No Sympathy For The Devil

"The darkest hour is right before the dawn. It is painful to work through our pasts, our lives, but we can't go around it, only through it." ~ The much adored and admired Empress. Thank you.

A simple round of apologies for the vagueness of yesterday's tantrum. It seems the times I long to delete the words the most, are the times I need them to remain. This is not going to be an easy post for me to get through. In the same breath, it was only after a long night spent thinking to the tune of a raging thunderstorm I decided that, for me, it has to be done in order to move forward.

Toddler vs. Monster
It is a shameful thing to admit and a more shameful thing to own. I have had a measurable level of sexual drive from my earliest memories as a wee child. This was not something spawned of trauma. I'm not sure it can even be coded in one's DNA. And yet, it coursed through my veins and left me confused, angry and alone. A child. Anything but innocent when everything I knew of this new world tried convincing me otherwise. The thoughts and feelings I had were not "normal" from day one. To this day, I have no idea what normal is.

Child vs. Monster
By the time I was 8, I was overweight. This can, in no way, be attributed to my parents. No fault lies with anyone but myself. Growing up, we weren't allowed sugar cereal, soda, junk food. We didn't get fast food and we weren't presented with poor choices. None of that was allowed in the front door. This lonely, angry, chubby and immensely confused girl walked miles to get her filthy paws on junk. To eat myself into a stupor of what little comfort I perceived. Looking back at pictures, it was not obesity upon that small frame. But I had stretch marks on my thighs and I knew that was wrong. Shameful. Ugly. At the age of 8, I was concerned no one would ever want to have sex with me. I began starving myself and exercising to change that.

Pre-Teen vs. Monster
I got my first period at 11. In my family, embarrassing personal dialogue was not to be uttered. We were taught manners, respect for others, pride by virtue of masking any political incorrectness and ultimately secrecy. I remember being convinced I was dying. So much shame. Disgusting. Filthy. Alone. I was more bothered by dying in an ugly body, than thoughts of death itself. I opened up to a complete stranger for help. She took pity on me and bought me the proper items to cope. I was still obsessing about my image and the weight would go up and down. I began abusing painkillers to aid the hunger pains. Not long after that, Twin Peaks aired on TV. I remember being mesmerized. I felt that my most hidden thoughts were being broadcast for the world to see. I can remember looking nervously at my mother to see if she somehow sensed the connection. Instead, she would turn and smile the kindest smile at me as it was obvious her little girl was a lover of the arts. Perhaps I had just formed my first preference to one director over another. That was it! That little girl, with her crazy imagination, has an attachment to David Lynch! Silly, silly girl. Silly dark, fat, confused little girl. The dark girl with the raging hormones. The unhealthy attachments to men. The one who's only goal in life was to be physically WANTED.

Adolescent vs. Monster
As I made my way through school, it became apparent I had a mind. A level of intellect. All through school I had straight A+'s and every year I could count on being on the equivalent of an honor roll. There was no real level of effort involved there. It all came naturally to me and I didn't see it as a positive. Beneath the surface, a storm was carefully brewing to the surface. I was not a particularly attractive child and I felt I got uglier and uglier as I aged. The only boys who clung to me were the ones hoping to absorb those A's from me. They would taunt me in public, and exhibit disgusting kindness to me in private. Quiet compliments away from prying eyes and ears. Notions that I was unwanted, unloved and unworthy were weaving quite the web of hatred about me.

Eventually I met the boy who would become my first boyfriend. He was kind to me in public, that seemed the only real qualifier. I was smitten. For a time, I even forgot my own self-loathing. I forgot about my sexual deviations. It would be almost a year before he finally told me how he really felt. Not those three sweet little words most gals hope to soak up. "I never really found you attractive, but I love you for what's underneath." That vile creature. No one knows me underneath. Not him, not my family. I felt betrayed. Betrayed and further determined to become an object men craved because I no longer believed in love. It was more than wanting to be wanted. I wanted to do damage. I wanted vengeance.

By the time I was 14, I was sneaking out to clubs, staying out most of the night, sending my parents into routine panic and doing everything imaginable in what I had convinced myself was an effort to find myself. Who I was, what I was and where I fit in the grand scheme of things. I dressed in black, listened to dark music and spent my hours exploring the darkness. It was exhilarating. I learned how to put on make-up, little by little I learned how to dress for my body type and how to style my hair. I thought I was learning to be pretty. More starvation. More exercise. More pills. People were starting to notice me. More starvation. More exercise. More pills. People were beginning to express their attraction to me. More starvation. More exercise. More pills. Borderline kidney failure.

