mariposa_bella (mariposa_bella) wrote in _survivors_,

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a shy hello

hi! am new here. am somewhat nervous to post, but at the same time i know i need to connect. so here i am. my story (the basics) is below, in prose form. it was easier for me to express that way. i still have trouble articulating things. things were done to me from as little as i can remember (not remember?) until about 9 years old on pretty much a weekly basis. after that ended, i was taken advantage of by almost every boyfriend i ever had afterwards...very traumatized. i am 25 now and married and trying to learn how to overcome. it makes for a really difficult intimate life. i am not in counseling, though i realize i need it. i did have a couple sessions before i had to move, where they thought i had PTSD...i think i do too. and i have a lot of trouble dissociating and such. my journal, if anyone wants to follow more closely on my journey, is 99% about my current dealings with my sexuality and struggles. i would appreciate any feedback if anyone wants to go through my stuff and relate with me. i need some positive reinforcement it seems. warning though, it is full of triggers and can be pretty i don't recommend anyone under 18 reading it. i'm looking forward to being a part of this community though. it's nice to meet others like me and be mutually supportive. please comment :) i need you :) thanks, Melissa


One moment I was queen of the world. No guilt. No condemnation. No punishment. No pain.

I could do no wrong.

Pure and free. Looking down to no one. I was me. For once, Free. I was me.

I am woman. I can conquer all. I am my own gatekeeper, brave and strong.

But it didn't last for long.


I am wrong. I am no good. I am bad. I am weak. I am sad.

"please" "please, no" "please no" I scream in the form of a fearful whisper. "I promise. I promise. I won't be bad no more. please...please no..." Head into a wall. Mom say I am bad. I don't listen good enough.I'm not good enough, but she'll make me better. If I just shut up. No more cry. I be better, promise. Held by my throat against the wall. No breath. Formless she slams me to my bed. Silently i take my punishment. palms and belt slam into by back and thighs.

belt leaves marks. eyes look down, the heart of a child promises to never do "it" again,even though she hasn't figured out what "it" is yet. The imprints left on her back are a symbol of those left on her soul. She promises to be better not even knowing what her crime was. the cat-of-nine tales lashes. she creeps on egg shells praying not to wake the dragon.


Her crime, it must be awful. she pleads for mercy again. "please" "please, no" "please, no", a cry in the form of a barely heard whisper. This time, punishment would come from her cousin. No, no...she was bad. it was her fault. she deserved her punishment.

"Does that hurt?" her cousin would ask as he thrust and twisted quickly and objectinto her fearful little body. this was not the first time. her tummy hurt in pain. her mind in another world to escape all she ever knew in her tiny female parts. "There, does that hurt?" he asked each time as he carefully chose his weapon. whether she answered "yes" or "no", it didn't matter. the response was still the same. it got worse.


She prayed from someone to come and stop it, to come protect her. What was her crime? all she knew was it was all her fault, all of it. Mom walked in once. Then she walked back out. Laughed about "kissing cousins". I guess it was funny to watch me get punished for whatever my crime was. I didn't understand though.

At one time, courage came. I told Mom he was "touching" me. She ignored me. Walked back out again. The metaphorical cat-of-nine-tails raked my soul again.


There He was. the cat-of-nine-tails ripped His flesh. Bloody and unrecognizeable. Wounded. What crime did He commit? He must have been bad like I was. I'm sure, like me, He deserved His punishment. Maybe He will be better next time? I promise to be better next time too.

but they're still whipping Him. It must have been all His fault...wasn't it? Why else would He have to suffer so much? He must be guilty of something. Maybe He's guilty of the same thing I am? I wish I knew what that was.


Jesus begins to sing.

"This world, it takes my innocence. This world, it rapes my soul."

Wait, He understands me. Jesus, you understand me?!

He looks at me and begins to sing again

"This world, it takes my innocence. This world, it rapes my soul.

It does the same to you, My child, but you are pure as gold. YOU are pure as gold."

It echoes in my mind. did He know something I did not? Was He saying it wasn't my fault? Was I forgiven for whatever my crime was?

No...this crime was not mine. Nor was this crime His. It took His life. No, He gave it freely. He breathed His last, but faintly I still hear His echo...

"This world, it takes my innocence. This world, it rapes my soul.

It does the same to you, My child, but you are pure as gold...

it's you I've come to are purest gold...."


Tags: abuse: child, abuse: csa, abuse: physical, introductions, parent/abuser with personality disorder
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