The Pain Inside

I can't help but think of the lasting legacy of the abuse... and the aftermath. It actually fills me with sadness. Sadness that a parent could willingly treat their child like that. Sad that I still justify it... and tell myself that other people had it worse so I have no reason to be upset. And while it is true that others have had it worse that doesn't make it right. Should I be happy that they didn't break any bones? Emotional abuse is just as devastating... And those scars remain.

I should be really happy about the way things are going at work. And by now I should be really confident in how I'm doing. I still find myself filled with self-doubt. Yet this month, as evidenced in an earlier post on my main blog (click "here") I really showed how much work I can do. I showed that I can exceed expectations. But I still wonder if there was anything else I could've done. Wondering if there was any way to get that last evaluation done. I should just feel pride in myself. Yet, to a certain degree, there is just emptiness... as if it will never be good enough.

Those are the lies.... the ones that I bought into. The lie that says I am not good enough... that I need to prove myself. The lie that says I will never amount to anything. I have a university degree. I am respected at work. Yet I still question it.

I am a peacemaker. So I have a tough time with this... Part of me really wants to get angry. They lied to me... I am not worthless... they tore me down to build themselves up. They made my life hell... and it was all a lie. Lies.. damn lies... But then part of me still wants to be the peacemaker and not make waves. I'm almost 28... haven't lived at home in almost a decade and yet I am still protecting the notion of the perfect family. It's almost like if I keep the secret and pretend it didn't happen then it will be true.

It's also painful to think about the fallout. It's not like an isolated incident where you just get over it. The abuse has shaped my identity and in some ways it could be likened to a nuclear fallout. It's radioactive. Don't worry I am not saying that I am toxc waste... just that the effects are long lasting and far reaching.

I've used so many ways trying to numb the pain... trying to find peace and answers in the storm. Most of them I am not proud of. I was so desperate for love that I had random sexual encounters and took so many chances. That wasn't without it's price... as to date I have been raped by 5 different men... spread out over the last 15 years. It's really easy for me to blame myself for risk taking behaviours. But that doesn't make it my fault. Nothing gives someone else the right.

I don't even like the taste of alcohol and yet I drank, sometimes even to the point of alcohol poisoning. But as they say you can drink and be numb... but it's only temporary. The pain doesn't go away forever. And instead you just wind up with a hangover.

Because of the disorganization in my family life... and the inconsistent messages I learned that emotions were weaknesses that could be exploited. The less I showed emotion the less I was picked on. So I became numb... feeling nothing. And to help me with that I turned to cutting and self-injury. I am still ashamed of that... mainly because of society's view of self-injury. But you do what you have to in order to get by. It has been 3 months now and I take it one day at a time. I also wear an orange and white bracelet as a reminder (one my team manager at work had to fix for me not long ago).

I'd like to say I am past it... but it's not that easy. Abuse leaves lasting marks... often for a lifetime. It's very hard to change your world view and how you see yourself. I think it can be summed up as a legacy of pain.

The Aftermath

Being broken brings with it a flood of emotions. For years I have worked on being numb, feeling nothing. I felt I needed to be strong to survive and that meant blocking out emotion. Emotion equalled weakness. But that was only in myself... I didn't hold the same standards for other people. That was part of the reason I turned to cutting. As weird as it sounds it actually numbs you. Physical pain I could handle... emotional pain was overwhelming. I still feel like people expect me to be the picture of strength and never show emotion. But that is unrealistic. And I am learning that being numb is not the same as being strong. I had a good reason to be numb... It was about self preservation. I was protecting myself from the instbility of home life. But I am no longer in that situation... well okay part of me is still working on releasing those chains and being free... I don't need to be numb now. I do have a great deal of inner strength.... I can make it through a great deal and keep going. I was worried that if I felt anything then I would suddenly feel everything and be overwhelmed. I was scared I might go back to the self-injury to deal with it. But that was more of a crutch... an excuse not to allow myself to feel. Not to say I don't feel a little overwhelmed right now and it's not a comfortable place for me to be. But that's okay. I can feel the emotion without self destructing. Showing emotion does not make me weak. In fact, it's a healthy response.

