September 30, 2010
Fall Fallout
So, what's happening with Marj's annual "Fall Fallout," aka "Fall Freak-out" this year? Well, I'm only seeing my therapist once a week this time around and I even took last week off. There doesn't seem to be any need to stay somewhere else or have a therapy marathon in 2010. There seems to be a lot less panic than in previous years. So, that's all good.
But, I am dealing with a lot of grief and devastation. I've done quite a bit of grief work on my mother, but not so much on the old sperm donor. My father seems to be the focus of the therapy this year. After working through a lot of the panic and fear, I guess I'm ready to deal with the sadness and rejection issues that came from the man who was supposed to be my father. This man--who I wanted to be my Daddy--not only sexually abused me, but also systematically tortured me and broke my spirit, in addition to almost killing me on numerous occasions.
After crying and comforting this morning, I scratched out a poem. Here it is:
Nothing Human or Humane
Who are you?
How could you?
Force the innocence
From a precious child
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Your eyes don't see
Your ears don't hear
My pain and tears
Never seen or heard
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
My cries and pleas
To show some mercy
Mean nothing
To your cold, dead heart
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
The darkest evil
Pours from you
As you torture beauty
to unrecognizable ugly
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Copyright 2010, Marj McCabe ~ All rights reserved.
So, now I'm off to my therapist's office for a session. I will try to make it over to some blogs for a visit soon. I hope that the healing journey is kind to you today. And be kind to yourself, okay?
But, I am dealing with a lot of grief and devastation. I've done quite a bit of grief work on my mother, but not so much on the old sperm donor. My father seems to be the focus of the therapy this year. After working through a lot of the panic and fear, I guess I'm ready to deal with the sadness and rejection issues that came from the man who was supposed to be my father. This man--who I wanted to be my Daddy--not only sexually abused me, but also systematically tortured me and broke my spirit, in addition to almost killing me on numerous occasions.
After crying and comforting this morning, I scratched out a poem. Here it is:
Nothing Human or Humane
Who are you?
How could you?
Force the innocence
From a precious child
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Your eyes don't see
Your ears don't hear
My pain and tears
Never seen or heard
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
My cries and pleas
To show some mercy
Mean nothing
To your cold, dead heart
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
The darkest evil
Pours from you
As you torture beauty
to unrecognizable ugly
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Copyright 2010, Marj McCabe ~ All rights reserved.
So, now I'm off to my therapist's office for a session. I will try to make it over to some blogs for a visit soon. I hope that the healing journey is kind to you today. And be kind to yourself, okay?
Labels: abandonment, betrayal, broken, child abuse, comfort, feelings, grieving, inhumanity, Poetry, rejection, therapy
December 08, 2009
The Torture Still Torments
Trigger Warning! Also some foul language in the content to follow:
I continue to struggle with the reality of torture in my childhood abuse. At first, I was convinced that the times I was sadistically tortured--when I was nearly suffocated in a plastic shower curtain for instance--was limited to times when my father flew into an uncontrolled rage.
Now I know the truth: Much of the time the torture was systematic and involved mind control and an attempt to completely break my spirit. It often involved forcing a young child into a "choice" situation. Here, I had to "choose" whether to save myself or my twin sister; whether to try to spare my sister pain and torture or allow her to be hurt. Of course, in these scenarios, the real existence of choice didn't exist at all. It was just a mind fuck, and a double, impossible bind.
I have to try and somehow wrap my brain around it, to come to terms with the fact that I was also abused by people outside of my immediate, biological "family." To my knowledge, these were not people involved with the occult or devil worship or any kind of religious-like rituals. Many times, I was "sold" to these individuals in order to perform sexual acts. But, it has recently become revealed to me through retrieved memories, that I was also forced into elaborately set-up torture scenarios (sometimes with my twin, sometimes not).
These scenarios were planned, carried out and viewed by sick individuals who enjoyed seeing a child in mental, emotional and physical anguish. Witnessing my torture is what they got off on. This is how they got their jollies. This is what they threw their heads back and laughed at. This is how they got their enjoyment.
There is still no excuse for it. But, I am really seeing now more clearly how people turn their heads and look the other way. I understand the horrors that people want to deny could ever happen to our children in our culture. No one wants to live in a world where this is even possible.
