November 6, 2011
A Tough Few Days
Lately, some of my kidparts have been coming to the present which is good because I have trying to make this happen, but at the same time I am in so much pain and have a lot of rage and anger, which cannot be helped because what happened to me was scary and horrible, but its hard.
I am depressed and I know it but I don’t know what to do about it. Usually if I go for a walk or book search and listen to music I feel better, but it’s not working this time. Last night I went and saw Sweet Honey in the Rock and they were wonderful. I didn’t want to go because I was feeling so low. Even after seeing those fabulous uplifting women perform I still felt down. Today I am going to spend the day burning lavender incense in bed reading and sleeping. If I don’t feel better tomorrow I’ll call my therapist.
October 17, 2011
A Picture Of An Abuser *TRIGGERS*
*TRIGGERS*
Today I am taking it easy because yesterday I had a sort of a jolt.
I was gathering up baby pictures of my son yesterday to show to his friend and I found a picture of my birth mother in the bottom of the cabinet. I had forgotten that the picture was there. I stared at the picture for a few long minutes. What I was looking at was a picture of an ordinary looking woman whose hate-filled voice I constantly hear in my mind calling me slut, whore, bitch, worthless, etc. On the surface it does not seem the picture and the abuse would be connected but they are.
There are no pictures of me as a baby except those taken by a child pornographer sanctioned by the normal looking woman in the picture.
December 23, 2009
No Control is Scary
It is very difficult for the kid part of myself to understand that my dad did not love me, and I did nothing to make it happen. As a kid it made more sense to me that it was my fault. It hurts less when I can blame myself and if feels safer. I feel like I would have had some sort of control over the situation.It is very difficult for the kid part of myself to understand that my dad did not love me, and I did nothing to make it happen. As a kid it made more sense to me that it was my fault. It hurts less when I can blame myself and if feels safer. I feel like I would have had some sort of control over the situation.
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November 30, 2009
Who Was Shaniya Davis?
I feel so horrified, angry, and heartbroken. Finishing this blog post was difficult because of Shaniya Davis’s vulnerability, and I know in my heart what happened to her could have happened to me or anyone when we were her age.
The story of this beautiful child’s victimization by her mother and pedophiles brings to light the universal myth of a mother’s love. Most adults know that not all mothers love or want their children, but they find it hard to think about this ugly and painful reality.
Like you and I Shaniya had a personality of her own, likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, and the open mind of a five-year old child full of wonder, curiosity, and silliness.
Not having much to go on, I began to think about the nature of the average five-year old girl. You probably have children of your own, nieces, granddaughters, sisters, cousins or neighbors very much like Shaniya.
Children her age like to color, play games, be tickled, read to, and ride their tricycles or bikes with training wheels. They like to eat french fries and cookies, tell knock knock jokes, cuddle, giggle, skip, dance, sing, and listen to music.
Most five-year olds watch cartoons like Sponge Bob, play computer games, do not like getting shots, taking medicine, or eating vegetables.
At this age children usually still believe in the tooth fairy, Santa Claus, witches and that they themselves are powerful and strong, and the world is full of fascinating wonders waiting to be discovered.
Shaniya has become a symbol or representative for all the blameless children who have been murdered not by monsters or evil hobgoblins; she was killed by a human being who looks no different from you or I. The fact of the matter is: She was a person very much like me.
November 5, 2009
Emotionally Drawn and Quartered
It has been over thirty years since I have seen my father, and it still cuts to the quick to know that he did not love me. I understand that he was not filled with any parental affection or lovingly attached to his little girl when he tore me up with abuse and passed me around to his disgusting cronies. He was probably not even capable of loving me; he was so full of evil, hate, and perversion. I feel crushed because my child’s heart was open and true. I sincerely adored him. Now I understand that it was not my fault and there was nothing I could do to change him, and yet I am still racked with shock and grief realizing the tremendous amount of emotional suffering he caused my innocent mind.
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