Steinbeck had a great quote, "The greater tumor a child can have is that he is not loved, and rejection is the hell he fears." There was no such thing as consistency in my family life. Even love was conditional. I always felt like I had to prove myself in order to be accepted. Even in friendships I tend to think there are conditions... "They'll only be my friend if..." Some friendships tend to be just as chaotic as my family was as a result.... because I still believe that it's conditional. It's not even give and take. Most of my friendships seem to end up being all about them... and I just accept it. Pat has commented a couple of times about being there... as someone to talk to. I'm always looking for the catch and wondering what the conditions are.

It's almost as though a tornado has gone through and now it's time for the aftermath. Only that tornado is life. Picking up the pieces of a shattered life. Both of these are going to be extremely difficult. It involves changing some major aspects of my life and restructuring entire belief systems. But this is why healing is a process and not an event.

From the Beginning

I was born 9 weeks early on November 20th, 1978 in Cobourg, Ontario. I was rushed to Peterborough General Hospital with respiratory distress. At that time it was remrkable I even survived. My mom was 16 years old and gave me up for adoption.

Okay so this is not a chronicle of my life history and I won't start that far back. People that know me now probably wouldn't have had the same opinion of me a decade ago. Hard to believe it's been that long. I know that everyone goes through a time of teenage angst and rebellion. I didn't care if I lived or died. You tend to be kind of reckless with that attitude. All I knew was pain, anger, bitterness and even hate. I would head into situations I knew were bad. And sure enough I got burned, which just perpetuated the cycle. I wasn't even sure I'd make it to university. I thought I'd be dead first. A tragic end to a tragic life.

But there were some contradictions in my world. See, from the time I was little, I had to go to church every Sunday. When I was in high school I was also involved in Youth for Christ. I still went to church although it was a different church then my parents. I was a leader in the youth group. I think it was the only stable thing I had going... and probably kept me alive.

For as angry as I was I am surprised I didn't turn to alcohol, drugs or even smoking. Some people who know me now might be a little shocked by that. I didn't start smoking until I was 18 and my dad and sister accused me of lying about smoking. Been a smoker off and on ever since. The longest I've been able to quit for is 6 months. I also started drinking when I was 18. That was a bad year for me. I don't think I tried drugs until I was 20. Even then it's not something I've done very often. So I may have been angry but I didn't rebel as much as one might expect.

Mind you I did find ways to self destruct. In an attempt to deal with it I turned to cutting. It was all controlled and ritualistic. The cuts were basically deep enough to draw blood and then I'd stop. Once there was physical pain your body reacts. It's called self preservation. But it also allows you to become numb emotionally. And it is a little too effective. I lost a lot of friends over it. Whenever I was feeling overwhelmed it was a quick way to calm down. So I used it for over a decade... until it was almost out of control. I was cutting deeper and more often to get the same results. When I scared someone that was really close to me I promised her I would quit. And I did... for 3 years. Now that is actually impressive since I had no other coping mechanisms to replace it with. It wasn't until Adam went psychotic and I was concerned for my own safety that I went back to it. Val knew about it and tried to control the behaviour. That only made it worse. I stopped again but it wasn't for me... it was for her.

My relationships were also on the reckless side. Until I moved to Peterborough and vowed not to be in a relationship I pretty much cheated on everyone, except Al. I ended up in some really bad relationships as well. I didn't value myself at all. The irony is that I still held to the Christian values that premarital sex was a sin. Even though I was pressured I didn't give in. As it turns out I might as well have. Instead, at the age of 13 I was raped by a guy I knew from church. I was still innocent. I believed everyone was good and that this wouldn't happen. It probably took a decade before I didn't want to be drunk on the anniversary, or use self-injury to escape. 5 years later I set myself up again. When you don't drink... downing Crown Royal straight is not the smartest plan. I had no tolerance for alcohol and just set myself up to repeat the experience, which is exactly what happened. It was much easier to blame myself. I knew I shouldn't have gone. I knew I shouldn't have been drinking. So I blamed myself for what happened. So my first two sexual encounters both had elements of violence. After that it didn't matter. Sex had no value or meaning to me. I used it to feel better about myself... to escape the loneliness and the pain. But typically they were just one night stands. I felt nothing... just more emptiness. I would simply dissociate and then move on to the next person.

