Yeah.. another 'woe is me post'.. but that's ok, because it's 'where I am'.

To my family, right now, I feel like a piece of gum stuck on their shoe. You know how it is.. You step on a piece of gum. Then each step you take takes a little more effort. Your shoe sticks to the floor or the ground. You try to wipe it off, pick it off, scrape it off with a stick. It doesn't really work though, because there's always that little bit left. It's still sticky, it still bugs you. And the more you pick and pull at it, the bigger mess it becomes. Over time, other dirt and stuff sticks to it and you notice it less. But still, it bothers you and you choose to wear other shoes to avoid the sticky ones. No matter what you do, there's always that sticky spot that bugs you. It may get easier to walk in the shoes, but you can still feel them stick a little.. through the dirt and dust and grass that has been smooshed into the gum. It's too bad those were your favorite shoes.

I don't know if it's simply the effects of things that have happened to me in my life or if it would have been any different had I had a 'normal' childhood.. but I feel like the biggest disappointment of my parents' life. I know that I have not turned out how they would have liked. It seems that every step along the way, I've chosen a different path than what they hoped I would choose. Some of the things that I've done that were disappointing to them were also disappointing to me. And, yeah, I don't want to 'make excuses for my bad choices' but I do know that I might not have done some of those things had things gone differently for me when I was younger.

Still, I'm happy with who I am. That may sound so contrary to what I say most of the time.. but deep down, I am happy with who I am. Why? Because I know that God made me who I am for a reason. I know that I have things to offer and I know that every experience I've had in my life - no matter how bad or good or traumatic or stupid - has in some way shaped who I am today. Deep inside me there is someone who loves and accepts me. Someone who is content, someone thankful for all the adversities I've faced, who recognizes the growth that came from them. She peeks out now and then.. I know she's in there because there was a time (not so long ago) that I found her. I clung desperately to her and learned a lot from her. What happened to her? She got bitch-slapped by a cheating husband. She ran and hid, humiliated and embarrassed. Who am I to say that I am a good person? Who am I to say that I am a good wife? Who am I to say that I'm a good mother? Suddenly all my flaws became painfully obvious once again. Suddenly I was immobilized and incapable of functioning.. at a time when I felt that I couldn't afford to be anything less than 'perfect'. (Yes, I know that I can never be PERFECT, but I can certainly be better than this.. I know because I have been.) The combination of the pressure to perform and overwhelming sense of inadequacy has made me want to just give up.

Suicidal? Yes. Often. It can be a daily struggle for me. Last Sunday, the main thing that kept me from driving off a bridge was the fact that it was Father's day. Silly, huh? I just didn't want my family to remember that 'Mom killed herself on Father's day.' Nice. Hey, it kept me alive, didn't it? Honestly, I live in a pretty safe house. I just don't have the means. Sure, if I got to a point where I was truly determined enough to do it, I could find a way. But I'm a sissy.. thank goodness. Some days I find myself thinking.. 'Well, my baby only NEEDS me for a few more months.. then she can survive without me.' Yes, breastfeeding my infant has saved my life. Anyway, suicide is stupid. Long ago, I decided that was definitely not for me. As hard as it is to continue living sometimes, and as much as I don't want to, I trudge on. With gum on my shoe.

It's a confusing thing. Like living a double life. There's the 'normal' functioning you, and underneath it there's the dark, messed up injured you. The part that hurts. The part that knows it happened. And that's where the confusion comes in. The fact that you have to daily deny what happened and who you are in order to go through the motions of life. Is this living? I wouldn't know. People tell me it's not, but it's all I've ever known. I wonder what more there is, and I want to find out. But walking the road of healing hurts so much more than anything I've ever experienced. Yes, it hurts more than abuse.

A few weeks ago, I could use the word 'abuse' comfortably and confidently. I tried it on for size.. it sure seemed to fit. Now, I feel like I have to whisper it. I don't want to say it out loud and I don't want it applied to me. Abuse? No, I wasn't abused. I was.. I don't know what I was but it wasn't abuse. And this is how we survive. So that we don't have to face it.

I get up in the morning. I was not abused. I'm not a victim. No one wants to be a victim. I'm a normal functioning person and I get up and make breakfast for my family. Standing in the shower, water cascading down my back... "Incest." No, go away. "I'm here, and you can't turn me off. Pay attention to me." No, go away. "Don't silence me. I need to be heard." No one wants to hear you. If I cry a little in the shower, no one knows the difference. It's just water on my face.

I get dressed. Careful not to look at my body. If I say it's ugly, then I don't have to worry about anyone wanting it. Wanting to touch it. If I say it's beautiful, I feel threatened. Beauty is dangerous, it makes me vulnerable. If I can't fend off attack, if I don't know how to say no, then I don't want to be beautiful because it's too scary. I become indifferent. No one wants to hear me say I'm ugly, pointing out all my flaws and focusing on them. But I can't bear to acknowledge otherwise. What happened to the woman who was confident? The woman who looked in the mirror at her sagging belly and thought "I nurtured 5 beautiful babies in there, it has brought me so much." and felt good, happy and content in her body? Where did she go?

