Child Abuse; Can There be Life Without Shame?

[ugly]

Mercy my husband didn't know what he was getting into either. We are coming up on our 29th wedding anniversary and I never told anyone what had happened to me until 3 years ago, and life around here for my family has been hell ever since. But my husband has been so supportive in the healing process and been very understanding of the space I need. But after 3 years it doesn't feel right to keep putting him through all of this. He insist he is in it for the long haul, but what if it never gets better?

Thank you all for the help, advice and encouragement, it all makes sense to the analytical side of my mind, however the emotional side is where the problems lay. When I talk to my counselor or even to myself about the abuse I become so disgusted that I even hate the sound of my own voice. When I try to put it to paper I feel stupid and so inadequate. I tried to go into a shoe store to buy a new pair of shoes, had them on my feet, looked in the mirror and thought, "why waste that money on me", that must sound so lame, but I feel worthless.

Yet with all of that I am not giving up, this is how I feel now, but I believe there's got to be more to me than what those voices are telling me.

Cragger's thanks for calling me courageous it made my day!

ugly

 

[Marlene]

Mercy my husband didn't know what he was getting into either. We are coming up on our 29th wedding anniversary and I never told anyone what had happened to me until 3 years ago, and life around here for my family has been hell ever since. But my husband has been so supportive in the healing process and been very understanding of the space I need. But after 3 years it doesn't feel right to keep putting him through all of this. He insist he is in it for the long haul, but what if it never gets better?

The above quote...OMG, that's me! Only difference is that my husband and I are heading towards our 23rd anniversary.

My husband tells me he's in for the long haul, too. Or in his words, 'In sickness and in health were the vows I took. If I was the one with PTSD, would you leave me? No? Then hush.' He makes a lot of sense to my logical side. My emotional side sometimes has a hard time believing that I'm worth staying with when I have all of these problems that I deal with daily. It's still a work in progress for me to believe that I'm worth the trouble. Too many years of being made to feel I wasn't are hard to counter.

The actions against us were not our choice nor did we cause or make those individuals take those actions.

Great quote, Cindy. I need to print this out and read it daily.

But yes, I do have to deal with the shame every time I deal with my traumas. It's not my shame...why do I have to carry it for my abusers?

Lisa

 

[lrs]

The age of 11 was the worst in my childhood. My dad would make me take my clothes off, down to my underwear. He was large and powerfull, and took a big leather strap, and would just the shit out of me, hitting me I don't know how many times. During one of these times I had to run for my life, he was so out of control. He chased me until my mother screamed at him. Then he sent me to bed without any supper. A little later he came crashing through the bedroom door, and screamed at me a little, then told me, " I will make a man out of you, or put a bullet between your goddam eyes ".
Once he picked a big tree branch, about as big as a man's wrist, and knocked me down on the ground, and proceeded to beat the living shit out of me. But this time in front of an aunt and uncle and their kids, my cousins. Nobody said or did anything, I guess maybe they were scared of Dad. Everyone else seemed to be.
That particular episode is still very fuzzy in my mind, even today I do not recall most of it. But my family and my cousins do, and when talk about it, I can remember some of it. It was very very ugly.
Then another time, dad and I were trying to put a belt on the pulley system of a yard tractor. I was given the job of pushing on one of the pulleys with a crowbar, but the crowbar kept slipping. After the 3rd try, Dad looked at me with the coldest eyes I have ever seen. He threatened he would hit me on the head with that crowbar if it slipped again. My terror level went through the freakin sky, I knew it would happen. I think I am here only b/c through sheer terror, I did not let that crowbar slip off the pulley.
There was never any sexual abuse by my father.
Still in the 5th grade, at school one day, I was using the bathroom. This big black dude crashed through the door of the stall, pulled me off the toilet, threw me to the floor. I don't recall much of that, except fighting like a honeybadger. I fought him off, he gave up the chase, but it was pretty sick.
Then at church one sunday, I had to use the bathroom during the service.
This big fellow I knew, who was mentally retarded, pulled the stall door open, with his penis in his hand. He looked at me weird, and when he came close, I punched him hard enough that it knocked him backward. Then the crazy bastard shut the lights off, and it was pitch black. By that time I was clothed, and he was stumbling in the dark. That was a strategic error on his part. I could hear him, though I couldn't see him. I made my way to the sink which had a small metal trash can. I quietly stood still until he got close to me, and I hit him as hard as I could, right where I though his head oughta be.
That was the end of that.
I was such a wreck, I had no way of coping with any of this. At school I peed in my pants sometimes, and acted out a lot, kind of like trying to be a clown. But I became an outcast, and everyone hated me and made fun of me.
There was more shame than I could ever process. The shame was so intense I still don't know how I could describe what it felt like.
There was shame, hopelessness, disgust, anger, rage.
I did not believe I would ever be able to move past that shame, or that I would ever be a normal person, or that I would ever be able to feel anything else, or that I would even have a good day.
I knew I did not deserve this, my parents were criminals at that time. I was puzzled why God would allow such things to exist, and angry that other kids had parents that acted like parents.
The shame, paranoia, inappropriate behaviour, immaturity, all followed me long into adult life, for a long time the only relief I got was from drugs and alcohol.
Then I came to the period when I was diagnosed with PTSD, then the interventions, treatment centers, psyche hospitals, trauma counselors, psychiatrists, rx meds, 12 step program.
I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but it's the truth.
The only relief that came from this was ending the drug abuse, and going through 12 step program. And up to that point it was the best my life had ever been.
But none of this did anything to diminish how out of control my mind was.