secrecy,
You taught me how to play the game
I lost before I knew to participate.
I don’t wanna play.
You win.
You won.
I never played.
I hid my pain so no one knew,
A child I was not to be,
An adult I’d become before my time,
Loneliness was all I’d see
You know how to play the game, I lost before I knew how to participate
I don’t wanna play.
You win.
You won.
I never played.
Because Evil had come and stole me just a child,
A child that I wasn’t allowed to be.
Evil had come and stole me just a child,
A child that I wasn’t allowed to be.
I was no longer a child,
I was bound by secrecy,
You taught me how to play the game
I lost before I knew to participate.
I don’t wanna play.
You win.
You won.
I never played.
I hid my pain so no one knew,
A child I was not to be,
An adult I’d become before my time,
Loneliness was all I’d see
You know how to play the game, I lost before I knew how to participate
I don’t wanna play.
You win.
You won.
I never played.
Because Evil had come and stole me just a child,
A child that I wasn’t allowed to be.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Post 16
TAKE BACK THE NIGHT
By
Suzanne E. Morse
(This poem is part of the Survivor Mural Project that will travel around the world. It is included in my Poetry Chapbook called “A Woman’s Journey From Darkness to Light.”)
Flickering light dances upon our faces.
Shadows conceal our wet tears.
Our candles burn steadily.
Hope peeks through the darkness.
Flowers – blood red, yellow, white – each a victim – fill a field.
Too numerous to count.
Words on signs tell the story of how violent and callous we are.
Faceless names etched onto golden plates disposed onto a wooden plaque.
The only reminder of the silent victims in the Night.
Who were these names that once breathed as I do?
What did they know? How did they live?
Roses embrace a glass vase. Another glimpse at the faceless names.
Purple balloons of hope drift slowly upward.
Will it matter that we “take back this night?”
I shiver in the gentle, warm air, soaking in the hideous numbers.
We chant. We march. We defy the night.
We utter the names of those we lost and lay the rose in its vase.
Noisy cars zoom past. Restaurants serve hot food on plates.
Lights gleam from distant buildings. The world evolves in its routine.
But we choose to seize this night -- to relive their Hell as if it were our own.
Then, it is done.
We release our balloons. The candlelight goes out.
We slip quietly back into the darkness.
Oh God, will it matter that we “take back this night?”
By
Suzanne E. Morse
(This poem is part of the Survivor Mural Project that will travel around the world. It is included in my Poetry Chapbook called “A Woman’s Journey From Darkness to Light.”)
Flickering light dances upon our faces.
Shadows conceal our wet tears.
Our candles burn steadily.
Hope peeks through the darkness.
Flowers – blood red, yellow, white – each a victim – fill a field.
Too numerous to count.
Words on signs tell the story of how violent and callous we are.
Faceless names etched onto golden plates disposed onto a wooden plaque.
The only reminder of the silent victims in the Night.
Who were these names that once breathed as I do?
What did they know? How did they live?
Roses embrace a glass vase. Another glimpse at the faceless names.
Purple balloons of hope drift slowly upward.
Will it matter that we “take back this night?”
I shiver in the gentle, warm air, soaking in the hideous numbers.
We chant. We march. We defy the night.
We utter the names of those we lost and lay the rose in its vase.
Noisy cars zoom past. Restaurants serve hot food on plates.
Lights gleam from distant buildings. The world evolves in its routine.
But we choose to seize this night -- to relive their Hell as if it were our own.
Then, it is done.
We release our balloons. The candlelight goes out.
We slip quietly back into the darkness.
Oh God, will it matter that we “take back this night?”
Post 15
SOUNDS
It was easy to lure the uncertain child who strives for affection and had not learned the extent of her own beauty. I was just a child.
I have never known a world without pain existing around my mind. I can feel the tenderness of my heartstrings being pulled from within. Someone else is plucking them without my permission.
The strings are silent now. I make a sanctuary out of the silence.
My nerves stand toned waiting to be plucked again.
There are knots where too many people have tried to play and the broken strings have twisted around my dreams. I am drawn down. Sinking down in the blackness of my memories.
Pain found me empty inside.
The shell that once was me is now filled with a constant pitch of pain.
I fear movement. I do not want to set the sirens off for they may draw attention.
Seeking for memories of a better place. The smell of home, of calmness, of peace escapes me.