I continue to struggle with the reality of torture in my childhood abuse. At first, I was convinced that the times I was sadistically tortured--when I was nearly suffocated in a plastic shower curtain for instance--was limited to times when my father flew into an uncontrolled rage.
Now I know the truth: Much of the time the torture was systematic and involved mind control and an attempt to completely break my spirit. It often involved forcing a young child into a "choice" situation. Here, I had to "choose" whether to save myself or my twin sister; whether to try to spare my sister pain and torture or allow her to be hurt. Of course, in these scenarios, the real existence of choice didn't exist at all. It was just a mind fuck, and a double, impossible bind.
I have to try and somehow wrap my brain around it, to come to terms with the fact that I was also abused by people outside of my immediate, biological "family." To my knowledge, these were not people involved with the occult or devil worship or any kind of religious-like rituals. Many times, I was "sold" to these individuals in order to perform sexual acts. But, it has recently become revealed to me through retrieved memories, that I was also forced into elaborately set-up torture scenarios (sometimes with my twin, sometimes not).
These scenarios were planned, carried out and viewed by sick individuals who enjoyed seeing a child in mental, emotional and physical anguish. Witnessing my torture is what they got off on. This is how they got their jollies. This is what they threw their heads back and laughed at. This is how they got their enjoyment.
There is still no excuse for it. But, I am really seeing now more clearly how people turn their heads and look the other way. I understand the horrors that people want to deny could ever happen to our children in our culture. No one wants to live in a world where this is even possible.
Labels: broken, denial, memory work, therapy, torture
September 17, 2009
Emotional & Technical Difficulties: Please Stand By
My computer is giving me fits again. Firefox is not working on it. I've got Internet Explorer working intermittently, but it...is...so...s-l-o-w! I've tried to just go down my links list and visit everybody, in case I can't do that for a while.
I'm really bummed about Polyvore, as that has been one of my life lines lately. With my slow connection, I haven't done as much over there for a while. The other day, I was trying to build a collage and parts of the page (the ones with the necessary buttons, for crying out loud) kept disappearing. Aarrgghhh!
I'm also reeling from this Fall Memory Maze I'm trying to navigate. The other day, I woke up so afraid, I couldn't get out of bed. It was so bad, I couldn't get any comfort going at all. It was all I could do to jump out quickly and grab the phone to call my husband. I asked him to come home and stay with me a while. The wonderful angel did! He brought me tea and sat on the edge of the bed for a while. I think I had a brief glimpse of what agoraphobics must go through. I told my husband, "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I feel like there are mean people out there (outside) who want to hurt me." He stayed with me while. I finally got dressed and my hubby stood there while I watered a few flowers. The fear eventually died down.
Barbed
Barbed by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
This collage represents how I've been feeling often lately. Scattered, afraid...on the verge of becoming unraveled and completely hysterical. I'm doing extra therapy this week. I think I'm very close to something new and really big in the Autumn Memory Department.
Don't forget, everybody: The next Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse will be over at Paul's blog, Mind Parts. The deadline for submissions is Wednesday, September 23rd. He's only got a handful of submissions so far, so let's get those in! Here's the submission form. Would you please go around to blogs and remind each other? I may not be able to do it as I'd like with my computer woes. Thanks!
I'm really bummed about Polyvore, as that has been one of my life lines lately. With my slow connection, I haven't done as much over there for a while. The other day, I was trying to build a collage and parts of the page (the ones with the necessary buttons, for crying out loud) kept disappearing. Aarrgghhh!
I'm also reeling from this Fall Memory Maze I'm trying to navigate. The other day, I woke up so afraid, I couldn't get out of bed. It was so bad, I couldn't get any comfort going at all. It was all I could do to jump out quickly and grab the phone to call my husband. I asked him to come home and stay with me a while. The wonderful angel did! He brought me tea and sat on the edge of the bed for a while. I think I had a brief glimpse of what agoraphobics must go through. I told my husband, "I know it doesn't make any sense, but I feel like there are mean people out there (outside) who want to hurt me." He stayed with me while. I finally got dressed and my hubby stood there while I watered a few flowers. The fear eventually died down.
Barbed
Barbed by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
This collage represents how I've been feeling often lately. Scattered, afraid...on the verge of becoming unraveled and completely hysterical. I'm doing extra therapy this week. I think I'm very close to something new and really big in the Autumn Memory Department.
