I have someone with whom I can dispense all of my thoughts, fears, curiosities and life in general. Two close friends, actually. One, I affectionately refer to as my friend Tapper. He leads me back to reality when in my mind I get lost down a rabbit hole. The other is my therapist.
I’m willing to talk about it. That was the last post from months ago and has remained true even through this last season into today. I’m willing to tackle the problem directly, the abuse directly, what was done TO me — directly. What was said to me, directly.
As I began therapy, I skirted around the issue, but always in a manner that were more like breadcrumbs leading to the source… and because of that, a suggestion by my therapist about a year ago resonated with me.
He essentially suggested that the manner in which I was raised has had more of a lasting effect on me than the sexual abuse I experienced by my dad.
The breadcrumbs led me to the recurrent thoughts of worthlessness and imperfection imbued in me by my father.
“You’re a loser, you’re worse than a woman, pay attention, do it this way, you have to run 3 miles in 18 minutes”
Always the striver, never reaching. These thoughts, these instilled goals both drove me out of shame and fear and destroyed me. If I paid attention, I wasn’t paying attention to the right things. If I did it his way, it wasn’t to his exact specifications. I was always wrong.
As a child, it was “be seen, not heard.”
“Oh, he is such a well behaved child! You must be so proud?”
Curse you random person! I am not a well-behaved child! Damn it! I may as well be living in an invisible prison for which no one can see the walls for my perfectly pressed and manicured appearance and behavior. Save me! They are NOT proud, they are ashamed! Of themselves, of their parents, of me for being their weak manifestation of their human selves. Save me! I may be the result of their moment of weakness (more my dad than my mom, but both similarly weakly satiating their selves) but I deserve to be here! I am God’s, not theirs. He is proud of me, not them.
See, if I hadn’t shared, I wouldn’t be here. My suicidal thoughts the results of some improper wiring developed in a terrible childhood aimed at keeping me alive but in their messed up world. Oh, how I would give it all up if only I could get some modicum of help that an abused child needs, deserves!
I have two someones with whom I can dispense all of my thoughts indiscriminately. I have found that it happens slower than I wish sometimes, but that’s life. One step at a time. The leap of father comes first, trust comes later. Perfect line from “Man of Steel.”
Share often, with as many people in as much detail. Trust comes later.