A fragile mind crashed like a violent wave. Rushing in on itself. Silent until it was through destroying anything in its path.
There are many ways to die. There are many black holes that can suck the soul deep within.
The predators spin lies that seem like truth. They pluck at my strings until sound in inaudible.
I am vomiting memories. The darkness escapes without permission forcing me to face what happened. It is as if the entire world can see what I have worked for an eternity to hide.
Sleep without pain seems unreal. Falling asleep without thought and being able to merely exist is a dream.
I stuff everything; my pain, my sorrow, my truth as far down as I can.
With one last pluck of my strings, the enemy retreats to the far side of my heart where we cannot reach one another.
Everything is silent now. I have buried the sounds. Does anyone understand why even in silence I can hear the child scream?
-Anonymous
It was easy to lure the uncertain child who strives for affection and had not learned the extent of her own beauty. I was just a child.
I have never known a world without pain existing around my mind. I can feel the tenderness of my heartstrings being pulled from within. Someone else is plucking them without my permission.
The strings are silent now. I make a sanctuary out of the silence.
My nerves stand toned waiting to be plucked again.
There are knots where too many people have tried to play and the broken strings have twisted around my dreams. I am drawn down. Sinking down in the blackness of my memories.
Pain found me empty inside.
The shell that once was me is now filled with a constant pitch of pain.
I fear movement. I do not want to set the sirens off for they may draw attention.
Seeking for memories of a better place. The smell of home, of calmness, of peace escapes me.
A fragile mind crashed like a violent wave. Rushing in on itself. Silent until it was through destroying anything in its path.
There are many ways to die. There are many black holes that can suck the soul deep within.
The predators spin lies that seem like truth. They pluck at my strings until sound in inaudible.
I am vomiting memories. The darkness escapes without permission forcing me to face what happened. It is as if the entire world can see what I have worked for an eternity to hide.
Sleep without pain seems unreal. Falling asleep without thought and being able to merely exist is a dream.
I stuff everything; my pain, my sorrow, my truth as far down as I can.
With one last pluck of my strings, the enemy retreats to the far side of my heart where we cannot reach one another.
Everything is silent now. I have buried the sounds. Does anyone understand why even in silence I can hear the child scream?
-Anonymous
Post 14
I looked like a regular girl. My family looked like a normal family. Or, maybe it didn't. People didn't come to our house very much. And whenever I was fortunate enough to have a friend, I most always went to Her house. Friends didn't come to my house. My house was an odd and frightening place for me. I didn't understand it. I was just "there". Rolling with the punches.
I don't have much memory at all until around the age of 5 or 6. And at around this time I began my life of Survival Mode. Three choices; Confused and numb, Frightened and numb, or just plain Numb.
I experienced multiple-incest, other sexual abuse, domestic violence, psychological manipulation and control, and neglect. I learned to wear deceitful masks to hide the pain and secrets. After all, my family appeared “normal”, and they Demanded it appear 'normal'.
Controlled by fear by both parents, I pushed it all back, or down, as best I could, but I was a very sensitive child. My childhood experience was that of knowing sadness and loneliness, and of feeling “paralyzed” (emotionally and mentally). Dead in my head and heart. I was confused, couldn’t pay attention, and I struggle still, with lost time.. memory retention issues, and memory blocks.
I have struggled with low self esteem, major depressive disorders, acute social anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, eating disorders, addiction, alcoholism, promiscuity, prostitution, and suicidal tendencies. School and work performance suffered, and relationships suffered.
For many years, I didn't understand What was happening to me, or Why I felt so sad and “crazy”. I couldn't put it all together. Couldn't make the connection that it stemmed from childhood abuses and teachings. Both parents continued to manipulate me with psychological control, even up until about this time last year! I was 50 years old by this time. I didn't know that's what they were doing. I was lost in this fog since very young, and it would be decades before tiny bits of understanding would come to me, like tiny puzzle pieces, but they came too few and too far between.
At about age 35, I found myself on a spiritual path. I didn't know that's where I was, I didn't even know What it was, or meant. Kinder souls started showing up in my “environment”, and I began to know and understand spiritual connection. A whole different world from what I had always known.