Don't forget, everybody: The next Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse will be over at Paul's blog, Mind Parts. The deadline for submissions is Wednesday, September 23rd. He's only got a handful of submissions so far, so let's get those in! Here's the submission form. Would you please go around to blogs and remind each other? I may not be able to do it as I'd like with my computer woes. Thanks!
Labels: aftermath, alters, Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, broken, collage, feelings, freeze response, memory work, therapy
August 25, 2009
Beauty for the Dark Journey
As I said in my "August Angst" post below, my plans with my therapist were to deal with the back-to-school trauma memories head on. I've been successful at doing this and have been able to avoid any really big firefighter dissociative episodes, hospital stays or running away in dissociative fugues. But, it has been a dark, ugly journey into the painful abyss.
Some of my pampering and comforting rituals have not been working lately. I had to cancel a massage appointment last week because I just couldn't bare the thoughts of anybody touching me.
What has worked, however, is I've been clinging to beauty. Visits to the Denver Botanic Garden, growing things in my own garden, sitting in my backyard sanctuary and listening to a soothing CD called "Peaceful Garden" have all helped when the emotions that have surfaced from memory processing have left me ragged and raw.
I've also been quite productive over at Polyvore with art therapy collages. Here's the one that prompted this update post.
Some of my pampering and comforting rituals have not been working lately. I had to cancel a massage appointment last week because I just couldn't bare the thoughts of anybody touching me.
What has worked, however, is I've been clinging to beauty. Visits to the Denver Botanic Garden, growing things in my own garden, sitting in my backyard sanctuary and listening to a soothing CD called "Peaceful Garden" have all helped when the emotions that have surfaced from memory processing have left me ragged and raw.
I've also been quite productive over at Polyvore with art therapy collages. Here's the one that prompted this update post.
Beauty For The Dark Journey
Beauty For The Dark Journey by Marj aka Thriver on
When I couldn't muster up the courage to visit my massage therapist last week, I decided to go "inside" and see what the fear was about and who was upset. I made the "mistake" of saying, "If I don't know who you are and where you are, I can't come and rescue you and help you feel better..." something like that. I immediately heard this little voice in my head cry out, "But, I don't know where I am!" Oh, Lordy!
I was in a panic as to how I would do my little visualization rescue technique with my therapist the next day, if I didn't have a firm "place" to go and rescue this little inner child part of myself. It's been fairly easy up to now as I just visualize returning to the house I lived in for the first 10 years of my life. But, recently, I've been retrieving ghastly memories of abuse that took place away from the "home."
I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I calmed every body down as best as I could and tried to reason that my therapy session was just a day away and I could wait. In the meantime, art therapy at Polyvore came through for me again. I created this collage as a visual representation of my commitment to find this little lost part.
Beauty For The Dark Journey by Marj aka Thriver on
When I couldn't muster up the courage to visit my massage therapist last week, I decided to go "inside" and see what the fear was about and who was upset. I made the "mistake" of saying, "If I don't know who you are and where you are, I can't come and rescue you and help you feel better..." something like that. I immediately heard this little voice in my head cry out, "But, I don't know where I am!" Oh, Lordy!
I was in a panic as to how I would do my little visualization rescue technique with my therapist the next day, if I didn't have a firm "place" to go and rescue this little inner child part of myself. It's been fairly easy up to now as I just visualize returning to the house I lived in for the first 10 years of my life. But, recently, I've been retrieving ghastly memories of abuse that took place away from the "home."
I didn't know how I was going to do it, but I calmed every body down as best as I could and tried to reason that my therapy session was just a day away and I could wait. In the meantime, art therapy at Polyvore came through for me again. I created this collage as a visual representation of my commitment to find this little lost part.
I Will Find You
I Will Find You by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
As it turned out, the horrifying memory I'd been dreading was of abuse that took place at the school where my father taught for years. I was in the shower area of a locker room with no windows. It was very dark in there and that's why this part wasn't sure, at first, where she was.
I won't go into the gory details, but I believe there were some drugs involved in my abuse at this time. When I awoke in the dark, I was disoriented and thought for a moment that maybe I was dead. When I realized that I wasn't--I was very much alive--I was devastated. Maybe this was the first time in my life that I became suicidal, I don't know. But, what I do know is that my parents did, indeed, thoroughly break me. I hadn't been able to admit this to myself up to this point. I had thought I was stronger than that.