Even when I moved to Peterborough I still had the same attitude. I didn't give a damn about myself and nothing mattered. I didn't want a relationship... so that I didn't have to cheat or even care about someone else. I was jaded and figured I would just get hurt in the long run. I would go to the bar, get drunk and pick someone up. High risk behaviour... it's like playing Russian Roulette. Then Jamie came long. He was such a sweetheart. I didn't think I deserved him... so I crushed him... Well actually I broke up with him for Adam. Aside from Al that was an innocent high school love Adam was the only other person I ever loved. He still tries to get me to believe in myself... I'm not sure how successful that is though.

I have definitely toned down the risky behaviour although for a little while after Adam and I separated I didn't learn not to pick up guys from work. That break up hurt deeply and, once again, I wanted to feel needed. So I was back to the meaningless one night stands. Then there was Adam's birthday... Or should I say the day before Adam's birthday. That night will definitely not be forgotten. Lori was dropping me off downtown and invited me to stop by Sin City to say hi. I had lost friends when Adam and I broke up. What I had forgotten was that it was Adam's birthday and he would be there celebrating. Now Adam I don't mind... there were other people that I wasn't crazy about seeing... I left pretty quickly and went down to Riley's for Shaun's birthday. I should probably back up here a moment. For one, I had an interest in one of the guys at work and was thinking about a relationship with him. The other point was that the nesting agents were surrounding me at work. I wasn't helping that group but I had talked to a number of them. Mike was at Riley's and was drunk by the time I got there. He had to work the next day so I invited him over to my place so that he wouldn't be fired... he was on a last chance agreement at the time. Part of me was also hoping to get laid. They decided to get high and head down to the strippers. But Mike said he mgiht stop by afterwards... So then I located all the agents that had just finished nesting and kept drinking. Pretty soon they decided to head elsewhere. So we went down to the White House. And this was where things got interesting. When we got there Tristan didn't have any money so I offered to buy him a drink. It wasn't a big deal to me. Tristan was good looking and younger so when we spent the rest of the night talking that was a good thing to me. Even got out on the dance floor. Mike was committment phobic and Tristan was the opposite. He invited me back to his place and, looking back, I wish I had taken him up on that offer. I turned him down since I had already agreed to let Mike sty t my place... and I was pretty loaded by that point. So I walked home. Jarratt, John and a few other people showed up shortly after that. then Mike did show up... he almost started a fight. I was planning to make him sleep on the couch but John was there. I was ready to pass out but he ended up sharing my bed. And one thing led to another... but as I sobered up a bit I realized that he wasn't the one I wanted to be with and felt guilty. The room was also starting to spin so I stopped. He got angry so I left the room. When I came back I thought he was asleep so I went to bed and passed out. I was wrong. Or if he was asleep he woke up again. I don't want to relive that night so I won't fill in the details... but it ended with me kicking him out and a long, cold walk to the police station at 5:30 a.m.

Looking back there are a lot of "what ifs". What if Tristan hadn't been there that night? What if I hadn't invited Mike back? What if I had've gone back to Tristan's? What if... what if... what if... I know there is no point asking those questions because it won't change anything. I can't go back in time and change what happened. But I still can't help wondering. Then there is the debate as to whether or not I should've pressed charges. People like telling me it was the right thing to do. That's easy for them to say... it didn't happen to them. They aren't the ones that had to go through a police interview... then come back to the apartment still hung over and watch the police take pictures and evidence... and then there was the 5 hour examination at the hospital... oh and then a videotaped interview. It took 10 hours before I came back home... and was so exhausted that I just crashed. It was a gruelling ordeal and one, like every other time, I just wanted to forget. But it wasn't just reliving the event that was painful. At work I was a huge target. There seemed to be people that wanted me gone and had made that their mission. There was a rumour that I was a "lying bitch who had him charged out of spite." It made it extremely difficult to go to work. When I went on my LOA there was even a poll as to the reason I was of work... and the rape had the most votes. Now the fact they even had that poll is pretty bad. The charges ended up being withdrawn but that doesn't make it any easier. He was down in the maze the other day visiting people and a shock went through my system.