If I stop to think about it during the day, I might break down. I feel like a child. "You were molested." No, I wasn't.. that's gross, don't say that. What a nasty word. Besides, he is a good person and I love him. He could never do that to me. "But you know what happened, you never forgot." I was just bad. There must have been something wrong with me. After all, wouldn't I have told him to stop? Wouldn't I have wanted him to stop? I liked the attention. Something was wrong with me. "You are innocent." No, I can't be. Go away.

I get more and more distant. Locked up in my mind and my thoughts. Barely conscious of what goes on around me. "Pay attention to me. I'm still here. You can't ignore me." Yes, I can. I can and I have and I will. "No. Not anymore." Go away. I look at my children. Their innocence. Their vulnerability. My 7yo wants to kiss my lips. I don't want him to touch me. My 2yo wants to nurse and I feel violated. What's wrong with me? "I'm still here." No you're not. I hold back tears. I fall away more. Back into darkness. My body is hollow and empty. This is how I cope, this is how I hide. My 6yo wants to hug me. I let him. It feels so good, but it's so hard not to cry. My 4yo can't understand why I get so mean, he's so confused. My 8mo cries to be held and I go to my room and shut my door. I can't do it. "You have to face this." I can't. "You can't live this way." Yes, I can. If you would just go away, and leave me alone, I'd be fine. "I can't do that. Look at me." No, you're gross. You're ugly. No one wants to look at you.

I go to the store with my family. Do they know? Do these people look at me and know? No, they can't. They can't see me. I'm invisible. No one knows and no one cares. "But you know." I wish I hadn't told anyone.. my husband, my friends. This isn't the kind of thing that's supposed to be talked about. You weren't supposed to tell. "You have to tell. It's wrong." Yes, it was wrong. I was wrong. "No you weren't. You're innocent." Whatever. You don't know me. No one knows me. If they knew me, they wouldn't want me around. They'd lock me up. They'd see I'm crazy and bad and they'd lock me up. "No, they'd see you're hurt." I'm not hurt. I'm fine. Go away. If you don't go away, if you come out and show yourself, everyone I love is going to see me and want to run. They're all going to leave me, abandon me. I'll be left all alone. Then I'd be hurt. But not now. I'm fine. I'm fine.

I go to bed at night. My husband is there and I want him. I want him to touch me, to comfort me. To tell me I'm beautiful and worthwhile. "Why should he? You won't hear him." Yes, I will. I will this time. "You won't feel him. You'll shut down." No, not this time. I'm here. He touches me. It's good. He keeps going. Where am I? "You're gone." No, I'm not. I struggle to hang on. I want to be here, I want to be with him, I want him to know I love him and know that he loves me. In and out of darkness. I open my eyes and look at him. I'm here. No, I'm not, I'm distracted. I close my eyes and try to focus on what I feel. I'm here. No, I'm not. We're done. He holds me and I love the way his skin feels against mine. Warm and safe. I feel so safe in his arms. No one can hurt me. He won't hurt me. He falls asleep. I try to hold back the tears. "Let it out." No. I can't, he'll wake up and ask why I'm crying. I won't be able to tell him. I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm happy, I feel good. I feel safe. A tear rolls down my face. What's wrong with me? I'm happy. I'm crying. In and out of darkness I fall.

*Not written by me, posted for reference.*

1) Low self esteem/sense of worthlessness. For those who were repeatedly abused they percieve there only value in having sex or being used for sex. They have a hard time seeing themselves beyond this. Often they cannot accept compiments, cannot accept loving relationship is because they don't feel worthy of being loved.

2) Disassociate. Victims learn both in the begginning of being abused then later as a coping mechanism to disassociate themselves from the abuse from their attacker. During the abuse the victim will learn to pick a spot on the ceiling or wall and focus on it until the abuse was over. After the abuse is over they learn to disassociate the every day person from the person abused. It allows them to seperate the pain of abuse from the everyday life.

3) Minimizing. Abuse victims learn to minimize the abuse. After all if they convince themselves its not abuse then they are not victims...who wants to be a victim. Or if they convince themselves the abuse wasn't all that bad then don't feel the urgency to face it to deal with it.

4) Compartmentalize. Abuse victims learn to comparmentalize things. If they store painful memories in the far reaches of their mind then don't have to live with it constantly. The memories are still there unlike suppressing or repressing memories.

5) Secrecy. Abuse victims learn real early you don't tell. Often a skilled (word used loosely) predator can tell which children will or won't tell. And of course they go after the child they think won't tell. In closer relationships where the abuser is a someone known to the victim they rely on pressure and manipulating the victim into silence. They may say things like be quiet you don't want to people to know you did this or that. They may imply some type of harm will come to the victim and in some cases outright threaten the victim should they tell.

6) Self blaming. This comes in many forms. The abuser themselves while try and convince their victim they "wanted it" or they "enjoyed it". The victim might have a physical reaction to the abuse. They will say well if I felt something if I responded then I must have wanted it in someway. Finally society will project blame....good girls don't do that. For boys straight boys don't do that and so on.

7) Lack of empathy. Not surprising that if you learn to ignore your own abuse then you won't be very aware of other persons pains.

8) Distorted sexuality. Sex becomes something that is based on control not on love and pleasure. The victim sees sex a way to get "secondary gains". If I submit to this then I will be liked, loved or even just left alone. They see sex as unpleasant, as hurtful as being less of significane. In short they take those skills of minimizing, disassociation and apply it to their sexuality. Sex is less about pleasure and more about who is the boss.