Scars

"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone."

                                                                                                                               Rose Kennedy

In my experience time does help heal, however, I agree with Mrs. Kennedy that wounds wounds are always there.  In my case they   have a very thin scar covering them.  This scar does protect my sanity.  The scars are needed in order for me to live a somewhat normal life.  When I refer to the scars as being very thin I mean that it does not take a lot to tear them.  It may be a story on the news, a nightmare, flashback, or just a seriously bad day.  Any of these things can rip the scars right off of the wounds that I have in regards to being sexually abused, assaulted, and raped.  When this happens I have to fight the depression that wants to consume me.

Scars protect us, they allow us to develop coping skills so that our lives can go on.  My emotional scars started out very thick when I was very young.  I did not think about or dwell on the abuse that I suffered.  This was a good thing, I couldn't think about or dwell on the abuse or I would not have made it out of my teens.  This was my protection from totally falling apart.  I had no family to turn to.  I left home when I was fifteen and bounced around from one house to another of mostly friends until moving back with my mother at seventeen.  My mother was not concerned with what had happened in my past, she made me feel that I was a burden when I moved back with her.  I carried around the abuse that I suffered in silence for years until it became too much to bear.

I experienced marital problems and started going to therapy.  It was the best thing that ever happened to me.  I was finally able to talk to someone about all of the horrible things that had been done to me.  The therapist helped me to see that none of it was my fault and that I could move forward.  With a lot of hard work, prayer, and the support of my husband I was able to start living my life without this big dark cloud over my head.

My wounds are scarred, scars can tear, but they will heal again.  I still experience pain from these wounds but it has lessened with time.   

When no one believes you

Earlier today I was reading a story on the AOL News website.  The story was about a Libyan woman that ran into the hotel where the foreign journalists are staying.  She was screaming and shouting that she had been gang raped by government soldiers.  While telling a journalist her story several government supporters, including people who worked at the hotel, tried to stop her.  One woman who was part of the hotel staff called her a traitor and covered her head with a coat.  Eventually  the security force arrived and dragged her away.  This woman had bruises on her face and body.  Journalists tried to protect her and many were kicked, hit, and shoved away.

My heart goes out to this woman.  What really disturbs me is all of the comments following the article that were questioning the truth of the woman's statements.  Anyone that has been raped knows what the shame feels like and how much greater that shame is when repeating the events to authorities or even to those that we love.  I can well imagine that this woman must feel totally alone in a country where women do not have the same freedoms as we have in the United States.  Even here rape victims are often not believed or the rape is somehow made to be partly her fault. This woman will probably be executed or jailed indefinitely. 

As a rape victim I know the shame and still live with it, often wondering if things could have been different.  If I could have somehow avoided the rape.  I have had thirty-one years to think about it.  I have determined that yes, I could probably have done things differently, but that does not give anyone the right to force another human being when that person has clearly said "NO".  I am not to blame for my rape, the rapist is.  I clearly said no, he forced me anyway.  I suffered from shame and did not tell anyone for years because I was afraid no one would believe me and I had no where to go, no family to turn to.

I know that there have been women who falsely accuse men of rape.  We can not let this make us cynical and doubt everyone who comes forward.  The number of false accusations is miniscule in comparison to verified cases.  This of course does not include the vast number of rapes that go unreported, such as mine.  When a rape is reported the victim has to relive the rape over and over, if they are doubted it is like being victimised all over again.

How is it possible?

I have had the most wonderful experience over the past few months.  My oldest daughter who is in the process of getting her masters works part-time as a nanny.  For the last few months she has been student teaching so that she can get her teacher's certification.  Yes my daughter is definitely a go getter.  While student teaching she has not been able to work at her nanny's job.  I have been fortunate enough to fill in for her.  The sweet little girl is 14 months old and a delight to take care of.  While caring for this beautiful and energetic child I have often wondered how anyone could possibly abuse innocent children.

Children are born innocent.  They come into this world depending on those around them to take care of them.  They are precious and are at the complete mercy of their caregivers.  I just can't comprehend how anyone could hurt a child.  They only want to be loved.  When an adult abuses a child they steal their innocence, strip them of the happiness and security that all children should feel.  It makes me so incredibly sad to know that there are deranged people that forever change a child's life.  My heart breaks for every child that is somehow abused or neglected.

I appreciate every day that I spend with this remarkably good toddler.  I get to be a stand in grandma, which is a good thing considering that I probably won't get any of my own grandchildren for several more years.  My advice to all parent's is to cherish every moment you have with your children, they grow up way too fast.

The Good Days

"Birds sing after a storm. Why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?"
                                                                                                                   Rose Kennedy


Those who suffer from depression or have experienced a traumatic event will have bad days.  These can range in varying degrees from debilitating to just a minor irritation.  These days make the good days all the more sweeter.  When having an especially good day I like to bask in the glow of happiness, experience it to the max.  It is these good days that make the bad ones tolerable.  When having a bad day I tell myself that it will not last and I try to concentrate on the good things in my life.  This works for me.  Maybe some of you have suggestions as to what works for you.  I would love to hear them.


When having a good day I try not to think or dwell on things that bring up painful memories of the past.  Sometimes it works sometimes it doesn't.  Usually on the good days memories of the past can't encroach on my happiness, but occasionally a particularly bad memory will creep up and not be banished.  In my case if I hear of a story on the news of a child being abused, harmed, or of a rape this will bring on some bad moments.  Sometimes I can pray about it and move on, other times it will set me back for a day or more.  


