Waking Up
PhoenixRising
Registrant
It is painful waking up, yet that is what I believe I am doing. I am waking into a world and a life that is frightening. A world in which I am a 56 year old man who in many ways, feels he lost a significant portion of life. Of being alive.
Many years ago, I spoke about being molested as a child. It took me many years to speak out and at first there seemed to be so many openings, and opportunities, as if the universe was supporting me. People came into my life from the past that represented significant times, friends called, and I had a lot of help. I didn’t wake up though. The choice between the new and loving people was scary. What if I let down my guard and they hurt me? How could I deal with that? So is stayed with the old and painful. I was comfortable with..and I blamed the old and painful for what it did (and yet kept choosing it)
I wanted so badly for my family to support and believe me. I was molested by my oldest brother and my father. I couldn’t remember my father’s abuse then. Maybe because I was so young when it happened or that the trauma of him having a stroke blocked it out. I blamed myself for his stroke and for what it did to my family. I don’t know. Instead of choosing my new friends and what they represented, I kept trying to fix the past.
I tried to fix the past by revictimizing myself; recreating the trauma, the abuse, being used, and hoping the outcome would change. It wouldn’t. It didn’t. My father was perhaps a narcissist, or maybe mentally ill, certainly his stroke caused problems, but I think the disease was there long before that. My friends didn’t know what I was doing because I kept it secret. It was my secret. They thought I was a happy go lucky guy. They knew about the abuse but not how it impacted me, and they couldn’t see what I was doing.
I couldn’t understand why my life was not working out like my friend’s lives. Why wasn’t I dating? Why was I getting progressively more depressed and interested in life. I had a drug and I was using in secret and behind closed doors. I was in some kind of fog..denial..my struggles were due to childhood abuse not what I was doing (and of course, yes, what I was doing in the present was a result of the past..but I couldn’t change the present if I wasn’t going to stop my behavior. Now and then I would stop, but the anxiety was incredible. I had given up my drug and there was no one I could talk to about that. I missed the encounters..the sex talk..the bdsm talk..I wanted a man who would care for me and I was willing to continue my actions in belief that this would solve the child’s fear..it only made it worse.
I told myself I was exploring my sexuality, and there was some truth to that. It was the only way I would explore, well that, and random hook ups. I must have had some inner conflict about what my father did, because I would feel shame after. Maybe that conflict was what prevented me from abusing and continuing the cycle. The cycle has continued in my family-one niece raped, another sexually abused..who knows what else. And I tried to speak up..but I was able to keep pushing ..somewhat because I was afraid to lose that connection with my father..not the present day connection..but the little boy’s connection.
This went on for a long time and after awhile, the inner conflict caused me deeper depressions and struggles with jobs, health issues, lack of self care..I wasn’t taking responsibility for my life..I was allowing that little boy to have control. I so desperately wanted that father to come back that I was willing to give up my own life for him..I am noticing now my oldest brother, who is a young 62, is facing huge health challenges..and he admits they may be largely psychological.
Me, I struggle with what I sacrificed for a belief in my head that was wrong. A belief that my father actually cared about me..that I was special..that he would love me and return to help. I backtracked many of his roads seeking something..some truth to why..just maybe so I could stop blaming myself.
I want to fall in love before I die. I want to walk with someone that I love on a nice fall afternoon and be glad to come home and cook dinner with them and cuddle up afterwards. Maybe I get a year of this. Maybe a day. I don’t know.
If I had any advice for my younger self, it would be for him to realize how amazing he was and how many people loved him for that. I would tell him not to be afraid of people caring for him or wanting to help, or getting close. I would tell him that all you get from holding on to pain is pain. I would tell him to let go.
Many years ago, I spoke about being molested as a child. It took me many years to speak out and at first there seemed to be so many openings, and opportunities, as if the universe was supporting me. People came into my life from the past that represented significant times, friends called, and I had a lot of help. I didn’t wake up though. The choice between the new and loving people was scary. What if I let down my guard and they hurt me? How could I deal with that? So is stayed with the old and painful. I was comfortable with..and I blamed the old and painful for what it did (and yet kept choosing it)
I wanted so badly for my family to support and believe me. I was molested by my oldest brother and my father. I couldn’t remember my father’s abuse then. Maybe because I was so young when it happened or that the trauma of him having a stroke blocked it out. I blamed myself for his stroke and for what it did to my family. I don’t know. Instead of choosing my new friends and what they represented, I kept trying to fix the past.
I tried to fix the past by revictimizing myself; recreating the trauma, the abuse, being used, and hoping the outcome would change. It wouldn’t. It didn’t. My father was perhaps a narcissist, or maybe mentally ill, certainly his stroke caused problems, but I think the disease was there long before that. My friends didn’t know what I was doing because I kept it secret. It was my secret. They thought I was a happy go lucky guy. They knew about the abuse but not how it impacted me, and they couldn’t see what I was doing.
I couldn’t understand why my life was not working out like my friend’s lives. Why wasn’t I dating? Why was I getting progressively more depressed and interested in life. I had a drug and I was using in secret and behind closed doors. I was in some kind of fog..denial..my struggles were due to childhood abuse not what I was doing (and of course, yes, what I was doing in the present was a result of the past..but I couldn’t change the present if I wasn’t going to stop my behavior. Now and then I would stop, but the anxiety was incredible. I had given up my drug and there was no one I could talk to about that. I missed the encounters..the sex talk..the bdsm talk..I wanted a man who would care for me and I was willing to continue my actions in belief that this would solve the child’s fear..it only made it worse.
I told myself I was exploring my sexuality, and there was some truth to that. It was the only way I would explore, well that, and random hook ups. I must have had some inner conflict about what my father did, because I would feel shame after. Maybe that conflict was what prevented me from abusing and continuing the cycle. The cycle has continued in my family-one niece raped, another sexually abused..who knows what else. And I tried to speak up..but I was able to keep pushing ..somewhat because I was afraid to lose that connection with my father..not the present day connection..but the little boy’s connection.
This went on for a long time and after awhile, the inner conflict caused me deeper depressions and struggles with jobs, health issues, lack of self care..I wasn’t taking responsibility for my life..I was allowing that little boy to have control. I so desperately wanted that father to come back that I was willing to give up my own life for him..I am noticing now my oldest brother, who is a young 62, is facing huge health challenges..and he admits they may be largely psychological.
Me, I struggle with what I sacrificed for a belief in my head that was wrong. A belief that my father actually cared about me..that I was special..that he would love me and return to help. I backtracked many of his roads seeking something..some truth to why..just maybe so I could stop blaming myself.
I want to fall in love before I die. I want to walk with someone that I love on a nice fall afternoon and be glad to come home and cook dinner with them and cuddle up afterwards. Maybe I get a year of this. Maybe a day. I don’t know.
If I had any advice for my younger self, it would be for him to realize how amazing he was and how many people loved him for that. I would tell him not to be afraid of people caring for him or wanting to help, or getting close. I would tell him that all you get from holding on to pain is pain. I would tell him to let go.
