Momma, me, and sleeping under bridges...
I have been thinking about this story, and today I feel like I just have to tell it.
I experienced frequent incestuous homosexual rape between the ages of 9 and 12. My older step-brother was the monster. It happened in our family home, right down the hall from my mothers room.
In my late teens and early twenties the psychological effects of the abuse began to cause me some serious problems. Drug abuse, suicidal depressions, acting out, gross hostility, couldnt keep a job or relationship...
My mom invited me to move back home (the abuser was gone) to help me get back on my feet. But after a while she couldnt handle the fact that I wasnt getting better as quickly as she expected. In fact I was getting worse.
One day she asked me what it was that she, as a mother, had done so wrong to create such anger in me. I told her. I told her about the rape and the pain and the fear. And I told her that I held her responsible for all of it because she had failed to protect me from those awful things which were happening right under her nose.
Her response? She called me an ugly liar, ordered me out of her home, and told me not to come back until I got over whatever was really my problem.
It took a while to get myself back together after that. Sleeping under bridges, in the woods, in homeless shelters and storm drains... I even checked myself into a mental hospital once because the mosquitoes were driving me nuts!
I made it thru all of that. That and a bunch of other hard stuff. I am still here. Why? Heck if I know! My guess is that the abused child remembers his former self and applies his power to our assistance. I sometimes think that our innocent child was split off from other parts of our minds and that he guides us from inside our hearts. Other times I think it is just blind luck.
God, guardian angels, split personalities, who knows? I am still here. Stuck here until it is over. Expecting no g*damned help or understanding from my momma. And hanging on the best I can. Which is pretty good, all things considered.
Aden
I experienced frequent incestuous homosexual rape between the ages of 9 and 12. My older step-brother was the monster. It happened in our family home, right down the hall from my mothers room.
In my late teens and early twenties the psychological effects of the abuse began to cause me some serious problems. Drug abuse, suicidal depressions, acting out, gross hostility, couldnt keep a job or relationship...
My mom invited me to move back home (the abuser was gone) to help me get back on my feet. But after a while she couldnt handle the fact that I wasnt getting better as quickly as she expected. In fact I was getting worse.
One day she asked me what it was that she, as a mother, had done so wrong to create such anger in me. I told her. I told her about the rape and the pain and the fear. And I told her that I held her responsible for all of it because she had failed to protect me from those awful things which were happening right under her nose.
Her response? She called me an ugly liar, ordered me out of her home, and told me not to come back until I got over whatever was really my problem.
It took a while to get myself back together after that. Sleeping under bridges, in the woods, in homeless shelters and storm drains... I even checked myself into a mental hospital once because the mosquitoes were driving me nuts!
I made it thru all of that. That and a bunch of other hard stuff. I am still here. Why? Heck if I know! My guess is that the abused child remembers his former self and applies his power to our assistance. I sometimes think that our innocent child was split off from other parts of our minds and that he guides us from inside our hearts. Other times I think it is just blind luck.
God, guardian angels, split personalities, who knows? I am still here. Stuck here until it is over. Expecting no g*damned help or understanding from my momma. And hanging on the best I can. Which is pretty good, all things considered.
Aden