This realization is devastating for me. But, again, it opens up the channels of grief. And feeling the feelings is, as always, the key to my healing. So, I'm doing a lot of that. And, at the same time, I'm clinging to any comfort and beauty I can find. Right now, as a matter of fact, I'm listening to a track on my "Peaceful Garden" CD called "Tranquility." I have to have some beauty and tranquility to hold on to as I face my brokenness.
I Will Find You by Marj aka Thriver on Polyvore.com
As it turned out, the horrifying memory I'd been dreading was of abuse that took place at the school where my father taught for years. I was in the shower area of a locker room with no windows. It was very dark in there and that's why this part wasn't sure, at first, where she was.
I won't go into the gory details, but I believe there were some drugs involved in my abuse at this time. When I awoke in the dark, I was disoriented and thought for a moment that maybe I was dead. When I realized that I wasn't--I was very much alive--I was devastated. Maybe this was the first time in my life that I became suicidal, I don't know. But, what I do know is that my parents did, indeed, thoroughly break me. I hadn't been able to admit this to myself up to this point. I had thought I was stronger than that.
This realization is devastating for me. But, again, it opens up the channels of grief. And feeling the feelings is, as always, the key to my healing. So, I'm doing a lot of that. And, at the same time, I'm clinging to any comfort and beauty I can find. Right now, as a matter of fact, I'm listening to a track on my "Peaceful Garden" CD called "Tranquility." I have to have some beauty and tranquility to hold on to as I face my brokenness.
Labels: aftermath, beauty, broken, child abuse, comfort, denial, dissociation, feelings, grieving, memory work, therapy
July 21, 2009
A Systematic Breaking of The Spirit
I am really struggling right now. I'm trying to process a new memory that I retrieved recently. It involves so many of my parts that it is taking more time and some extra therapy.
**Trigger Warning**
**Trigger Warning**
Doesn't ANYbody Care?
I'm going through the "Realization Stage"--Yeah, I get it. This happened to me. And it really felt that bad.--on several counts. One is that it was very systematic, my parents' way of breaking my spirit. And, although I was not abused by members of a cult, my parents did utilize some brain washing, mind control-type techniques.
The memory I retrieved recently was something they forced me to say: "Nobody cares about me." and "Nobody cares what happens to me."
This comes on the heals of a memory that I've been working on--on and off--for literally years. My father, on many occasions, tried to drown me in the bathtub. Sometimes it was a joke of his. Sometimes it was a life-or-death struggle to survive. It didn't think my mother knew about these near-death torture situations. But, she did.
For so long, it's been hard enough to break through my denial and accept the realization that she was aware of all the sexual abuse my father forced on me. I figured she was okay with sexual acts that she did not want to be obligated to perform herself. But, now I have to face the fact that this monster man who was my father could have done anything to me. He could have killed me. He could have done anything his twisted mind could think up and my mother would do nothing to step in and protect me.
This is so final. So infinite. Nobody cares what happens to me. Nobody cares...no matter what.
The worst part is how much I still believe it. This is such a core belief.
It is seared to my soul.
I don't know what it is going to take to undo it. I don't know if it is possible to erase it. My logical mind knows that people now care about me. But, this was ingrained into my very being. My gut, my heart, my soul are taking a lot longer to reprogram the message.
I'm doing my best to comfort parts right now. But many of them are just about inconsolable. The anguish is huge. If I don't get around to some blogs for a while, please forgive me. I am just in the depths of grief right now.
I'm going through the "Realization Stage"--Yeah, I get it. This happened to me. And it really felt that bad.--on several counts. One is that it was very systematic, my parents' way of breaking my spirit. And, although I was not abused by members of a cult, my parents did utilize some brain washing, mind control-type techniques.
The memory I retrieved recently was something they forced me to say: "Nobody cares about me." and "Nobody cares what happens to me."
This comes on the heals of a memory that I've been working on--on and off--for literally years. My father, on many occasions, tried to drown me in the bathtub. Sometimes it was a joke of his. Sometimes it was a life-or-death struggle to survive. It didn't think my mother knew about these near-death torture situations. But, she did.
For so long, it's been hard enough to break through my denial and accept the realization that she was aware of all the sexual abuse my father forced on me. I figured she was okay with sexual acts that she did not want to be obligated to perform herself. But, now I have to face the fact that this monster man who was my father could have done anything to me. He could have killed me. He could have done anything his twisted mind could think up and my mother would do nothing to step in and protect me.
