Trigger Warning: child sexual abuse.
If you were a victim too, I’m so sorry.
The therapist told me that I have been put in fight or flight for so long that it had resulted in my anxiety, claustrophobia and panic attacks.
I never gave much thought to the abuse. Deep inquiring thought about what I’ve been through.
I’ve always wanted to erase the details. I always hoped that if I forget, maybe it didn’t happen.
There’s a part of my brain that is numb. There’s a protective barrier erected that has allowed me to carry on with life.
I used to bang my head against the wall. In the privacy of my room. Didn’t understand why. Partly rage I didn’t know how to dissipate, but why directed at myself? A way to wipe the brain clean?
I was frustrated that I was hurting myself. I was aware it wasn’t right. And that just made me even more distressed. I wanted to scream, but someone would hear and wonder why.
I hated my own body. It was betraying me by developing. Maybe it was my fault. I hated puberty and just wanted my chest to remain flat.
The violation. Every week for 6 years. He entered my home, my sanctuary. When I was 11 years old and I was only fully rid of him at 17. Everything is merged. But for sure it happened repeatedly ages 12 to 15. The worst of it.
I don’t know exactly when, but at 16 I screamed STOP! I raised a pencil to stab his hand, but he quickly moved his hand with a disgusting angry look at his face. His face was my definition of ugly.
He responded. I promise I will never disturb you again. Disturb. What a euphemistic word. What a cover-up. What an understatement. You violated me you piece of shit.
Every week to feel fear and intense anxiety and have to keep it a secret. Also because you’re wishing it away.
At first, you don’t even understand what is happening. You were completely innocent. Your world was Enid Blyton books about fairies and pixies.
There was no such thing as sex education or anything close. You had no word for it yet. All you know is you hate it.