I was verbally and sexually abused. The former by my mother and the latter by a male “friend” of the family.
It began innocently enough. He was my dance instructor and after years of teaching me began to suggest sessions alone. I was young so I didn’t get that it was sex - or even knew what sex was, but it felt weird and it was when he wanted me to touch him that I knew. Something about touching me didn’t seem so bad (I don’t know why). The real abuse came when my mother didn’t believe me – but mostly when she blamed me for being a whore. I didn’t even know what the word whore meant.
I was never hit, but I think the mind-games were worse.
I was abused by my mother. Well all of us were, the rest of the kids have a deep resentment against her, I do not. She is a mentally ill person, I can’t hate or resent an ill person, especially one that is my family and most especially one that birthed me. If she was fully sane and healthy I have no doubt things would have been different. She did have lucid loving moments although they are overshadowed by the more constant shit she did when she was not fully lucid.
Sadly, my spouse went through very similar instance, and with the same outcome, almost verbatim. I have despised her parents since day one, although the father has passed, I eagerly await the expiration of the mother will greater zeal.
The thing to remember is not to become “victimised”. As long as you never fall prey to that mentality, then they never had, or never have, power over you. That is the key to the lucidity of seeing aberrant individuals as what they are … worthless fucking defects.
We all have our memories lady Bessy, some things are best dealt with, then put away.
okay, I will say it. Did you ever notice how I like to talk about sex? I think it is those unresolved issues permeating my being at the cellular level. ILP was the first place I admitted what he did to me - to anyone ever. I buried it underneath layers upon layers and was lucky ( very lucky) that I married a normal person wo loves me… in spite of my craziness.
OG,
What did you mean by the media? Did I miss something.?
Kris,
I wish I could come to terms with her dying pissed at me. I am getting there thanks to a loving friend of mine who stands by my side. How do you come to terms with it not being you? How do you give the power back to yourself?
ps - that asshole died a painful death of lung cancer… i feel no anger to him, just sorrow for that little girl who feels the need 45 years later to discuss masturbation to internet friends. Sad really, but in my own way - what happened to me will always make me feel stained - so sorry if I do that from time to time.
I think that topic is hilarious. I don’t see it as being anything but funny.
I’m sorry to hear about your ordeal. If there’s one good thing that can come from experiencing something horrible is that you can truly appreciate something good afterwards when you see it.
It’s funny how let’s say a king born a prince can find no satisfaction in lets say getting a water bed, but a homeless guy who finds a pillow will feel happy as hell.
Personally I feel glad whenever something horrible (reasonably bad, not catastrophic) happens to me because afterwards I can truly appreciate life. I guess I’m saying that happiness can be recognized only when misery has been experienced. Happiness does not exist as a thing in itself, but rather as something recognized as the opposite of suffering.
But you have your power Bessy, it is surrounding you every single day. You family, that fuzzy 4 legged kid of yours. Your self. She can’t take that nor can it ever be removed. she is what and who she is. So she dies pissed at you.
Look at it this way. If she did not have an emotion about you, you would not be a significant part of her life. That means in some way she cares about you and what you think and what you are. If she had no emotion what so ever that would mean you don’t exist to her you are insignificant.
We only have emotions towards people that are a part of our lives, that we care about. No emotions means no caring. Some people are not altogether, they can only display the negative especially if taught that positive emotions are a sign of weakness. This often happens in strict and rigid homes. This may not apply to your mom but then again part of it may. If she did not have positive feelings about you she would not display the negative feelings, she would have disappeared from your life long ago.
She gave you what she could. To ask for more is asking for the impossible. To want more from someone who is unable to give more causes this agony of yours. Accept and cherish the small jewels of life that she passed onto you.
Understand that no matter what, she made you a better person for having treated you so shitty. Its a bitch way to do it but, she actually gave you the ability and strength to overcome adversity. She gave you the ability to open your heart and love. She gave you life so that you can be where you are now surrounded by your power. Just because she behaves toward you in a negative abusive fashion does not mean you have to accept it. You turn it into a positive thing. So smile for her and for you. Love her for what she is and accept what she is. Accept that you have joy in your life because she pushed you into being stronger and better, its a bitch thing but its true.