This is so final. So infinite. Nobody cares what happens to me. Nobody cares...no matter what.
The worst part is how much I still believe it. This is such a core belief.
It is seared to my soul.
I don't know what it is going to take to undo it. I don't know if it is possible to erase it. My logical mind knows that people now care about me. But, this was ingrained into my very being. My gut, my heart, my soul are taking a lot longer to reprogram the message.
I'm doing my best to comfort parts right now. But many of them are just about inconsolable. The anguish is huge. If I don't get around to some blogs for a while, please forgive me. I am just in the depths of grief right now.
Labels: aftermath, alters, betrayal, broken, child abuse, child parts, comfort, denial, memory work, torture
April 21, 2009
They Kept Me From the Pain
Hurting so bad right now. I guess it's progress, really. I'm finally feeling the things that my parts kept from me so that I could survive as a little, helpless girl. But, it is anguish.
When I put up all those advocacy posts, it makes me feel somewhat better. But, it doesn't mean it's "business as usual" and I'm feeling fine.
Hardly slept at all last night. It's been several days in a row not sleeping well. Today, after an "extra" T session yesterday, I'm exhausted and can't seem to stop crying. I'd better pull myself together because I've promised to babysit my little toddler neighbor and take her to the park this afternoon. Hope that helps me feel better--just pray I have the energy. Safe hugs to all other survivors out there who are hurting.
When I put up all those advocacy posts, it makes me feel somewhat better. But, it doesn't mean it's "business as usual" and I'm feeling fine.
Hardly slept at all last night. It's been several days in a row not sleeping well. Today, after an "extra" T session yesterday, I'm exhausted and can't seem to stop crying. I'd better pull myself together because I've promised to babysit my little toddler neighbor and take her to the park this afternoon. Hope that helps me feel better--just pray I have the energy. Safe hugs to all other survivors out there who are hurting.
Labels: abandonment, aftermath, betrayal, broken, child abuse, overwhelm, pain, shame, therapy
January 22, 2009
Wounded Vision
Hey, everybody. Whiney Wiener here. I've just had a string of days where it seems everything I've tried to accomplish has blown up in my face. I'm also sick to f-ing death of this rib injury. There's just nothing I can do in my day-to-day life without that rib causing me pain. Think about it. Every day, all day long, we stretch, we bend, we twist, we lift, we pull, we reach up, we reach down, etc. etc. And it all hurts! Aaaccckkk!
Maybe it's just PMS, I don't know. Well, anyway. Sometimes when I feel all frustrated and fed up like like this, I have to get it out in a poem. So here's one:
Wounded Vision
This world has not
Been kind to me
I've never fit in here
I'm wrong about that
So it seems
My vision's just not clear
And my neck is weak
It's not strong enough
To lift my face from the dirt
I can't look up
And see my dreams
My heart has been too hurt.
Copyright 2009, Marj McCabe, all rights reserved
There. Now. Maybe, now that I've gotten that out, I can get on with some other, bloggy logistics tomorrow. Thank you for letting me vent. And...thanks to everyone who gave me advice or at least commiserated with me on my blogging technical frustrations. You guys rock, as always!
Maybe it's just PMS, I don't know. Well, anyway. Sometimes when I feel all frustrated and fed up like like this, I have to get it out in a poem. So here's one:
Wounded Vision
This world has not
Been kind to me
I've never fit in here
I'm wrong about that
So it seems
My vision's just not clear
And my neck is weak
It's not strong enough
To lift my face from the dirt
I can't look up
And see my dreams
My heart has been too hurt.
Copyright 2009, Marj McCabe, all rights reserved
There. Now. Maybe, now that I've gotten that out, I can get on with some other, bloggy logistics tomorrow. Thank you for letting me vent. And...thanks to everyone who gave me advice or at least commiserated with me on my blogging technical frustrations. You guys rock, as always!
Labels: body connection, body memories, broken, child abuse, don't give up, healing, hope, overwhelm, pain, poem, Poetry
December 09, 2008
The Tree Is Me
Haven't felt much like writing lately. (Ya think? OMG! I think I'm in danger of becoming a once-a-month blog poster, and I really wanted to do more than that. Ah well, these things go in stages, right?)