Victim vs. Monster
When I left home just before graduating high school, I felt an extraordinary sense of relief. It wasn't due to so much being out from under the control of my parents as it was I knew they only had to see the side of me I wanted to show them. I knew I had two distinct sides. I knew what my darkness was. I knew I didn't ever want to marry or have children as that would bring people far too close to me. They would eventually see both sides.  There was no such thing as loving both. Being loved completely. I was actually still fairly convinced there was no such thing as love. Those who tried getting close to me would send me retreating quickly back into my shell. I was hollow. Intelligent, fun loving, "adorable", friendly and flirtatious on the outside. A hot mess on the inside.

Then I was raped.

There will forever only be two who know all the terror that happened that night. Only two who know the extent of the physical damage. Only one who will live with the extent of the mental damage for the rest of her days upon this planet.

This unlocked something inside. No. Unleashed. Shortly after the physical recovery, I needed to feel that pain again. I would become quietly enraged when I didn't get my way. People I knew didn't want to hurt me like that. I begged. The answer was always "no". The posing of the question would simultaneously drive them away. The answer, in my mind, was that going forward only strangers would wish to cause me that level of harm. The answer was to lure strangers. To act as bait. To physically do everything in my power to experience that unearthly thrill again. I was broken. I could no longer face the judgement swirling around me. Not knowing where else to possibly turn, I left town in search of a blank slate. As it's known to do, history repeated itself. More spiraling. More damage. More pills.

Every day is a struggle for me. Every day, I must go through very precise motions to function. To be stable, calm and grounded. Today is my 6 year wedding anniversary. I am married to a phenomenally awesome man. I have two beautiful boys and an amazing, if not humble support system of friends. My relationship with each of my family members is a good one that has taken years of effort to rebuild and maintain. I'm still very broken. I'm not sure what it will take to fully heal the sum of my years. I'm not entirely convinced that's even possible. Today, with this post, I take the first step far out of my comfort zone. But today is a new day.







6 comments:

  1. I applaud you for your bravery in sharing this. As with almost anything, talking about it means you are ready to deal with it. It is never too late to be happy, but happiness is not a right; it is a choice. It sounds like you have made a choice to be happy now. Everything you went through, while a lot of it may have been awful, has made you into the wife, mother, friend and family member you are today. Again, it sounds like you have or already moving forward, but if not. Don't let your past deter you from your future. It is too late to change your past, but your future can be whatever you want it to be, so make it a great one.

    Thank you for sharing. This was an amazing post.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Shay, first off - welcome! I can only imagine this is a bizarre post to encounter right off the bat. It helped me immensely to work through it even at the risk of basically airing my dirty laundry in such a public fashion. Thank you so much for reading, for understanding and for your kindness. I couldn't agree more that the past has already been written. It's what we do going forward that has to count!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hey Ninja Kitty,

    I'm actually at a loss for words....OK, first, you are brave, and a strong woman. I hope you know that.

    Second, so much of what you wrote hit home for me, maybe not all of it, and some of my similarities happened in a different order, but reading a lot of this was deja vu.

    Scary. And yet comforting too. I can say from personal experience that it is really, horribly difficult not to obsess over the past. Which is ridiculous, because no matter how many times you play it over in your mind, nothing is going to change. And yet...

    You and I must be about the same age. Twin Peaks was an amazing eye opener for me too. Now that I'm older, I think part of my love for the show was because of the dual worlds, the shiny veneer on the surface, and the ugly underbelly. I had that too. We all did/do.

    Beautiful post.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Wow... thank you Vesta, My Sweet. I'm still experiencing mixed emotions at leaving this out there. Feels a bit like having toilet paper stuck to my shoe. But you're absolutely correct in the turmoil at obsessing over one's past. I was so busy hiding out from the past, I rather forgot what it was I was hiding from. Now that I've defined it, it doesn't seem so insurmountable anymore.

    "the shiny veneer on the surface, and the ugly underbelly"..... I love that. There is selfish comfort in realizing we all have it to some extent or another. I'm working on not being quite so selfish.... alas, that part of my personality is under monumental construction!!!

    Thank you, as always, for inspiring me and knowing just what to say. You are absolutely amazing and my respect for you is immense. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Oh my dear, sweet Annie! I just want to hold and hug you!

    You have walked into the light and you are not alone in this journey. It's not an easy journey, but it's worth it. And so are YOU!

    You are amazing. It's just going to take you time to dig through the "junk" to see it!

    I know, I did it. I was buried beneath a horrible pile of junk. The journey was hard, it was long, but I'm on the path and I feel great!

    And you can feel it too. You'll also heal and not feel "damaged" forever!

    You walked into the light, my dear, now let that light help heal you!

