Being a victim/survivor/thriver/whatever of repeated, sadistic and warped child sexual abuse really, really sucks. It does so in so many ways for us that we’re essentially just a mix of polymorphic personaliies and feeling-states and specific functions and raw memories. Here follow some of the ways that it sucks.
It sucks to feel a deep down understanding that we are a ball of shame. We’re brutal contagious humiliated horrific monstrous vile perverted bad and ashamed to breathe. It’s hard when people look at us because it feels like that is what they see, that we leak out from a Hundred places and get our filth all over the poor people who meet our gaze. There’s a function inside us who does nothing but reinforce this understanding. She is quite the bitch but she’s the strongest thing in us. She does not believe T that they are not bad. The other parts have given her this job to hold as the specific incidents of abuse have piled up on her tiny head. This one knows the truth. That on a few occasions she had orgasms. T says well it’s just a fact it just happens to kids when they’re manipulated in some ways physically. But this one knows the truth. Which is that they of course have control over when they have them, they do it all the time. T says well adults yes of course but not kids. This one does not see the difference. This one also knows that at times they were glad to be going to pedophile’s home,to get away from a hugely toxic environment with her mother. Who was a nutjob. Knowing what that bastard might or might not do, they wanted to go anyway. At times he was great to them. After he used them up and tossed them away he would always do something nice. Buy her ice cream or let her race motorcycles or tear apart a carbuerator. Or buy her pretty clothes after he’d ripped up what she had been wearing. They craved this attention as it was the only source of any kind of affection at all. T says that of course that is what every child will seek. But the one who holds the shame knows differently. No fucking excuses from Stockholm apply. T says this one is destructive and why doesn’t she go away. But that shame will fall to the anihilated personalities, which no she says would not be a good thing.
It sucks to be sad. There’s a functionary for this one too. She doesn’t even know why, all tha she can be is Sad. I am just so sad is all that she can say. She lost so, so much. T just sits with this one as she fights off tears. This sadness has been there since forever. It too has grown up with them. Just another dumping-ground for emotions too strong to bear. Nobody talks to Sad they’re all way, way too afraid. T has to hypnotize her to sleep when she’s been out because otherwise she can never rest. And she bleeds all over everybody else. Not so much.
It sucks to be fragmented into a hundred tiny splinters. There is no keeping track of it all when something is afoot. The weaver, whose job it has always been to regulate who’s out when, has run out of colors to put into the loom. She’s sulking and she’s on strike. There are probably thirty or forty little ones, each with her own little memories of the filthy abuse. They stumble about, interrupting the adults’ sexlife and freaking out all over the place. Some of them recognize that T is genuine in her concern for them and they get frightened to death and run. The Teenagers too are a huge problem. They hid when her body was living those years. Waiting for the next time he would come to get them, which they’re still doing today. The hypervigilance is exhausting. They generally do not know who the others are although some are beginning to overlap. Which is interesting and dangerous depending on the mix.
It sucks to be enraged. This has it’s own character too. It turns it all inward, wreaking havoc in self-harm and setting off the screaming howler monkeys in her head. There is no outlet for this one that comes close to being helpful. Just an overwhelming white-hot fury that will one day consume them all in a brilliant blaze of glory.
It sucks to be working in therapy, it’s like a full-time job. The Learning From The Transference is going to break her back. The trust thing, going on and off and feeling fabulous and panicked. The energy it takes to do this work saps out her lifeblood. And her checkbook. It is draining and confusing and scary and so real it is blinding in it’s insight.
It sucks to be barely functional. To struggle every single day to maintain some income-generating activities when the world is crumbling around her. To have to put so much effort into faking it to the planet just how fucked up she is. It blows.
It sucks to remember. It was a characteristic that most of her specific rapes were extremely humiliating and sadistic and downright physically painful. Her pedophile was just one. Sick. Fuck. To remember these events in whatever ways that comes is wretched and surprising and demeaning all over again. Over and over and over. Sights smells sounds. Tastes, maybe that’s the worst.
It sucks to hear that they wouldn’t be a lesbian if this hadn’t happened to them. The fact is that she came out when she was five years old, when the abuse had been going on for a couple of years but wasn’t yet what it would become. They do not have sex with women because they hate men. They do so because that’s what gets them off. They have always loved women and they always will.
It sucks to know that so much was stolen from her, that her life was taken from her before it could really begin. She has no memory of a trust-able relationship, she has no memory of safety. When T talks about these things they do not know what she really means.
If sucks to lose time. To have to spend so much energy in documenting her every move so that central or somebody can keep track. To wake up in a strange place or time, to not recognize pieces that she has painted just breaks her heart. They’re slick about the way this happens, after all they’ve been doing it forever. But it is an awkward thing to say the least. Now that splinters are waking up, being seen and heard, this is happening more and more and that seems just so unfair.
It sucks that this healing process is so damn painful. T says well I don’t want to encourage this but yes, in a way the thing that hurts the most is the best thing to talk about. That they all have to go thru this feeling shit, this teambuilding thing this whole fucking mess, seems to be a punishment to some of them. Fabulous.
It sucks being a Buddhist because when she finally reaches that place wherein she just can’t stand it one second longer she has to stay here. Suicide is not an option for people who will only be reborn again.
It sucks that she will never have justice. Her pedophile is dead now and so she has to hold herself accountable for there to be any sense in the Universe.
There are of course many more things that suck about Child sexual abuse. The bizareness of it all, the addiction to the pain, the inability to look away as if passing a fatal accident. But we’ve run out of colors and there’s nothing left to say. For now.
These are the biggest reasons why being a victim/survivor/thrived/whatever of child sexual abuse sucks.
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