I did receive this message that I thought was something I really wanted to pass along. To all abuse survivors who fear they may have been completely broken, or at least twisted beyond recognition:
The Spiritual Divine
does not require
what you call
"perfect symmetry."
Look at the tree
that bends
from the whipping winds.
It is tangled and gnarled,
yet its beauty remains.
I did receive this message that I thought was something I really wanted to pass along. To all abuse survivors who fear they may have been completely broken, or at least twisted beyond recognition:
The Spiritual Divine
does not require
what you call
"perfect symmetry."
Look at the tree
that bends
from the whipping winds.
It is tangled and gnarled,
yet its beauty remains.
Labels: abuse, aftermath, beauty, broken
December 06, 2006
An Inner Child's Grief and Loss
Yep, I'm still alive. Not quite sure in what form...but I'm alive. To be perfectly honest, I'm trying to figure out how to just be alive and be me...whoever that is.
Right now, I'm between therapists and trying to continue, on my own, some of the trauma work that I learned about when I was down at the Ross Trauma Program in Dallas. They were big on writing letters down there. So far, I've found the letter exercises quite helpful, even if they are, usually, excruciatingly painful.
Right now, I'm in the middle of working on a handout called, "Grief and Loss Letter to Myself." I don't know where the Dallas folks got this handout, so I apologize for the lack of credit for this. Here are the sentence starters, or prompts, they gave us:
Right now, I'm between therapists and trying to continue, on my own, some of the trauma work that I learned about when I was down at the Ross Trauma Program in Dallas. They were big on writing letters down there. So far, I've found the letter exercises quite helpful, even if they are, usually, excruciatingly painful.
Right now, I'm in the middle of working on a handout called, "Grief and Loss Letter to Myself." I don't know where the Dallas folks got this handout, so I apologize for the lack of credit for this. Here are the sentence starters, or prompts, they gave us:
- I never understood why my parents...
- I needed someone to understand...
- If my tears could have talked they would have said...
- If my anger could have spoken it would have said...
- What I needed the most and never got was...
- What I need to hear now to feel loved is...
So far, I've worked on numbers one through three. Below is what I've got so far. Please be careful when reading this, there may be some triggers and, in the beginning, there is some swearing.
I never understood why my parents thought their kids were such a pain in the ass and a burden. I never understood why my parents treated me like I was no good and a piece of shit. I never understood why my parents even had children...just to have free servants? I never understood why my parents never showed any interest in or support for things I was good at and showed interest in. I never understood why my parents couldn't see my precious innocence, beauty, light, adorable cuteness, sweetness...or how hard I tried to be a good girl. I never understood why my parents couldn't tell how much I loved them. I never understood why my parents never thought anything I did was ever good enough, why I wasn't good enough. (I would love to have a kid like me!) I never understood why my parents always had to humiliate me. I never understood why my parents tried to break me. Why did they want me broken? Why would they want a broken daughter? I never understood why my parents couldn't see me for who I really was, separate from my twin.
I needed someone to understand that I was more than just a twin. I needed someone to understand how hard I was trying. I needed someone to understand how scared I was. I needed someone to understand how much pain I was in. I needed someone to understand that I had feelings and I needed to express them. I needed someone to understand that I was just a child and I needed love and protection. I needed someone to understand that I was innocent and it wasn't my fault. I needed someone to understand that I was just a kid and I needed time and space to be safe and just play and explore and be a kid. Just because I was good at taking care of everyone else didn't mean it was right. I needed someone to understand that I had lots of light and love in my heart and it shouldn't have been abused and destroyed. I needed someone to understand that I was really smart, but my self-esteem was low and I needed someone to believe in me and encourage me and support me instead of just squashing me down more and more.
If my tears could have talked they would have said, "I love you. Please don't hurt me." If my tears could have talked they would have said, "I'm a good girl. Quit treating me like I'm bad, dirty and evil." If my tears could have talked they would have said, "I hurt so bad I want to die. You're killing me!" If my tears could have talked they would have said, "I'm your daughter, quit breaking my heart and my spirit more and more every day." If my tears could have talked they would have said, "Mommy, Daddy, I'm your precious little Marji. I'm your hope for the future and your angel sent from heaven. Don't you remember? Don't you recognize me?" If my tears could have talked they would have said, "I'm a precious, adorable child. Don't you just want to hug me, caress my soft cheeks and cherish me? Why not?" If my tears could have talked they would have said, "I'm a divine, light-filled spirit, I came here so we could love each other and be one. Why are you trying to murder my soul?"
