Weary
Today, I am weary.
Went to bed at 2 a.m. last night (this morning). Woke up at 11:00 a.m., then back to bed at 1:00 p.m. and up again at 3:00 p.m.
Two flashbacks yesterday. One mild one in the mid-afternoon. Second last night while I was on the commode. My wife found me on the floor (I'd apparently fallen, judging from soreness in shoulder and head) in a puddle of vomit. This is a very undignified way to be found.
School starts in 13 days. In 1 week, we are going back to Nashville to visit family and friends and see the Counting Crows in concert. It will be the first time we've gone back since moving here. There are a lot of demons there, but there are a few angels too. I have anxiety about going, but at the same time I want to go - does that make sense?
I had a dream this afternoon that I was going with my abuser to another man's house (I don't know if I wrote about it yet, but it turns out my abuser was a sharing individual, and through flashbacks I have learned of at least one other perp) for "playtime" and he lived in a forest. His house was one of those houses built above a basement/garage type of thing. In Florida (where my abuse occured), no one had basements (I don't think you can there, because of the soil, but I could be wrong). But some people did have a first floor, which served as a basement, and then you walked up steps to a deck that led into the living space. As he led me into the basement area, it was cool and damp and cluttered and there was a wet dog smell and, in the corner, a large (maybe king?) sized bed, with lights above, the kind from the seventies that had several spotlight shaped lights pointed in different directions. The bed was well made and had lots of pillows, but I did not see my second abuser, so I don't know if it was the same one from an earlier flashback (he was introduced to me as Mr. Wrycheck, although I'm not sure of the spelling - I initially thought he said "write check" and then he clarified that it was "ry-check"), or a new one. Frankly, I don't want to know. I'm weary. The dream morphed, and then I was in the basement of the house I live in now, with my wife, and the front foundation wall had fallen forward. It was raining, so rain was pouring into the basement. We went outside and a SWAT team was combing the neighborhood. I asked one of the officers for his flashlight so I could see the damage to the wall from the outside and he gave it to me. We stood in the rain for a few moments and then I woke up. Weary. I could barely pull myself up out of bed.
My mother emailed me last night and asked me if I remembered one of my relatives, a step-cousin I think. She told me that he'd just married, for the first time, to a woman with three children. I wrote back that yes, I remembered him. He was a few years older than me and when he visited us one time he took me in my room (I was probably four years old) and made me put his penis in my mouth. I remember that I didn't like the taste and got really sick from the shame and embarassment. Anyway, I told her this, and then I got on a roll and told her that I really resented her for living next to and carrying on a completely civil relationship with my grandfather, who, had he been the father figure I'd been looking for when I was 12, probably could have saved my life.
My grandfather was (and probably still is) a church deacon in the Nazarene church in Inverness, Florida. After we moved to Florida, I went to him repeatedly and tried to talk to him, tried to get him to show me things in his workshop, take me golfing, work on cars, etc. He refused to have anything to do with me. Once, he told me to go inside "with the women."
My mother has moved to within a mile of him and his new wife. Because he took care of my grandmother while she slowly died, she has forgiven him, and spends a lot of time with him and his wife.
I. Hate. That.
I asked her, when she visited us in June, if she had ever said anything, anything at all, to him about the way he treated me and she admitted that she hadn't. I asked her, in this email, why she couldn't stand up for me like I stood up for my kids when they were treated wrong by a camp counselor? I asked her how she could choose loyalty to him over loyalty to me.
Is it wrong to expect loyalty? I would walk up and down someone's ass if they hurt my children in any way. My wife cut off completely her relationship with her grandparens (who she loved, and who had practically raised her) because their son (my wife's uncle) sexually abused her sister and they refuse to believe her, taking his side. She hasn't spoken to them in 8 years and has no plans to.
I'm weary.
Thank you for listening to my rant. I appreciate this community.
My apologies for the length. I am a writer, and tend to be verbose.