    ((You))

    ReplyDelete
  6. Thank you, My Amazing Pamela. Thank you. *humbled*

    ReplyDelete

Kitty

Thursday, April 12, 2012

No Sympathy For The Devil

"The darkest hour is right before the dawn. It is painful to work through our pasts, our lives, but we can't go around it, only through it." ~ The much adored and admired Empress. Thank you.

A simple round of apologies for the vagueness of yesterday's tantrum. It seems the times I long to delete the words the most, are the times I need them to remain. This is not going to be an easy post for me to get through. In the same breath, it was only after a long night spent thinking to the tune of a raging thunderstorm I decided that, for me, it has to be done in order to move forward.

Toddler vs. Monster
It is a shameful thing to admit and a more shameful thing to own. I have had a measurable level of sexual drive from my earliest memories as a wee child. This was not something spawned of trauma. I'm not sure it can even be coded in one's DNA. And yet, it coursed through my veins and left me confused, angry and alone. A child. Anything but innocent when everything I knew of this new world tried convincing me otherwise. The thoughts and feelings I had were not "normal" from day one. To this day, I have no idea what normal is.

Child vs. Monster
By the time I was 8, I was overweight. This can, in no way, be attributed to my parents. No fault lies with anyone but myself. Growing up, we weren't allowed sugar cereal, soda, junk food. We didn't get fast food and we weren't presented with poor choices. None of that was allowed in the front door. This lonely, angry, chubby and immensely confused girl walked miles to get her filthy paws on junk. To eat myself into a stupor of what little comfort I perceived. Looking back at pictures, it was not obesity upon that small frame. But I had stretch marks on my thighs and I knew that was wrong. Shameful. Ugly. At the age of 8, I was concerned no one would ever want to have sex with me. I began starving myself and exercising to change that.

Pre-Teen vs. Monster
I got my first period at 11. In my family, embarrassing personal dialogue was not to be uttered. We were taught manners, respect for others, pride by virtue of masking any political incorrectness and ultimately secrecy. I remember being convinced I was dying. So much shame. Disgusting. Filthy. Alone. I was more bothered by dying in an ugly body, than thoughts of death itself. I opened up to a complete stranger for help. She took pity on me and bought me the proper items to cope. I was still obsessing about my image and the weight would go up and down. I began abusing painkillers to aid the hunger pains. Not long after that, Twin Peaks aired on TV. I remember being mesmerized. I felt that my most hidden thoughts were being broadcast for the world to see. I can remember looking nervously at my mother to see if she somehow sensed the connection. Instead, she would turn and smile the kindest smile at me as it was obvious her little girl was a lover of the arts. Perhaps I had just formed my first preference to one director over another. That was it! That little girl, with her crazy imagination, has an attachment to David Lynch! Silly, silly girl. Silly dark, fat, confused little girl. The dark girl with the raging hormones. The unhealthy attachments to men. The one who's only goal in life was to be physically WANTED.

Adolescent vs. Monster
As I made my way through school, it became apparent I had a mind. A level of intellect. All through school I had straight A+'s and every year I could count on being on the equivalent of an honor roll. There was no real level of effort involved there. It all came naturally to me and I didn't see it as a positive. Beneath the surface, a storm was carefully brewing to the surface. I was not a particularly attractive child and I felt I got uglier and uglier as I aged. The only boys who clung to me were the ones hoping to absorb those A's from me. They would taunt me in public, and exhibit disgusting kindness to me in private. Quiet compliments away from prying eyes and ears. Notions that I was unwanted, unloved and unworthy were weaving quite the web of hatred about me.

Eventually I met the boy who would become my first boyfriend. He was kind to me in public, that seemed the only real qualifier. I was smitten. For a time, I even forgot my own self-loathing. I forgot about my sexual deviations. It would be almost a year before he finally told me how he really felt. Not those three sweet little words most gals hope to soak up. "I never really found you attractive, but I love you for what's underneath." That vile creature. No one knows me underneath. Not him, not my family. I felt betrayed. Betrayed and further determined to become an object men craved because I no longer believed in love. It was more than wanting to be wanted. I wanted to do damage. I wanted vengeance.

By the time I was 14, I was sneaking out to clubs, staying out most of the night, sending my parents into routine panic and doing everything imaginable in what I had convinced myself was an effort to find myself. Who I was, what I was and where I fit in the grand scheme of things. I dressed in black, listened to dark music and spent my hours exploring the darkness. It was exhilarating. I learned how to put on make-up, little by little I learned how to dress for my body type and how to style my hair. I thought I was learning to be pretty. More starvation. More exercise. More pills. People were starting to notice me. More starvation. More exercise. More pills. People were beginning to express their attraction to me. More starvation. More exercise. More pills. Borderline kidney failure.