As you might imagine, the first three parts of this letter took a lot out of me. Next, I get to go on to ANGER! Yeah!
Labels: abandonment, bonding, broken, child abuse, dissociation, family of origin, grieving, inner child, therapy
July 12, 2006
The Many Faces of Abuse
I'm writing this post for Marcella's Abyss2Hope Blog Carnival Against Sexual Violence. She wanted to get some articles that involve emotional and verbal abuse.
There was no talking (except for some brief begging from me) during my college rape. But, the abuse that I suffered as a child--sexual, physical and what I call spiritual--cannot be separated from the emotional and verbal abuse that went along with it.
My father could be described as many things, one being a rage addict. He would fly into out-of-control rages that always included verbal abuse toward anyone who happened to be in his way at the time. Some of his favorite terms to use on me were, "idiot," and "stupid moron." I still play these tapes in my mind when I hit a low spot. My work continues for improving my self-esteem and eliminating those terms from my self-talk vocabulary.
When I was growing up, my father was an avid tennis player. He prided himself on being able to easily defeat tennis opponents who were half his age. At one point, he decided that he was going to give his three young children tennis lessons. I remember that we were given these wooden "rackets" to use. I remember them looking homemade--my father may have crafted them himself. They looked like something one would use to play a giant game of ping pong.
I'll never forget my father's lack of patience and annoyance when attempting to teach us tennis. One of his favorite coaching techniques was to come up right behind me and yell in my ear, "What are you, an idiot?!"
He was also verbally abusive during the sexual abuse, of course. I think, however, that my mother's verbal and emotional abuse following sexual assaults was much more damaging to me. The betrayal, abandonment and rejection from my mother is still difficult for me to deal with. On numerous occasions, my mother would clean me up after my father had his way with me. I remember lying on the little bath rug in the middle of the bathroom floor while my mother dabbed and wiped.
The message was clear from her words to me during these clean-up sessions. It was a message of judgment and damnation and it was almost impossible for me to bear. My mother called me a "bad, dirty, evil girl." Then she would lament about how she seriously doubted that even God could forgive such a girl as me. She told me I would have to pray diligently to Jesus to intervene on my behalf. Perhaps, if I asked Jesus into my heart and prayed and prayed for his forgiveness and intervention, I would be able to avoid the fires of hell.
One of my mother's top priorities was to see to it that her children were raised in a strict Christian religious upbringing. I remember a lot of talk about the concept of original sin in these early teachings. Because I believed what I was told about original sin, I was sure that I was just born bad and evil. I was convinced that I deserved everything that both of my parents dished out with their abuse of me. I knew to my core that I deserved what I got and I would most likely never be forgiven for it.
This is the verbal abuse that leads to emotional damage of what I call spiritual abuse. I believe that it suited the interests of both of my parents to break my spirit. They attempted soul murder.
I no longer believe in hell. This spiritual shift has provided enormous relief for me. I now believe in a loving, compassionate and accepting God--not one who condemns tiny children to burn for eternity. The tapes that play "stupid moron" in my head have lost quite a bit of their potency. Yet, my self-esteem is still a work in progress.
Don't forget: The deadline for the second edition of our Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is Monday, July 17, 2006. You can browse the carnivals in alpha order at www.blogcarnival.com or go directly to the submission form here .
***Trigger Warning: Be careful and stay safe while reading the following material.***
There was no talking (except for some brief begging from me) during my college rape. But, the abuse that I suffered as a child--sexual, physical and what I call spiritual--cannot be separated from the emotional and verbal abuse that went along with it.
My father could be described as many things, one being a rage addict. He would fly into out-of-control rages that always included verbal abuse toward anyone who happened to be in his way at the time. Some of his favorite terms to use on me were, "idiot," and "stupid moron." I still play these tapes in my mind when I hit a low spot. My work continues for improving my self-esteem and eliminating those terms from my self-talk vocabulary.
When I was growing up, my father was an avid tennis player. He prided himself on being able to easily defeat tennis opponents who were half his age. At one point, he decided that he was going to give his three young children tennis lessons. I remember that we were given these wooden "rackets" to use. I remember them looking homemade--my father may have crafted them himself. They looked like something one would use to play a giant game of ping pong.
