Pain #2

Reading pc’s post again tonight brings tears to my eyes. She writes beautifully about the ugliest of things and she’s put words to things that I had zero desire to try to write about yesterday.

I want to add some more. And I suppose there are two types to this. The physical pain, and far worse, the emotional. I’ll start with the former.

  • The bruises on a body from ‘kids being kids’.
  • The feeling of suffocating when your head is held underwater and however much you flail and try to get out of their grip, you can’t.
  • Or when their hand is over your mouth and nose, or around your neck and you can’t escape.
  • When their body is on top of yours, pinning you down.
  • When your arm or leg is held so hard you end up bruised.
  • When you are hit or pushed down or threatened without the requirement of words even leaving their mouth.
  • When their penis is down your throat and you cannot escape. When you gag and can’t breathe, and the only air you can get into your lungs is when they release the pressure of their hand on the back of your head and you can pull back just long enough that you can breathe through your nose again before they thrust your head back forward and you’re suffocating. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat x 100.
  • When you disappear to wherever you can, because the things they are doing to your body are more than you can cope with.
  • When doors are slammed on hands. Objects thrown at faces. Plates and glasses smashed on the wall behind you.
  • The sweet sharp pain that is self inflicted in order to try to bring yourself back to the present, or punish yourself, or just feel *something*. Or rather, actually, to so often feel nothing, to numb everything happening in your brain and body, to remove yourself from it all.

And yet, the actual physical pain and fear is short lived right? Ha. No, not really. Because the emotional pain brings them back all the fucking time. Periods become triggers where your body feels like it’s still happening, over and over, where your memories torment you. And all of these things come back, out of nowhere, when you least expect it, when you might be having a good day, and then SLAM. Hit in the face with this shit, out of nowhere, for no reason that you can pinpoint.

And as pc has said, all of the other shattering things.

  • The fact that they chose him, yet again. The fact that you’re not chosen. The knowledge that you won’t ever be.
  • The fear that has your knees curled up to your chest whilst you sit on the floor of the shower for half an hour hoping that the water will wash it all off of you.
  • The birthdays, the christmases, the fathers days, the mothers days, the lunches, the dinners, the family gatherings, the celebrations.
  • The never ending silencing.
  • The earth shattering loss of parents that can make you feel orphaned, and alone and like you won’t survive it.
  • The shame. The white hot, flushed cheeks, sweaty bodied shame.
  • The fucking ocean of grief. And the ocean of grief that you haven’t been able to cry for in years.
  • The years spent taking care of yourself because nobody else will. The putting yourself to bed and the crying yourself to sleep at night.
  • The feeling unseen, unheard, unappreciated, unloved. Unloveable.
  • The taking all of it on so that you can retain some semblance of control.

There are so many more. This list isn’t even close to exhaustive, but I have another post I need to write.

Wrong

I didn’t want to write this yesterday and I still don’t really want to write it today.

I hate this. I really fucking hate this. It feels debilitating and so sticky and like it’ll never go away. The feeling of being wrong grows with shame, some days till its an inferno in my belly. Other days it’s quieter, but it is always there, waiting for the smallest slight, the side glance from somebody on the street that you’ve never even met, that you take as utter disgust. The laughter that you assume is about you, the comments, the nitpicking that you take on as fundamental flaws of your person. The sideways glances, the people ignoring you, the people secluding you, that are actually only not inviting you because you’re so closed off and putting up your ‘don’t come near me walls’ without even realising you’re doing so.

Its the people that are meant to love you and build you up and support you, and help you grow and watch you thrive, that tell you you’re too fat, too dumb, not funny enough, not pretty enough, not sporty enough, you laugh weirdly, you’re too shy, you’re too much of a tomboy… ‘what’re you wearing? Go change’, ‘your hair looks ridiculous, go brush it’, ‘is that a boy?’, ‘stop sucking your thumb, you’re not a baby’, ‘don’t cry, you’re being stupid’, (halfway through telling something important as a kid) ‘that’s nice, now just go upstairs and do x y or z’, ‘why do you have to do that?! What’s wrong with you?’, ‘this is your fault, just go upstairs’, ‘if you tell him we’ll get divorced and it’ll be all your fault. Is that what you want?’, ‘shut up and stop being stupid and help’, ‘why don’t you have a boyfriend?’, ‘why don’t you ever tell me stuff?’, ‘why are you so secretive?’…. This list is far from exhaustive.

Its the lack of interest or care. Its putting yourself to bed at 7 years old, because they won’t. It’s becoming independent and closed off because anything else is unsafe. It’s wondering why your siblings are more important than you. It’s trying to deal with abuse and bullying and wishing you were dead all on your own, because you’d only be laughed at. It’s being mocked by multiple members of your family all at the same time. It’s crying yourself to sleep at night.

Its grown up in my body as I’ve grown up… Planted early on, and fed the best nutrients as I’ve grown. Its been fed so much that I now can’t believe anything else. It’s now so inherent, that even the slightest glance or laughter or annoyance is taken on as evidence of my wrongness. Its taking on things that have nothing to do with me, from family and friends and even strangers, just because I’m constantly searching, constantly adding to the pile of evidence without even realising I am.

It gets in the way of fucking everything. It’s debilitating, it’s terrible. So so terrible.

I go to therapy and tell her that I don’t deserve her time. How could I, when I’m so unworthy of attention or care? And oh my, love from friends…? How on earth do you let that in when you know they’re mistaken about you and one day they’ll realise it and take it all back?

And yet somehow I have, over the years. The small comments and actions of worthiness have sometimes been let in and believed, and yet I really don’t think there will ever be enough of them to counteract it, or even make a dent in it.

It has to come from me, the belief of worthiness, of not being wrong, and yet how can I when if my brain and stomach and heart aren’t in total agreement of my wrongness, are at total odds, one shouting one thing and one the other. The one with the most evidence always wins.

I hate this, I can’t tell you how much.

And im not reading over this, I don’t want to… So I’m going to just hope it makes sense, and I’m sorry for any typos, and I’m sorry its so so whingy.

thirty-five: wrong

this is another big one, and i’m not sure i’ll be able to do it justice in my current frame of mind. which, ironically, is feeling wrong in my body and wrong in my mind and wrong in my whole life. i am exhausted and feeling beaten down, i’m young and horrible. i’m flooded with guilt and shame and am convinced i’m a burden, a horror, a crap partner and mom and friend. it’s not a nice place to be.

i hate the feeling of wrongness because it’s so familiar. and every time i feel this way, especially lately, i think about how long i’ve lived with the conviction that there is something wrong with me. that i’m inherently just wrong, somehow, sloppily made from the get-go, pieced together from discarded bits of intergenerational flotsam and jetsam. how i spent so long feeling like i was just born wrong, could never hope to get things right…and how just the right combination of circumstances in my life today can send me straight back to that awful, desperate, deadly place.

i might have to come back to this one because i need help unhooking from how i’m feeling, and this is sending me deeper into it. i want to talk more about it but tonight i just can’t.