Feeling sorry for myself

I don’t write everything I think here.  Maybe I’ll start another page for me to vent… until then, I’m doing it here and now.  In real life, I don’t get to say very much about what’s going on with me.  I have a husband to listen to me, but the kids need to be out of earshot… plus, he’s heard it all a million times (and really, how good is your relationship going to be if the only thing that comes out of your mouth is related to sexual abuse/assault?)  I have a few friends that I see rarely, at best.  And they aren’t close enough that I can dump these thoughts on them.  The few other people I have in my life that are close enough to hear this stuff either don’t care or seem to honestly believe that eating a late lunch is a greater trial for them than sexual abuse has been for me.

Yeah, I know… get new friends.  I’d love to, but aside from living in a suburb full of people pretending to be better than everyone else, having small kids and no babysitter, having no money, and only rarely feeling like leaving the house… I don’t have a lot of opportunity to leave the house.  Another glaring problem is that it seems when I do make friends, they seem to gain some level of sexual/romantic interest in me (I tend to befriend males a lot more than females.)  So, making friends hasn’t always been the safest thing for me.  This leaves me with a very limited number of people to confide in.  Admittedly, I have made a couple very good friends via the internet… and wish they could be geographically closer… but even then, they wouldn’t deserve to listen to my problems all day.

Which leads me to this blog.  It’s the only place I know I can vent without being reprimanded, dismissed, ignored, argued with, etc.  Of course, the National Spiritual Assembly of the Baha’is of the United States has kind of taken that from me by spying on this blog relentlessly… but I need to be able to get things out of my head.  Maybe they’ll learn a little compassion if they read?

So, without further ado… this may be very difficult for survivors, secondary survivors, or anyone under the age of 18.  If you are not entirely certain you can read this safely, please do not read at all.

Throughout a day, I have seemingly hundreds of images, thoughts and feelings fly through my head.  It usually starts just before I wake up in the morning – due to nightmares that wake me prematurely from my sleep.  That always does the trick to get my mind working… “was that a memory or a just a dream?”  “Could my father really have done that?”  “I need to remember this so I can research it better.”  Just this morning, I woke up after having some form of nightmare involving my father and my sister (whom he also abused.)  The last thing I saw was a yellow card that showed me proof that she and I were not the only ones he abused.  I was told, in the dream, that I need to look into more police reports on him… that there may be others (my sister was brave enough to report him and he got a slap on the wrist when he pleaded guilty to lesser charges.)

That, of course, had me up before 5 am and monopolized the next several hours of my day while I tried to find clues online.  I came up with nothing.  But, other days I just have the memories and dreams go through my head.  I’ve had several nightmares of my father raping me.  I see incomplete memories that always seem to cut off right before sexual contact happens.  And then, I have the others… the others who swim around inside my head all wanting a chance to say their piece, but never having anything to say.  Some days I just want to scream to the world “I was forced to suck my father’s dick!!!”  I know it won’t accomplish anything, but living a “normal” life is so difficult.

I use facebook, as so many of us do.  I get those posts from people who say things like “Be grateful for what you have…” or “Here’s why you should quit complaining about _______….” followed by a story of a dog who was mistreated or a woman who died of cancer in front of her husband.  Now, please don’t get me wrong… they’re sad stories.  But, why should I be thankful I was abused and raped by my father for a decade?!  Some dog’s tragedy should make me feel like I have it good in life?  Maybe I thought I did have a good life – when I didn’t know what happened to me… but that was when I thought I was beyond crazy, too.  So, to continue on my self-pity theme, what should I be thankful for?  Is it years of hearing voices that tell me I should kill myself or that no one loves me?  Is it years of sexual dysfunction that ranges from so reserved that I get sick at the sight of a naked man all the way to fantasizing about being raped repeatedly?  Or maybe I should be grateful for the sudden bursts of dry heaving and wild sobbing when something triggers me.  Or maybe I should even be thankful for all of the other assaults because without my father abusing me, I may not have had the chance to have been a victim ever.

So, it makes me a bitter person, but… NO!  I won’t be grateful!!  I don’t have to see other people’s tragedies as worse than my own and be force fed guilt to make me feel selfish.  I spent my whole life giving to others… and only in the last two years did I try to spend some of my effort on me – due to remembering my father’s abuse.  Even my abuse, from what I can figure out, was possible because I wanted to protect others.  I can see it wasn’t my fault… but I think if I had been more concerned for myself, maybe things would have been different.  Maybe not… who knows?

Basically, I’m tired of being told how easy I have it.  Maybe most people at my age have had time to deal with abuse, but I still don’t even know everything that happened – not even 25% of it.  I’m still finding out what happened and it’s all new and raw for me.  On top of that, I am experiencing emotions I’ve never really known – so I’m easily exhausted and confused and unstable.  But, no, I have it much better than the dog who was put on a leash for too long… or the woman who drank herself to death and now her family wants pity.  I don’t even think that I have it better than (and this will make many people very angry, I’m sure) than the child who dies from cancer.  I don’t deny the grave suffering by the child or their family – not in the slightest.  But, I have a level of envy, too.  How I wish I could have died so many years ago to avoid further pain.  But, my view of death probably alters my opinion on the matter greatly (I see death as a wonderful beginning of the next life – not something that is surrounded by loss and grief.)

So, there it is.  I am an incredibly self-centered person now.  That’s fine, I guess… I keep being told by my therapist that I need to be more selfish so I can get through life right now.  But all I really want is a friend that I can call up or meet with and say “You know, I can feel his prick in my throat again.  I can see him touching me from across the room again.  I can feel him fucking me… and I just want to be held and told I’m okay.  I just want someone who seems to care more about my pain than their own… or more about me than seeking revenge on the people who did these things to me.  Oh… and I want some ice cream.”

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