Chris
Went to bed at 2 a.m. last night (this morning). Woke up at 11:00 a.m., then back to bed at 1:00 p.m. and up again at 3:00 p.m.
Two flashbacks yesterday. One mild one in the mid-afternoon. Second last night while I was on the commode. My wife found me on the floor (I'd apparently fallen, judging from soreness in shoulder and head) in a puddle of vomit. This is a very undignified way to be found.
School starts in 13 days. In 1 week, we are going back to Nashville to visit family and friends and see the Counting Crows in concert. It will be the first time we've gone back since moving here. There are a lot of demons there, but there are a few angels too. I have anxiety about going, but at the same time I want to go - does that make sense?
I had a dream this afternoon that I was going with my abuser to another man's house (I don't know if I wrote about it yet, but it turns out my abuser was a sharing individual, and through flashbacks I have learned of at least one other perp) for "playtime" and he lived in a forest. His house was one of those houses built above a basement/garage type of thing. In Florida (where my abuse occured), no one had basements (I don't think you can there, because of the soil, but I could be wrong). But some people did have a first floor, which served as a basement, and then you walked up steps to a deck that led into the living space. As he led me into the basement area, it was cool and damp and cluttered and there was a wet dog smell and, in the corner, a large (maybe king?) sized bed, with lights above, the kind from the seventies that had several spotlight shaped lights pointed in different directions. The bed was well made and had lots of pillows, but I did not see my second abuser, so I don't know if it was the same one from an earlier flashback (he was introduced to me as Mr. Wrycheck, although I'm not sure of the spelling - I initially thought he said "write check" and then he clarified that it was "ry-check"), or a new one. Frankly, I don't want to know. I'm weary. The dream morphed, and then I was in the basement of the house I live in now, with my wife, and the front foundation wall had fallen forward. It was raining, so rain was pouring into the basement. We went outside and a SWAT team was combing the neighborhood. I asked one of the officers for his flashlight so I could see the damage to the wall from the outside and he gave it to me. We stood in the rain for a few moments and then I woke up. Weary. I could barely pull myself up out of bed.
My mother emailed me last night and asked me if I remembered one of my relatives, a step-cousin I think. She told me that he'd just married, for the first time, to a woman with three children. I wrote back that yes, I remembered him. He was a few years older than me and when he visited us one time he took me in my room (I was probably four years old) and made me put his penis in my mouth. I remember that I didn't like the taste and got really sick from the shame and embarassment. Anyway, I told her this, and then I got on a roll and told her that I really resented her for living next to and carrying on a completely civil relationship with my grandfather, who, had he been the father figure I'd been looking for when I was 12, probably could have saved my life.
My grandfather was (and probably still is) a church deacon in the Nazarene church in Inverness, Florida. After we moved to Florida, I went to him repeatedly and tried to talk to him, tried to get him to show me things in his workshop, take me golfing, work on cars, etc. He refused to have anything to do with me. Once, he told me to go inside "with the women."
My mother has moved to within a mile of him and his new wife. Because he took care of my grandmother while she slowly died, she has forgiven him, and spends a lot of time with him and his wife.
I. Hate. That.
I asked her, when she visited us in June, if she had ever said anything, anything at all, to him about the way he treated me and she admitted that she hadn't. I asked her, in this email, why she couldn't stand up for me like I stood up for my kids when they were treated wrong by a camp counselor? I asked her how she could choose loyalty to him over loyalty to me.
Is it wrong to expect loyalty? I would walk up and down someone's ass if they hurt my children in any way. My wife cut off completely her relationship with her grandparens (who she loved, and who had practically raised her) because their son (my wife's uncle) sexually abused her sister and they refuse to believe her, taking his side. She hasn't spoken to them in 8 years and has no plans to.
I'm weary.
Thank you for listening to my rant. I appreciate this community.
My apologies for the length. I am a writer, and tend to be verbose.
Chris