Victim vs. Monster
When I left home just before graduating high school, I felt an extraordinary sense of relief. It wasn't due to so much being out from under the control of my parents as it was I knew they only had to see the side of me I wanted to show them. I knew I had two distinct sides. I knew what my darkness was. I knew I didn't ever want to marry or have children as that would bring people far too close to me. They would eventually see both sides.  There was no such thing as loving both. Being loved completely. I was actually still fairly convinced there was no such thing as love. Those who tried getting close to me would send me retreating quickly back into my shell. I was hollow. Intelligent, fun loving, "adorable", friendly and flirtatious on the outside. A hot mess on the inside.

Then I was raped.

There will forever only be two who know all the terror that happened that night. Only two who know the extent of the physical damage. Only one who will live with the extent of the mental damage for the rest of her days upon this planet.

This unlocked something inside. No. Unleashed. Shortly after the physical recovery, I needed to feel that pain again. I would become quietly enraged when I didn't get my way. People I knew didn't want to hurt me like that. I begged. The answer was always "no". The posing of the question would simultaneously drive them away. The answer, in my mind, was that going forward only strangers would wish to cause me that level of harm. The answer was to lure strangers. To act as bait. To physically do everything in my power to experience that unearthly thrill again. I was broken. I could no longer face the judgement swirling around me. Not knowing where else to possibly turn, I left town in search of a blank slate. As it's known to do, history repeated itself. More spiraling. More damage. More pills.

Every day is a struggle for me. Every day, I must go through very precise motions to function. To be stable, calm and grounded. Today is my 6 year wedding anniversary. I am married to a phenomenally awesome man. I have two beautiful boys and an amazing, if not humble support system of friends. My relationship with each of my family members is a good one that has taken years of effort to rebuild and maintain. I'm still very broken. I'm not sure what it will take to fully heal the sum of my years. I'm not entirely convinced that's even possible. Today, with this post, I take the first step far out of my comfort zone. But today is a new day.







6 comments:

  1. I applaud you for your bravery in sharing this. As with almost anything, talking about it means you are ready to deal with it. It is never too late to be happy, but happiness is not a right; it is a choice. It sounds like you have made a choice to be happy now. Everything you went through, while a lot of it may have been awful, has made you into the wife, mother, friend and family member you are today. Again, it sounds like you have or already moving forward, but if not. Don't let your past deter you from your future. It is too late to change your past, but your future can be whatever you want it to be, so make it a great one.

    Thank you for sharing. This was an amazing post.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Shay, first off - welcome! I can only imagine this is a bizarre post to encounter right off the bat. It helped me immensely to work through it even at the risk of basically airing my dirty laundry in such a public fashion. Thank you so much for reading, for understanding and for your kindness. I couldn't agree more that the past has already been written. It's what we do going forward that has to count!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hey Ninja Kitty,

    I'm actually at a loss for words....OK, first, you are brave, and a strong woman. I hope you know that.

    Second, so much of what you wrote hit home for me, maybe not all of it, and some of my similarities happened in a different order, but reading a lot of this was deja vu.

    Scary. And yet comforting too. I can say from personal experience that it is really, horribly difficult not to obsess over the past. Which is ridiculous, because no matter how many times you play it over in your mind, nothing is going to change. And yet...

    You and I must be about the same age. Twin Peaks was an amazing eye opener for me too. Now that I'm older, I think part of my love for the show was because of the dual worlds, the shiny veneer on the surface, and the ugly underbelly. I had that too. We all did/do.

    Beautiful post.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Wow... thank you Vesta, My Sweet. I'm still experiencing mixed emotions at leaving this out there. Feels a bit like having toilet paper stuck to my shoe. But you're absolutely correct in the turmoil at obsessing over one's past. I was so busy hiding out from the past, I rather forgot what it was I was hiding from. Now that I've defined it, it doesn't seem so insurmountable anymore.

    "the shiny veneer on the surface, and the ugly underbelly"..... I love that. There is selfish comfort in realizing we all have it to some extent or another. I'm working on not being quite so selfish.... alas, that part of my personality is under monumental construction!!!

    Thank you, as always, for inspiring me and knowing just what to say. You are absolutely amazing and my respect for you is immense. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Oh my dear, sweet Annie! I just want to hold and hug you!

    You have walked into the light and you are not alone in this journey. It's not an easy journey, but it's worth it. And so are YOU!

    You are amazing. It's just going to take you time to dig through the "junk" to see it!

    I know, I did it. I was buried beneath a horrible pile of junk. The journey was hard, it was long, but I'm on the path and I feel great!

    And you can feel it too. You'll also heal and not feel "damaged" forever!

    You walked into the light, my dear, now let that light help heal you!

    ((You))

    ReplyDelete
  6. Thank you, My Amazing Pamela. Thank you. *humbled*

    ReplyDelete