And that dude, fuck him. Your experience with him can either enable him and others like him or enable you. Put that experience in the garbage can. Your memories of it are just memories, like ghosts. Just cuz you can see em doesn’t mean they can hurt you. If you find yourself thinking about it stop thinking about the negative aspects of it. Think about positive parts of it. You didn’t get stained you got painted. You did not crawl into a corner, you did not turn into a quivering coward of men, You do not hate men. Jeez Bessy look at what you did do inspite of it. In spite of it you twisted the rottenness and turned it to positive.
Tristan a bit off on what he says but, there is a significant amount of truth. You have done what he wrote you just need to open your eyes and heart and look at your wonderful self, to know that these two horrible people that put manure in your life helped you turn into a rose. Because the pain they gave you, gave you the strength to have your power.
Now don’t dwell on the negative anymore, go spoil that little Grandaughter and teach her how to do spit wads with a straw. (It annoys the parents everytime and is a payback for what ever your kid did to irritiate you, its harmless and fun. I know this cuz Dad taught my boy spitwads, then secretly armed him with a large amount of straws and napkins. Claim Grandparental rights to do this. I intend to, when the time comes )
Such wisdom at ILP. Thank you Tristan and Kris - I am having a better week - sometimes it all chokes me at the same time… not usually but sometimes. Stars, Mars and holidays, oh my.
I was mentally and physically abused when I was younger , my father was a shizophrenic . My mum worked night shift , so when I got in from school sometimes I was left with my dad , occasionally he would snap and man handle me outside to the garden hut and lock me in there for hours on end , even in winter , whilst he went into the role of a cockney stallholder .
Id thump at the door asking him to let me out for half hour or so , then give up , all I would hear was dad trying to shift fruit and vegetables from a table in the garden to a crowd that wasnt there , kids at school got to hear about it and soon the taunts began , “apples & pears” - “last o the carrots here pound for a box” they would shout . Remarkably I went into the fruit and veg game when I was 18 , my psychiatrist recommended I face my fear that way , I got over the experience , but later asked my mother why she never intervened sooner since she knew dad had mental health problems at the time , she just said she had been too busy out making money for us and that I was an asshole , we were never that close
I am old and one of the lessons I have learned is
to accept the past and move on. It happened in the past
and to leave it there. My younger sister can’t move
beyond the past and thus she is stuck there, with all
her anger. I have left the past behind me. that world
no longer exist for me. The past no longer exists for me.
I have moved on.
Im over it now , was over it by about 21 , although I think back sometimes whenever Im passing through a market full of fruit and veg men , but I laugh about usually . Although once I snapped when someone man handled me from behind at a xmas party a few years back whilst they were drunk , we looked back and laughed at it though - but I think the mind is funny , you can sometimes imagine things are in front of you , especially in the dark , when they are not , the power of imagination means sometimes we can imagine something is there that we think should be there . Same goes for hearing things , Although the guy who sneaked up on me from behind hadnt actually mentioned fruit or veg I heard him say “last of the bananas , bananas 1.50 a box” during the incident
Bessy:
Great advice, and I am almost there. It is simply that: a decision. Thank you, Peter.
K: yep, it is simply a decision. We make them all the time.
I live within a 20 minute time frame. I exist within 20
minutes of right now, past or future. If it exist outside
of those 20 minutes, it doesn’t exist for me. I live right
here and right now. Nothing else matters.
Peter Kropotkin" yep, it is simply a decision. We make them all the time.
I live within a 20 minute time frame. I exist within 20
minutes of right now, past or future. If it exist outside
of those 20 minutes, it doesn’t exist for me. I live right
here and right now. Nothing else matters.
Xanderman: Except for politics, right?
K: It doesn’t change for politics. I still live within those 20 minutes,
but understand that I, you, us,
everyone exist within two spheres, the public and
the private. In the public sphere we cannot hold our self to
the 20 minute rule as our very survival as a species
depends on us thinking past and future, but it doesn’t stop
me personally from holding to the 20 minute rule.
My dad used to whoop the shit outta me. I had black-and-blue marks all over my thighs and ass, and my mom called the social workers and reported him. There were also other punishments that were strange and unique, but nothing really physically harmful other than the whoopings. I was psychologically traumatized, but I don’t count that.
The worst abuse I ever had was when I was attacked by a flock of ducks at Pullen Park. I was feeding them bread and they got a little excited and jumped me. It was bad…I was terrified because I was just a little boy. I’ll never forget it.