On the especially bad days I like to count my blessings.  I pray and thank God for all of the good things in my life.  At the top of the list is my faith, family, home, and pets.  Those that are not faithful can still do this by meditating on all of the blessings in your life.  No matter how bad your life is there will always be something to be thankful for if we look hard enough.  On the good days I also thank God for my blessings, they are just all the more sweeter because it is a good day.


In the first post I stated that I would speak of a different aspect of my abuse.  In this post I will discuss emotional abuse.  Throughout my life I felt that I never lived up to my mother's expectations.  If I was thin she would say I had chicken legs, if I was of normal weight she would say I had large thighs.  She was forever finding fault with me.  Two years ago she was going to have triple bypass surgery.  I had not seen her in eight years or spoken to her in two, but I made the decision to travel ten hours to be there for her surgery.  Upon entering her hospital room I realized that she did not recognize me.  I looked exactly as I always had, same hairstyle and everything.  While hugging my oldest daughter, who had made the trip with me, she stated "I never thought I would see a stomach on you".  My daughter, who was twenty-two at the time, thought she was talking to her.  That was preposterous given that she is five feet and under a hundred pounds.  When my daughter realized she was talking to me she told her grandma that my stomach was due to abdominal surgery that I had, my fourth abdominal surgery.  I didn't have much of a pooch, I was a size six and five foot four.  I let it pass, but her hurtful comment was an omen of what was to come.  I was there for only three days and spent less than five total hours with her while she was awake and talking.  In those five hours I was not only told that I had a stomach but that she was glad my hair was different because it had always been boring, my hair was exactly the same as always.  She also told me I had a large nose, high forehead, and numerous other problems with my appearance.  All of this was done in front of my daughter and was quite degrading to me.  


The day after her surgery we went to visit her in the ICU.  She started with the criticism of not only me but also of my husband.  This was too much for us.  I made the decision to leave a day early and we made the ten hour drive home that day


After returning home I was in such bad shape and so depressed that I had to go back into therapy.  The nightmares, flashbacks, and depression were so bad that I was having a hard time coping.  I would have a new therapist and fortunately we clicked.  At the start of the first session she asked what brought me there.  I explained about going to Florida for my mother's open heart surgery and the negative things that she said.  The therapist's reply was "So she is still emotionally abusing you".  I had never thought of my mother as being abusive towards me, negligent yes, abusive no.  This was very enlightening to me.  I was able to look back over my life and really see that she had emotionally abused my for my entire life.
While this knowledge brought pain it also brought healing.  I was able to focus on this particular abuse and begin to face the problems that it had caused me.


My mother passed away six months ago and although her emotional abuse has stopped the painful memories still linger.  I forgave her and try not to dwell on them.  It's memories such as these that make the good days all the better.  When having a good day rejoice in it, do something for yourself, and live, laugh, and love!

One day at a time

I thought that I would talk about a different aspect of the abuse that I suffered for each posting.  I will begin with the physical abuse.  From the age of one and a half to around six I was physically abused by my mother's partner.  She would care for us children (three of my mothers and two of her own) while my mother worked and then my mother would take care of us while her partner worked. 

While my mother was away my sister and I lived in terror, and sometimes when my mother was there.  We will call my mothers partner Gayle.  This is not her real name but I do not want to cause harm to innocent people by revealing her real name.  Gayle was a large woman built like a football player.  She was not obese, just very compact and strong with broad shoulders.  She was very menacing. 

She would amuse herself by running scalding hot water into the bath tub, as hot as possible.  The bathroom would be filled with steam and my sister and I would know what it meant when we heard the water running.  If we were taking a normal bath we would take it with Gayle's son.  I was around 2, her son was 6 months older than me and my sister was 3 years older.  For normal baths she would call us into the bath while the water was running so that we could undress.  For the scalding hot baths she would instruct her son to sit on the couch and watch TV and he better not move or he would be punished.  When the water was turned off she would take my sister and me, we would have already undressed, and put us in the hot water.  We could not cry openly or we knew we would be beaten.  After sitting in the scalding water silently sobbing, our bodies bright red she would pull us out of the water by our hair.  Sometimes this would be enough for her, but other times she needed to inflict more agony by running freezing cold water and hauling us by our hair back into the frigid water.  She would sometimes add ice to the water to make it colder. 

We could not tell our mother.  Gayle told us that she would kill our mother if we told.  This is a common ploy by abusers but young children believe these words when they are being told by a violent person.  Not only could we not tell our mother but we could not openly cry during the abuse.  The more we cried the more vicious the abuse.  Children learn at a very young age to hold emotions inside.  We only cried silent tears to lessen the severity of the abuse.

This is one way in which Gayle physically abused us.  I will discuss other ways in the next post. 

Insomnia

Those of you out there who have suffered any great traumatic event in your life have probably suffered from insomnia.  Welcome to the club!!  This is a nightly occurrence for me.  I have trouble falling asleep and staying that way once I finally drift off.  My favorite thing to do in the middle of the night is to come downstairs and eat chocolate ice-cream right out of the carton.  This is okay because I am the only one who eats chocolate ice-cream in my house.  This is all well and good but we all know that we have to face our demons before we can join those who sleep blissfully in their beds, such as my husband.  How do I know that he sleeps blissfully you ask.  Well the neighbors could probably vouch for me because his snoring can probably be heard from their house.

Joking aside, I have to say that it is the nightmares that hound my sleep.  My mother recently passed away and this has awakened old hurts and memories. Although we were not close it is the knowledge that I will never be able to get the answers to the many questions that I wanted to ask.  Any and all suggestions to getting past this road bump in my life would be greatly appreciated.