So some things never seem to change. The worst part about that whole situation (back to the "what ifs") is that Tristan and I are no longer together. After a month and a half we broke up. The reason for that is probably left for another discussion. So, in the end did it even matter? Does anything matter?

I'm not the same person I was a decade ago... I suppose no one is. I thought the world owed me something. I had a huge chip on my shoulder and was filled with anger. I was heading for disaster.... I'm not even sure what happened that changed that. I suspect that the biggest change came when my parents moved across the country. I was suddenly independant and they had no power over me. The second biggest event was when I actually graduated from university. For the first time I could say "I told you so." I had accomplished something. It could also be that I have just accepted my fate. But I have definitely changed, for the better. Some of it comes with age... some with experience.... and some with the acceptance that bad things are a part of life.

Hmm... now I can't even remember why I started this. I would do really well with Freud's concept of free association where you just start with whatever is going on in the mind. It's a good example of my mind being the tortured soul. It's like there is a wall in front me and I can't get past it. Things have gotten better, no question, but there are still some things I have not gotten past. And some days I question whether or not I ever will.

It's been a long time since I've actually done this much soul searching. Even on my LOA it was more about anger over being forced off work and things with the roommate... it wasn't about truth... pain... life. And since I came back to work I have had other things to occupy my time. But I always was a thinker.... one of my downfalls actually. I analyze every thing I do and spend way too much time thinking about things. It's probably the other reason I have trouble letting go. I spend too much time dwelling on it. But it's part of who I am. And I doubt it will ever change.

Shattered Beliefs

When you grow up in a household of neglect and abuse it really shakes your foundation. For one, you grow up believing that your parents would never lie to you. They are idealized and we see them as being perfect. In far too many instances that isn't true though. Every type of abuse also includes an emotional component. But the abuse shapes your identity.

After being told I was worthless and a whole variety of other things I really withdrew. I didn't want other people to know about the abuse and I didn't value myself at all. I tried to be invisible. I also learned to be completely numb and not to trust anyone. Every time I trusted someone I just got hurt. And those scars never go away. I still carry that with me. I can't bring myself to ask someone for help because I absolutely do not value myself and devalue myself.

I went to school for psychology because I knew I could relate and didn't want other people to go through what I did and be left questioning it like I was. But that was not to be the career path I ended up on. Maybe a good thing since I still have not dealt with that issue

Every time I think about it and how my parents lied I have mixed emotions. My parents always denied there was any abuse. So it's tough to admit that it wasn't right and there really was abuse going on. It's easy to justify the behaviour on account of depression or what not. Like most abused kids there is also guilt. We blame ourselves for everything. But there is also sadness for the stolen childhood and the pain that was caused. Not only that but there is also a certain amount of anger as well. They fucked up my life, shaped my life, and I always feel like I will never be free. But every time I get angry I always end up reminding myself that I am the one that shaped my destiny, not them... and it was my decisions. So to a certain degree I blame myself for the effects it has had. As a reuslt I never end up confronting those demons and have never allowed myself the chance to grieve, to feel that sense of loss and move on with my life and freedom.

The conflicted emotions just make it more difficult to deal with. Especially for someone that wants to be numb and not feel anything. I also don't feel I am strong enough to move past that on my own. I suppose that's not really a surprise since I know there is a great deal of pain. I can see it in my eyes. I'm also not sure I want anyone to see me actually feel those emotions. Aside from Adam it might be a difficult thing for anyone that knows me... and knows that I do not cry. I'm also raised with the question of forgiveness. Since I was raised going to church every Sunday I know that I should forgive them. Believe me that's a hard concept for me. They lied to me. They hurt me deeply. And now I feel like I have to forgive them in order to be free. Christian ideals in conflict with deep seeded pain. Not sure which one will win there.