Looking for Your Perspective-What Do You Think?

I have gone back and forth on whether or not to post this. Very few people in my life have ever been told about this, and those who know didn't know what to say. Maybe someone else will have a more objective opinion/perspective that will "click", maybe they won't, but I am interested in other people's thoughts on this.

Certain events in my life are clear enough but I don't know the time frame in which they occurred. For example, I know I was abused by a family member when I was 3 or 4. I told, but no one ever told me that what he did was wrong versus me being wrong for it. Being a child, I internalized the blame. I still had to see him at every family gathering and holiday. It made me feel sick to see him. I hated the holidays because of it, but no one cared. It would have interfered with their lives and apparently wasn't worth it to them so I grew up with this shadow hanging over me all the time but especially at every family gathering.

Another event that has always haunted me was around the same time. Because of the gaps I wonder if I was younger (than 3 or 4) but I don't know. For years I have wondered if it would have happened if I hadn't already been made "dirty" by the abuse by the family member. Being a typical child, I liked candy. When I was 3 or 4 I saw a glass jar on a high shelf at a relative's house (the same relative's house we went to for every gathering and holiday) and it was filled with what looked like candy to the child me. I remember asking my dad for it; he was in the hall and I called to him, he walked into the room, I asked for the M&M's and showed him where they were, he got the jar down, gave it to me, and then walked out. I must have eaten at least one. Maybe I took a handful, I don't know. The pills and I were alone in the room, I don't remember how anyone found out that I had them. Did I notice that they tasted funny and tell my mother that the candy didn't taste right? Did someone walk into the room and see me with the jar of what turned out to be prescription pills? I don't know. The next thing I remember is being shoved into the scratchy bushes in the front yard at home (which was on the other side of town) to vomit after being given syrup of ipecac. (So did they wait until they got back to our house to give me the ipecac and make me vomit? That would mean that the drug was in my system for at least the half hour it would have taken to get back to our house.) I was not taken to the hospital as that would have brought questions they didn't want to answer.

The timing has always bothered me because I wondered if it would explain my father's action. He could have seen clearly that the pills weren't M&M's, yet he gave them to me. Why? Was this after the family member abused me, so I was now tainted (by sexual abuse) and he saw the opportunity to get rid of "the troublemaker" or source of the problem?

Or was it "just" plain old negligence? He didn't pay attention to what I was saying(M&M's) or what he was getting down(pills) and giving to me? He didn't mean to poison me and it was just a bad accident?

My mother refuses to discuss anything about the incident.

I have very strong feelings whenever I think about someone giving other children pills like that, but for some reason I keep trying to determine my father's "real" intent. Maybe he didn't really mean it, I try to tell myself. Maybe he just wasn't paying attention. Why do I have such difficulty accepting that he did a bad thing even that far back?

But then I think of the father who gave his other young daughter beer and laughed at how she staggered when she was drunk. Yes, it must have been a hilarious sight, watching her stagger drunkenly in her diapers. I remember being upset about his having done that to her. He knew what he was doing then, yet he did it anyway for his own amusement.

So what would you label someone giving their child such "candy"? Maybe if someone else says it was wrong, I can finally accept that he was wrong for doing it and move on--instead of trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. (Why in the world would I do that, anyway? That is warped. I would be furious at someone giving a helpless child pills like that, so why am I so reluctant to be angry about this?)

It actually explains a lot. This may well be why as a child I refused to eat anything my mother fixed to eat unless 1) I saw her prepare it myself so that I could see what went into it or 2) my sister was fed from the same dish. (My mother doted on my sister insanely, so I doubted she would poison her.) Seriously, I had that figured out at a young age--that is warped, and really sad that it was necessary. And I was aware of how "wrong" it was to feel that way, despite my young age, so I never told anyone about it.

So, what do you think? I really want to know.

It Was Colonel Mustard in the Kitchen

In a household of multiple animals, there is the occasional incident for which we cannot determine the exact culprit. For example, say a garbage bag was accidentally left overnight in the kitchen and the contents have been strewn across the floor. Having a cat who is not picky about food or entertainment, we often don't know if it's a feline or canine culprit or if it was a combination of the two species working together (although the odds of that happening are quite slim).

Today, however, there were clues.

There was the trail of shredded lettuce leading back to the dog bed.

There were the Doritos hidden under her blankie. I had thrown away a half-full bag of stale ones, which is apparently like gold in the animal kingdom. Not being your average bear, she had grabbed the entire bag and had known enough to hide them --but the telltale bulge under the blankie gave away the hidden contraband.

But the most damning piece of evidence, and the one I wish I had a photo of, was the big glob of condiment on the bridge of her canine nose, just scant millimeters beyond where she could reach it with her tongue.

Busted!