I have been learning to peel away the layers of the hardened ill-fated shell of existence, reacquainting myself with who and what I really am, and was within all along. I worked on learning healthier ways of living, learning coping techniques to try and bring things into balance. I got sober. I had to leave a relationship of 18 years where I realized I was not understood, or supported. I resolved to simplify my life. There was just way too much anxiety, pain, depression, and craziness. I couldn’t keep even the simplest things straight. It has not been easy. The world doesn’t wait, and I’m not good at catching curve-balls. My mental capacity had been diminished.
It has taken me a long time to get where I am. I am what some people refer to as a Shut-In, and have spent much of the last few years connecting with loving, caring, people across the world through the internet, and I now enjoy long time cherished relationships with people I not only call my friends, but - my Family. Then came Facebook, and last October of '09.
Mackenzie Phillips disclosed her story, a friend told me, and I began a search online. And, through Facebook, I found and joined several support groups, and have met many amazing people, and enjoy the online company of some pretty wonderful friends who lift me up with their love, strength, bravery, and encouragement, and I am now able to stand as they stand with me.
Some of it is still painful as I work through the issues, but speaking out and telling the truth is So Liberating!! And, if I can help someone else know that they are not alone just as I have been helped, well.. then I'll feel like I have accomplished something Real.
To my family of friends - Thank You! - I Am So Blessed.. And, I am Forever, So Grateful!
Namaste’
Angela
I don't have much memory at all until around the age of 5 or 6. And at around this time I began my life of Survival Mode. Three choices; Confused and numb, Frightened and numb, or just plain Numb.
I experienced multiple-incest, other sexual abuse, domestic violence, psychological manipulation and control, and neglect. I learned to wear deceitful masks to hide the pain and secrets. After all, my family appeared “normal”, and they Demanded it appear 'normal'.
Controlled by fear by both parents, I pushed it all back, or down, as best I could, but I was a very sensitive child. My childhood experience was that of knowing sadness and loneliness, and of feeling “paralyzed” (emotionally and mentally). Dead in my head and heart. I was confused, couldn’t pay attention, and I struggle still, with lost time.. memory retention issues, and memory blocks.
I have struggled with low self esteem, major depressive disorders, acute social anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks, eating disorders, addiction, alcoholism, promiscuity, prostitution, and suicidal tendencies. School and work performance suffered, and relationships suffered.
For many years, I didn't understand What was happening to me, or Why I felt so sad and “crazy”. I couldn't put it all together. Couldn't make the connection that it stemmed from childhood abuses and teachings. Both parents continued to manipulate me with psychological control, even up until about this time last year! I was 50 years old by this time. I didn't know that's what they were doing. I was lost in this fog since very young, and it would be decades before tiny bits of understanding would come to me, like tiny puzzle pieces, but they came too few and too far between.
At about age 35, I found myself on a spiritual path. I didn't know that's where I was, I didn't even know What it was, or meant. Kinder souls started showing up in my “environment”, and I began to know and understand spiritual connection. A whole different world from what I had always known.
I have been learning to peel away the layers of the hardened ill-fated shell of existence, reacquainting myself with who and what I really am, and was within all along. I worked on learning healthier ways of living, learning coping techniques to try and bring things into balance. I got sober. I had to leave a relationship of 18 years where I realized I was not understood, or supported. I resolved to simplify my life. There was just way too much anxiety, pain, depression, and craziness. I couldn’t keep even the simplest things straight. It has not been easy. The world doesn’t wait, and I’m not good at catching curve-balls. My mental capacity had been diminished.
It has taken me a long time to get where I am. I am what some people refer to as a Shut-In, and have spent much of the last few years connecting with loving, caring, people across the world through the internet, and I now enjoy long time cherished relationships with people I not only call my friends, but - my Family. Then came Facebook, and last October of '09.
Mackenzie Phillips disclosed her story, a friend told me, and I began a search online. And, through Facebook, I found and joined several support groups, and have met many amazing people, and enjoy the online company of some pretty wonderful friends who lift me up with their love, strength, bravery, and encouragement, and I am now able to stand as they stand with me.
Some of it is still painful as I work through the issues, but speaking out and telling the truth is So Liberating!! And, if I can help someone else know that they are not alone just as I have been helped, well.. then I'll feel like I have accomplished something Real.
To my family of friends - Thank You! - I Am So Blessed.. And, I am Forever, So Grateful!
Namaste’
Angela
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