Fighting the illusion of control ** triggers **
ForeverFighting
Registrant
It's not my job to change them. I've gotten that through my head on one front, but when it comes to my parents, I can't seem to get it. I wish somebody could tell me how.
Thankfully, as I've done this work, my therapy, writing on this site and meeting others who've been through the same, and having found that love can come from outside the flesh of my body, things have improved. I don't slip into the "attracting him" mode so much anymore. It was all in my mind, I'm sure. My therapist said people outside probably couldn't even tell what I was doing, but I felt it. That [wow, this is hard...] ummm.... That beautiful man who made me feel like maybe this guy would like me and let me emotionally close--I'd change into this super-friendly, shaking hands with a squeeze for just a little too long, kind of flirty sort of disgusting yuck. And after the guy would leave, I'd feel like trash. I never had sex, and I never wanted sex. My uncle made sure that male sex repulsed me. It became an issue of control. Can I make this guy give me love by my being a certain way? It was always me who had to change to make it better. I think healing is about realizing that it was my uncle who should have changed. It's the men who don't give love unconditionally or who are too controlling or distant or whatever--it's those fathers and uncles who should change. Healing is realizing that the little boy wasn't the problem in that abusive house.
But that doesn't stop the training. When a guy pours his heart out to me, or if I pour my heart out to him, the body reacts, like it wants sex, like this evil body part down there is some stupid enemy that's thinking stuff I'm not. Emotional closeness equals sexuality. And that training didn't happen by accident. It's what my uncle did to me. So I'm wanting is the friendship, not the sex. But the whole porn and flirting thing was pursuing the lie that comfort, closeness, and unconditional love can only be achieved by opening up the body to whatever they want to do with me. The years of training don't go away overnight.
I kept going back to images of what I thought I wished was the truth about the abuse. When I say I reenacted the abuse, it was solo. One of the most powerful memories of abuse happened outside in the tall grass. There was a storm or something. The wind was blowing, the trees moving. And my uncle standing over me, me covered with his slime. The reality was I felt dirty, used, and he left me there humiliated and embarrassed as I tried to figure out how to put myself back together like this never happened so no one would ever know. The fantasy is that it is possible to feel love, unconditional acceptance, and power out there. So things today get tough, I feel like I'm being too controlled, I'm surrounded by too many people and feeling like I can never be good enough, a storm hits, and it calls me. I try not to listen, but the trees and the wind call to me, and if I'm not careful, I'm out there, on my back looking up at the grass and the wind and the trees, masturbating and imagining such consuming love. And then it's over, I'm alone, and the truth drains the life from my insides. All of my episodes and when I used to go to porn were all images of guys alone or on the very rare occasion I'd find an image of two guys who weren't having sex but seemed to love each other very much. It's all a lie. But it was the lie that I wanted. Love. No sex. Just love. Images of sex disgusted me, because deep inside I felt they were both being used. And that's how I always felt. Used.
I feel guilty even writing this garbage. But in a way, I'm still playing the part. I feel horrible around my parents to this day. I had dinner with them last week, and I nearly crumbled. It was the writing and PMs of the guys here who helped me back on my feet. One man said, "It's not our job to fix them", and it came to me. The show may be different, but I'm playing the same part. It's like, I have to change, to be a certain way, act a certain way to make them better people. It's me who has to improve or do something different or talk some sense into them or something--I must do the work to get love. I had to play music a certain way to get my mom's attention. I had to help my mom do everything to feel appreciated. I had to be better than my dad, so she'd like me. I had to get good grades, I had a hard worker, a better speaker, better at everything. So I could earn their love. It wasn't any different. I had to give my soul in return for a smile or even an imagined smile. It wasn't even about love. There was no such thing in our house. It was about attention and time, doing anything to get just a touch or to have mom sit next to me. So today, as I play all these parts, as I try to say what my mother wants to hear or impress them with whatever, the frustration and emptiness builds and builds, because they don't respond. There is nothing I can do to make them love me. I can't make them be good parents to me, and the same emptiness consumes me as the truth drains the life from my insides. I can't get their love, so the trees call me again. I'm like, Fine. You won't give me love, so see what a slut I am. I can get love anywhere without you and without trying to be your perfect little marrionette.
Now I know it's not the woods calling me. It's love. And now I've surrounded myself with real people who really love me and even like me for some reason. It's time to leave fantasyland. Reality is better and far less painful or disappointing, believe it or not, because it contains far fewer dashed hopes and lost souls. It's time for me to learn that it's not me who has to change to fit my family's idealized version of what their child should be. If they won't show love, so be it. I can't make them. It's not my job to change them.
All we can do is retrain our minds to find what we always needed in a better way. Outside of time and hitting myself over the head again and again, I don't know how else to do it. But I will tell you that my friends here have given me hope like I've never had before. I want to stop giving in to the lies. I want to feel loved for real.
