Being believed

I think questions and fears related to being believed is something that every abuse survivor goes through at one time or another. After all, abusers are really good at looking like kind, normal, productive members of society while making their victims appear confused or crazy. They're also good at scaring victims in to staying quiet, so there's a lot riding on it when a victim/survivor decides to come forward and speak out. There is also often a lot of shame and guilt from the victim, making them question themselves, their story, and the worth in being heard.

I have never been doubted outright to my face. What I have heard is people downplaying the stories that I tell, essentially saying, "Well it couldn't have really been THAT bad, right?" or "Could a parent really do THAT to their child?" Honestly, sometimes it's my voice speaking those kind of phrases.

It's not that I distrust my memories. It's more that what was my reality as a child is now very hard to make sense of as an adult. When I was young I didn't know that kids weren't supposed to be molested. I didn't know that when other ppl talked about special time with their parents that theirs didn't include being naked. I didn't know that when other kids talked about being spanked they weren't referring to being beaten mercilessly with a belt. I just didn't know.

Now, as a logical, rational adult, especially one that works with kids, looking back on all of that is sickening. I look at young children and I think how could somebody hurt such an innocent little creature? And then it turns in to "Could that have really all happened when I was that small?" I know I will never understand it, because what they did wasn't logical, but right now it's just hard for me to even fathom. So I guess what I'm saying is it doesn't surprise me that people doubt. I lived it and I still doubt. Sometimes in my memories I am watching it happen to the small child version of me. I recognize that it is happening to a child, but it is nearly impossible for me to really connect to the fact that that child is me. Maybe it's denial. Maybe I don't want to believe that my parents and the others were really that awful. Or maybe it's just too much to stomach.

All of these issues have gotten much worse recently as I've had some new memories come back. These memories change things a lot. Prior to them, I had recognized that my parents and the others were sick and giving in to awful urges. I knew that what they did was wrong and I was coming to terms with it. Then the new memories showed a new reality. They changed things from abuse into pure torture. (When I told a close friend about one of the very bad ones, she said it sounded a lot like what pow's go through, so I don't think i'm exaggerating by saying torture). The new memories show planning and forethought. They show an entire room dedicated to causing me pain, including equipment that would've had to have been very expensive to purchase. They show these things that I am REALLY not ready to accept and wish I didn't have to.

It's bad enough to know your father beat you and raped you....the thought that he and his brothers and his friends spent hours planning and setting up new ways to torture me....well there's just no words for that. I miss denial. I miss repressed memory land. Can I go back there?

Memories come back in little bits at a time. First it's a sound, or a sight, or a feeling. Then it progresses and becomes more vivid, more detailed, and more real until it is all the way back. When the first piece comes to me I'm the first to doubt. "No way...that couldn't have happened," I always think. I shouldn't say that. I know enough now that nothing should shock me. But every time I doubt and I make my mind prove it to me. Maybe that's because I just don't want it to be true. But it's also because, when that new sick sensation comes over me the question I ask is "How could they do that?" It's a bad question. It will never have an answer. Not a good one anyway. Nothing about it should shock me anymore, but I just keep hoping i've seen the last of it.

Anyway...back to the fear of disbelief thing...I think having this blog has become a source of those insecurities again for me. I know it's time for me to start being open about this stuff....I've kept it a secret for FAR too long and I don't want to have to hide it. I don't want to have to be smiley on the outside while my insides are melting away. I don't want to have to worry about slipping up and saying the wrong thing all the time. I don't want to hold on to this by myself anymore. But putting these memories out there for the world...even if it's only a small number of people reading...it's scary. As soon as I post something I second guess. I wonder what ppl are thinking and if they might think i'm nuts or making things up or whatever. I think it's good practice for me to believe in the others around me, and trust them (you all) with a bit of what i've held in for so long. It's time for me to let go of some of the secrets. I believe that strongly, and with enthusiasm....until I click the post button! (Then I generally turn my computer off and run to get me to leave it there and not go back and delete.

So, before I go, I want to say a little thank you here to the people who have been supporting me in this blog and getting it going. You know who you are (I hope, because if you don't know who you are that's a bad case of amnesia :P )....all of the blog comments, your emails, etc., they truly mean the world to me in facing my fears and making this happen. Thank you! It's always good to hear from readers and know that I'm not writing for, or falling in to, a black hole. :)