Ghosts of Abuse

C/W, T/W: Talking about physical abuse of a child, beatings

Wallpaper from http://www.theforgottenlair.net
Image originally from Loveless

The thing about child abuse is that you never really escape the ghost of abuse. Some days, it’s easy to ignore the minor triggers. It gets easier to walk away from some of them. Then there are things that bring it all back to the cruel light of day. It hits like a ton of bricks, you see it all again. The emotions come raining down. And all you can do is to try to cope with it and move forward.

I had that moment recently. I went to an immersive play. I had gone to it before, but they had added stuff to it and changed other things. One of the vignettes was about child abuse. And it brought things back…

More importantly, it brought back my dad beating me with a wire hanger.

I’ve never really processed my feelings when it comes to this. Because… well, I’ve never had a flashback about it. This was really the first time.

And it was rough… real rough.

And I remember my dad being mad at me. He would come into my sister’s and my bedroom early in the morning (he worked graveyard shift) and yell at us. He would ask who did it. I remember my sister then blaming me for whatever it was. Often times, I hadn’t done anything. And I remember how much it hurt to be hit with a hanger… vaguely. I think I pushed out how long and what it really felt like because psychologically I wasn’t capable of really understanding the why as to how anyone would think this was ok punishment.

I mean, I was like a little child, just barely started school…

And yet…

Yeah. It’s hard to deal with. It’s something that I need to deal with emotionally.

I don’t recall if I had welts from the hanger, or if I even bled. I don’t remember how much pain I had after I was beaten. And… that bothers me. I’m not surprised that I don’t remember, just like I remember bits and pieces about my mom trying to kill me. Even if the physical pain was immense, the psychological pain was worse. I couldn’t trust the people who were supposed to be the ones who raise me.

But what does it teach me?

Well, pretty much the same things that I was taught from all the other abusive and neglectful things from my childhood. I’m not important. I’m alone, and I don’t really have anyone who will help me… not even the people I’m supposed to depend on as a child.

And to this day, I still have an incredibly difficult time accepting much help from anyone. I mean, I’m better at it. I ask for some things… but for the most part, I’m taking care of it myself. Well, that and my therapist… when I see him.

But what do I do from here?

I have no clue. I do what I’ve always done. I move forward, despite the pain. I learn how to work through and not create any additional problems from anyone else. I soldier on. And while I know that I should ask for help… I’m going to try to ask for it more when I need it. It may be really difficult… but I need to do it.