Thankfully, as I've done this work, my therapy, writing on this site and meeting others who've been through the same, and having found that love can come from outside the flesh of my body, things have improved. I don't slip into the "attracting him" mode so much anymore. It was all in my mind, I'm sure. My therapist said people outside probably couldn't even tell what I was doing, but I felt it. That [wow, this is hard...] ummm.... That beautiful man who made me feel like maybe this guy would like me and let me emotionally close--I'd change into this super-friendly, shaking hands with a squeeze for just a little too long, kind of flirty sort of disgusting yuck. And after the guy would leave, I'd feel like trash. I never had sex, and I never wanted sex. My uncle made sure that male sex repulsed me. It became an issue of control. Can I make this guy give me love by my being a certain way? It was always me who had to change to make it better. I think healing is about realizing that it was my uncle who should have changed. It's the men who don't give love unconditionally or who are too controlling or distant or whatever--it's those fathers and uncles who should change. Healing is realizing that the little boy wasn't the problem in that abusive house.
But that doesn't stop the training. When a guy pours his heart out to me, or if I pour my heart out to him, the body reacts, like it wants sex, like this evil body part down there is some stupid enemy that's thinking stuff I'm not. Emotional closeness equals sexuality. And that training didn't happen by accident. It's what my uncle did to me. So I'm wanting is the friendship, not the sex. But the whole porn and flirting thing was pursuing the lie that comfort, closeness, and unconditional love can only be achieved by opening up the body to whatever they want to do with me. The years of training don't go away overnight.
I kept going back to images of what I thought I wished was the truth about the abuse. When I say I reenacted the abuse, it was solo. One of the most powerful memories of abuse happened outside in the tall grass. There was a storm or something. The wind was blowing, the trees moving. And my uncle standing over me, me covered with his slime. The reality was I felt dirty, used, and he left me there humiliated and embarrassed as I tried to figure out how to put myself back together like this never happened so no one would ever know. The fantasy is that it is possible to feel love, unconditional acceptance, and power out there. So things today get tough, I feel like I'm being too controlled, I'm surrounded by too many people and feeling like I can never be good enough, a storm hits, and it calls me. I try not to listen, but the trees and the wind call to me, and if I'm not careful, I'm out there, on my back looking up at the grass and the wind and the trees, masturbating and imagining such consuming love. And then it's over, I'm alone, and the truth drains the life from my insides. All of my episodes and when I used to go to porn were all images of guys alone or on the very rare occasion I'd find an image of two guys who weren't having sex but seemed to love each other very much. It's all a lie. But it was the lie that I wanted. Love. No sex. Just love. Images of sex disgusted me, because deep inside I felt they were both being used. And that's how I always felt. Used.
I feel guilty even writing this garbage. But in a way, I'm still playing the part. I feel horrible around my parents to this day. I had dinner with them last week, and I nearly crumbled. It was the writing and PMs of the guys here who helped me back on my feet. One man said, "It's not our job to fix them", and it came to me. The show may be different, but I'm playing the same part. It's like, I have to change, to be a certain way, act a certain way to make them better people. It's me who has to improve or do something different or talk some sense into them or something--I must do the work to get love. I had to play music a certain way to get my mom's attention. I had to help my mom do everything to feel appreciated. I had to be better than my dad, so she'd like me. I had to get good grades, I had a hard worker, a better speaker, better at everything. So I could earn their love. It wasn't any different. I had to give my soul in return for a smile or even an imagined smile. It wasn't even about love. There was no such thing in our house. It was about attention and time, doing anything to get just a touch or to have mom sit next to me. So today, as I play all these parts, as I try to say what my mother wants to hear or impress them with whatever, the frustration and emptiness builds and builds, because they don't respond. There is nothing I can do to make them love me. I can't make them be good parents to me, and the same emptiness consumes me as the truth drains the life from my insides. I can't get their love, so the trees call me again. I'm like, Fine. You won't give me love, so see what a slut I am. I can get love anywhere without you and without trying to be your perfect little marrionette.
Now I know it's not the woods calling me. It's love. And now I've surrounded myself with real people who really love me and even like me for some reason. It's time to leave fantasyland. Reality is better and far less painful or disappointing, believe it or not, because it contains far fewer dashed hopes and lost souls. It's time for me to learn that it's not me who has to change to fit my family's idealized version of what their child should be. If they won't show love, so be it. I can't make them. It's not my job to change them.
All we can do is retrain our minds to find what we always needed in a better way. Outside of time and hitting myself over the head again and again, I don't know how else to do it. But I will tell you that my friends here have given me hope like I've never had before. I want to stop giving in to the lies. I want to feel loved for real.