I wrote a very positive blog post yesterday about not being part of the abusers and the abuse not being my fault. And I still believe the post I wrote yesterday. The abuse was…the abuse happened. The abuse was not my fault. And I am…alive…healing…struggling…in pain…a warrior..loveable. ..not cut from the same cloth as the abusers.
I am struggling. In a really big way. But not in the destructive way I was struggling a couple of weeks ago. I did some stuff in my early 20’s that I’m pretty ashamed of. I sought out attention and love from some of the abusers by welcoming and initiating the abuse. Instead of getting the attention and love that I wanted, I was abused AND also shamed and degraded. The words that came my way were more punishing then the acts. That happened for two years in a row…for a few days each time. Then the third year, I did not initiate anything. I went to visit these abusers in another state and thought that if I did not initiate,anything, neither would they. I was wrong. I was humiliated. I was beaten. I was tied down. I was sexually assaulted. I had bruises and welts and could barely move. It hurt to stand. It hurt to sit. It hurt to walk. And I was a thousand miles away from home and any semblance of safety. I had no way to get home earlier and no place to go. When, I finally got home, I went to bed for at least a week. I was scared. I was peeing blood. I didn’t eat. My job called. I didn’t answer the phone. I lost said job. I drank water and slept. Sometimes I stayed in bed for more than 24 hours. I thought I would die. I hoped I would die. I didn’t. Eventually I emerged. I went to my therapist. Didn’t tell her most of the story. I just spoke it for the first time a couple of weeks ago to MT.
And here we are. I am struggling. When I first told MT the story, I was ashamed and felt stupid. Why would somebody in her 20’s be stupid enough and naive enough to think that allowing herself to be abused would bring her love? And why did I keep going back? MT kept telling me to have compassion and love for the person I was then. That I was very alone in the world and craved connection with those abusers just like I always had. That i was chronologically in my 20’s, but emptionally, stuck in young childhood. I didn’t want to have compassion for that part of me. I wanted to stomp on her and snuff her from this world. And while I was feeling that lack of compassion and enormous rage, I wanted to hurt myself. I was outrageously anxious.
I was talking to MT about this again the other day. Yelling that I was not going to have compassion for this part. That this part nearly got me killed. Crossing my arms and rolling my eyes. Stomping my feet. And MT asked how old I was and I yelled that I was 8 years old and why was that older part not taking care of me.
So. I am struggling. Trying to show compassion to the me as a young adult who wanted connection. Trying to calm and soothe younger parts who are terrified and raging about why I went back …again and again.
And struggling because for some reason all illusion that I can make the abuse not have happened has dissipated.
The abuse happened. It was horrible. It is over. I am rescuing myself. And I am. I am good. I am from God. The angels are watching over me. I am okay. I am loveable. And I am in pain and struggling.
PS. I honestly do not know if this post makes sense. I feel like I’m going around in circles. I’m accepting and mad and sad and confused all at the same time.