I'll never forget my father's lack of patience and annoyance when attempting to teach us tennis. One of his favorite coaching techniques was to come up right behind me and yell in my ear, "What are you, an idiot?!"
He was also verbally abusive during the sexual abuse, of course. I think, however, that my mother's verbal and emotional abuse following sexual assaults was much more damaging to me. The betrayal, abandonment and rejection from my mother is still difficult for me to deal with. On numerous occasions, my mother would clean me up after my father had his way with me. I remember lying on the little bath rug in the middle of the bathroom floor while my mother dabbed and wiped.
The message was clear from her words to me during these clean-up sessions. It was a message of judgment and damnation and it was almost impossible for me to bear. My mother called me a "bad, dirty, evil girl." Then she would lament about how she seriously doubted that even God could forgive such a girl as me. She told me I would have to pray diligently to Jesus to intervene on my behalf. Perhaps, if I asked Jesus into my heart and prayed and prayed for his forgiveness and intervention, I would be able to avoid the fires of hell.
One of my mother's top priorities was to see to it that her children were raised in a strict Christian religious upbringing. I remember a lot of talk about the concept of original sin in these early teachings. Because I believed what I was told about original sin, I was sure that I was just born bad and evil. I was convinced that I deserved everything that both of my parents dished out with their abuse of me. I knew to my core that I deserved what I got and I would most likely never be forgiven for it.
This is the verbal abuse that leads to emotional damage of what I call spiritual abuse. I believe that it suited the interests of both of my parents to break my spirit. They attempted soul murder.
I no longer believe in hell. This spiritual shift has provided enormous relief for me. I now believe in a loving, compassionate and accepting God--not one who condemns tiny children to burn for eternity. The tapes that play "stupid moron" in my head have lost quite a bit of their potency. Yet, my self-esteem is still a work in progress.
Don't forget: The deadline for the second edition of our Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is Monday, July 17, 2006. You can browse the carnivals in alpha order at www.blogcarnival.com or go directly to the submission form here .
Labels: abandonment, awareness, betrayal, Blog Against Sexual Violence, broken, child abuse, rejection, self-esteem, self-forgiveness
May 19, 2006
Take a Stand, Raise Your Hand!
As you may recall, I am participating in an art project for child sexual abuse awareness called, The Show of Hands . I wrote about it in March, here. Jodi, the artist, is planning on showing the first installment of this art display in July.
I'll be mailing in my handprint for The Show of Hands next week and I've written a poem to go along with the print. "Raising my hand" coincides with my recent rant on the indifference people show toward child abuse, and child sexual abuse in particular.
Here' my poem. Please be careful, it could be triggering. It's another non-modern rhymer, but I think the wording is as timely as it can be:
Raise Your Hand
If I raise my hand,
will you recognize
my story, my fear,
the pain in my eyes?
I know how much you wish
I would just go away.
But, I'm standing up.
I've got something to say.
They raped me, tried to break me
and toss me aside.
Too long, I felt the damage,
believing their lies.
Did you know
you had the power
to spare a child
the years of shame?
When you avert your eyes
and are deaf to her cries,
she's left thinking she has
only herself to blame.
I ask you now,
will you still turn away
when a million voices
ask you to stay?
Will you listen and believe?
Will you take a stand?
Your own precious daughter
is raising her hand.
Copyright 2006 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved
I'll be mailing in my handprint for The Show of Hands next week and I've written a poem to go along with the print. "Raising my hand" coincides with my recent rant on the indifference people show toward child abuse, and child sexual abuse in particular.
Here' my poem. Please be careful, it could be triggering. It's another non-modern rhymer, but I think the wording is as timely as it can be:
Raise Your Hand
If I raise my hand,
will you recognize
my story, my fear,
the pain in my eyes?
I know how much you wish
I would just go away.
But, I'm standing up.
I've got something to say.
They raped me, tried to break me
and toss me aside.
Too long, I felt the damage,
believing their lies.
Did you know
you had the power
to spare a child
the years of shame?
When you avert your eyes
and are deaf to her cries,
she's left thinking she has
only herself to blame.
I ask you now,
will you still turn away
when a million voices
ask you to stay?
Will you listen and believe?
Will you take a stand?
Your own precious daughter
is raising her hand.
Copyright 2006 Marj McCabe ~ All Rights Reserved
Labels: broken, child abuse, Jodi Larson, poem, Poetry, survivor art, The Show of Hands art project