Hi Fly
I imagine most of us have been through something like the terror you describe. For some reason the abuse seems to create a dark closet filled with monsters who always seem present and ready to attack.
Theres a common mind game used by abusers to make this happen. They say dont tell! and we listen, like scared children afraid of the dark. Then the shame sets in and seals the door. And the truth gets buried under so many tons of dirt that the very act of opening the mouth to speak can be virtually impossible. In the end, many of us dwell on that fear and return to it out of habit, scratching at it like we might scratch a scab until it scars. The scarred/scared child gets stuck in the closet and cant come out because hes too afraid to open the door on the truth. To me this is the interruption abuse brings on. It holds us in one moment of time through fear.
Theres another side of this, however, which is the reality of physical aging. We do grow up. Our bodies change. They get much bigger and stronger until in the end they create the distance and safety we need to challenge the monsters in the dark. Once we grow out of the body of abuse we really are physically safe from it. Were just too big for the beast. The perpetrator who attacks a child will not get you now.
So theres no reason to be afraid of the door.
And the other side of the door is beautiful. Its bright, filled with light and warmth.
I found that I needed to prove that to myself. That I was physically safe. I can remember staring at the mirror for a long time, seeing my now much bigger body, the strong arms and shoulders, my height (Im well over six feet tall). I looked at that body and then thought about the me I was at the age of abusemaybe eight years oldand I saw that I was now totally capable of defending myself. I thought about the fact that I now live in a bad neighborhood and Im not afraid to walk home at night because I know no one will mess with me. And these facts helped me realize I was no longer in danger. If my dad approached me now he wouldnt stand a chance.I almost wish he could so I could take him out. And it would be an easy thing, now.
The thing that holds us back is a terror whose need we literally grow out of. A pedophile doesnt attack adult men. Neither do cowards.
Another side of this problem for me was believing I was worth the trouble. I think I felt universally unloved (or something like thatthe words fail me in trying to describe it). But when I thought of the me who was abused, I realized how much I cared. I cared very deeply about that buried self. So I thought that if one is to deserve love, it needs to come from the self first. I needed to love myself in order to be loved. And I needed to respect myself in order to protect myself from my own fears. So I spent some evenings caring. I gave myself all the little gestures of petting and holding that a child needs when scared. I wrapped my arms around myself and spoke the words I needed to hear, knowing that only I could really be the protector, and that I needed to prove to myself viscerally that I cared enough to do the job.
At first this felt silly and ridiculousI mean Im not usually a super touchy-feely guy, but after a while, as the gestures became deeper and more fully kind, I realized that my body had really been terribly abandoned, and that the touch was healing something deep. We die inside from the neglect abuse brings on us, and its both physical and emotional death. Our bodies often become objects of disgust. Ive seen a number of posts here from men who cant touch themselves without loathing. Well that disgust is just another remnant of the abuse. Its not warranted. Not at all. In fact its ridiculous. But somehow that fact needs proof, and the only proof I know is very direct and physical. I felt I needed to touch that wounded self and know there was nothing wrong with that skin and these bones. And in the touching, I realized its really the same body. That abused little boy was totally alive and that I was caring for him. I touched everything...all those abused parts and everything else as well. And I realized there was nothing wrong. Nothing dirty. Nothing bad. Nothing not worth loving. All this time I was muttering kind words to myself. The very words I would have needed then to make everything really OK. After some days of this (so many therapeutic things need deep repetition), I became much more comfortable with myself and realized this body was really OK. That is is mine. Worth saving because Im decent and worth protecting. The kind, decent caress of a guardian strong enough to shield our inner selves is what many of us most need to be healed.
And we are the best guardians around. Theres no way in hell Id ever let that little kid be abused. I love him too much. And Ive endured to much to make sure hes lived to reach the light.
Danny