We Are Resilient

It seems that a lot of sexual abuse survivors have a certain year or milestone that brings it all roaring to the forefront again. Maybe it's something in us that feels safe to finally process our past and to feel the pain that we have suppressed and repressed for so long. It may be the journey into becoming a wife or mother, or it may be turning 25 or 30 or 40 or 50 and taking stock of our lives and where we are. Whatever the cause, it turns our current lives into chaos in trying to deal with our past lives. It is painful, both for ourselves and for the ones who love us.

The pain of childhood sexual abuse does not go away completely, but it can subside with time. I've about exorcised those demons for now through writing about the abuse because, while it went into creating part of me, it is not who I am. A very unusual event brought all this back up for me again but I am not back at square one. I know what happened but it is not in my life today. I do not think about it every day under normal circumstances any more. I do not own the shame any more. I enjoy sex and am fortunate to be able to enjoy it without flashbacks or being creeped out. It took a lot of processing, work, and counseling but I now consider myself pretty much "normal", as much as is possible anyway.

For anyone reading this who is a survivor and suffering, please remember that we are resilient. We have survived the storm. The after-effects and trying to deal with the knowledge may feel like another storm, but that is our mind and psyche trying to comprehend everything we have suffered. Please be gentle with yourself. We have suffered enough already.

Inspired by Reading Some Other Blogs

I've spent a lot of time reading some blogs about sexual abuse, and they have been heavy. Sometimes the pain has been so raw I could practically see it on the screen, but the truth was just as clear, too. And it pains me that sexual abuse is so common. So many of us have suffered. The devastation that it causes, the absolute changes in our souls and in our hearts--that damage alone should be a crime, in addition to the crime of invading our bodies and our boundaries and our minds.

I've seen a common thread in the attitudes we had to develop to protect ourselves emotionally. I hated the bad attitude I had to adopt at home as a teenager, but it was my cloak. It came in handy to try to keep some sense of self and to deflect the BS with which I was regularly served. "I deserved it", she would tell me, although she would not admit what "it" was. The bruises and handprints/fingerprints? Or the other?

My mother's cruel mouth was also my teacher. The horrible things she said--OMG, inside I would cringe at them and even now, a totally different lifetime later, I am horrified at the memories. But I no longer own the shame of those words. She was incredibly cruel about my walk; "Shake it, don't break it!"she would say loudly to me in public. One time she caught me glancing (glancing, mind you) at a cute boy (I was about 13 at the time), she told me that I was humiliating her by acting like a bitch in heat just wanting him to fuck me. Isn't that what every shy and sexually abused 13-y/o girl wants to hear from her mother? Interesting how I could glance at a boy in public and humiliate her but my own father grabbing my ass and admiring it in front of her wasn't embarrassing for anyone? And when I would get mad at his grabbing me and try to get his hands off me, they both would laugh at my anger and he would keep describing its "perfect shape." But apparently that didn't bother her, or didn't bother her enough to ever say, "Stop it" or "That's not funny." No, that she could tolerate.

Wow, I thought I had completely locked those thoughts away and put them in a "nightmare" box. Really, to know me today, you would have no idea the household into which I was born. My love of reading enabled me to educate myself at a very early age about abuse and its cycle, about what was "normal", etc. I wonder if the librarian thought anything at the time about a child checking out a book entitled "Breaking the Cycle of Abuse"? Maybe she thought it was for a school project.


After I left home, I cleaned up my language, dropped the attitude I had had to assume in order to survive that environment and tried to forget everything ugly that I had had to endure. I much prefer the decency and civility of my current life. I try to be the best person I can be for my husband, and I expect the same. It hurts to remember the armor I used to have to carry when I was a child and I do not intend on living in a household like that again.

OMG, I Love This Man

There is nothing like a man who can calmly wait until the cat finishes puking, calmly grab a paper towel and clean it up.

That is hot! lol

"The Morning After" Regrets?

Okay, so in the cold light of day I reread what I wrote last night while under the influence. The part of me that chose the blog title wants to keep it, as it fits into an interesting topic. I'm fascinated by the underlying messages in various media. For example, look at the children's tale "Little Red Riding Hood." There are slightly different versions of it from different authors in different countries, but the Brothers Grimm version (which is the one I grew up with in the U.S.) is said to be a morality tale that cautions against "wandering off the path." Little Red Riding Hood wanders off the path on her way to her grandmother's house, which gives the hungry wolf a chance to reach her grandmother's house before she does. If Little Red Riding Hood had stuck to the well-worn path which previous travelers had taken, the ending would have been different. It is because she dared to wander the unknown path in search of the delights of wildflowers that
the wolf was able to carry out his diabolical plot.

Does that idea remind anyone else of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken"? "Two roads diverged in a yellow wood....", it begins, ending with, "I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."

So my posting of last night, as personal as it is, follows the theme which I envisioned for this blog: a tale of what happens when you don't follow the standard path.