kaofuckyou (kaofuckyou) wrote in _survivors_,

I'm needing like a uhm, god what's the word... x.o like a confirmation from someone that what I'm feeling might be okay? or to tell me that it's not okay. just, general advice. i guess that's what this community is here for anyway.. so. i just need honest opinions on this.

I think I'm sort of on the road to recovery -again- now. I mean, I came so close to suicide again the other night and then I've just been sitting in my room thinking. Realised that I don't have to let this consume me, even if it isn't what people expect. And I feel better. Not all the way better of course, but alive again, somewhat. And I was worried I might be recovering too fast.. like, am I doing myself more damage by subconsciously rushing it or something?

I'm not sure if it's because like, 9-13 I was raped at least once a week, mostly three times a week, sometimes four or five days in a row. And the memory of that chases me everywhere, I have nightmares about it almost every night, it sometimes gets in the way of my sex life with my boyfriend due to flashbacks or just that clawing fear inside me, sometimes I can't bear to be touched, by anyone, and sometimes I crave the comfort of touch like crack. I break down in tears for apparently no reason or I clam up completely and can barely open up enough to speak. That abuse, the touching, the raping, the beating, and being forced into acts of service by him, that's the thing that gets in my way, that's the thing I'm surviving. It's a shadow I'd just begun to step out from under when this rape by a complete stranger happened, and now I have to survive that aswell.

Thing is it's somehow easier. Why? It shouldn't be. I hold no belief that what I went through with my stepfather was any worse than what any single encounter with a stranger can be. Everyone's life is different and I don't think lives should be compared because depending on your own life experience different problems have different scales in your world.

I thought maybe it has something to do with the amount of rape I dealt with before, and how maybe it's sort of engrained into me, feel shitty and then get over it, get on with life. I don't know. I can't really be too coherent about it because it's all so fucking confusing. But I know that after it happened this time the thing that was killing me, still is, wasn't that dirty feeling or the pain or the bruising or remembering the feel of his breath against the back of my neck, or anything that it perhaps would be, it was as I said being pushed right back into that shadow, being somebody else's toy for even a moment, I'd promised myself I never would again. The thing hurting me most was the disappointment of it, of the last time Karl touched me not being the last time I would ever be abused.

Is this normal?

Am I kidding myself if I recover maybe quicker than expected? I don't know! I don't even know what I feel right now. I feel.. calm, and yet still unable to BE calm! I can't sit still, my stomach aches from butterflies of the worst kind, I feel sick to my guts, and my throat aches from crying. But it's not about the rape. It's about what it meant. 

So what do I do? Do I just force myself to keep going back out of the shadow and act like it never happened? Or do I force myself to focus on the rape itself? I don't know what to do and I'd appreciate advice.

This is such a quick turnaround from the other night and I'm just scared my brain's tricking me, that I'm going to go right back to staring at the pills and thinking about doing it again.

I also wanted to just.. type, about jealousy. I hate jealousy. I really do, I'm guilty of it more often than I'd care to admit and I really hate it. It causes so many easily avoidable anguishes. It causes all these arguments and angsts and even the break up of relationships and it's so hard to avoid! And lately, I've found myself feeling physically ill with jealousy whenever I hear anyone in my area or my online friends talking about their childhoods.

Even just a little thing like "oh, I remember this time we went to the seaside and..." or "mom used to cook the best lasagne." It borders on triggering. I feel like crying every time and I pretend it's fine. I don't remember a time from when the abuse started at 6 to when it finished at 13 when I was actually happy. Even before that, I wasn't happy most of the time. Mom started drinking not long after she divorced dad, and we had no money, we were living in a trailer for a while and she sold all of my toys for money which she said was things 'we' needed, but turned out to be for more drink. Before that... My first memories are of her screaming at dad for gambling away our rent money again and him just sitting there, drunk (yay, I have double alcoholism genes, maybe i should really stop drinking dad's scotch), and not even able to respond. I have some very vague, very early, very blurred, happy memories until he left.. he used to come home from gambling and play with me while mom yelled. I remember once I wanted to eat a worm I found in the garden and she told me not to, and he was so drunk he said I could eat the worm if I wanted. I know, it's gross and really not the best parenting ever, but as a kid anyone who let's you do what you want to do is a hero right? He used to make me laugh. Every moment he wasn't gambling he spent with me. I don't know why I'm emphasising that, I think it's for me instead of anyone reading this, because I hated him with everything I had in me from 8 years old, because he left and that let Karl come into my life, and he made mom the way she was taking all her money. I'm still angry with him, but I understand. He was a gay man trapped in a marriage with a woman he didn't love and with a serious problem, and he didn't choose to leave me like she told me, he tried to get joint custody but of course, a straight working woman against a gay unemployed gambling addict in court.. Growing up, I thought gambling addiction was just weakness but when I came to live with him I researched it and now I see it's just as powerful as most drug addictions. I digress. 

From 4 my memories are of wondering where my dad went and seeing my mom fall apart, being moved abruptly to my grandparent's house with her when the debt made us sell our house, and then moving into a tiny trailer in a trailerpark. Mom drinking more and more and pretty much having to find my own food and entertain myself in daydreams as she took my toys away. At 6 Karl shows up and for a while he's the perfect stepdad and he has a dog and I love the dog and he moves us into a flat in a tenement building, and for a little while mom seems better and everything is looking up, and then he starts touching me and mom starts drinking again, and lets him carry on. Until 7 he made me beg or give him service for my meals. After that I simply had to get them myself. Some days I didn't eat at all. Some weeks I didn't eat at all. By 9 I was coming home from school, putting mom to bed and cleaning up the vomit, boiling some noodles or rice or spaghetti from the can, eating, and then hiding in my room until Karl came home and did what he did. My memories are pretty much all the same from then on. In highschool some kids find out what Karl's doing because he tries to touch a girl I bring home, and rather than something being done about it I'm tormented, especially in the changing rooms before sports lessons. On some occasions they'd pull my clothes off, 'mooing' the whole time (Kao is said like cow. Heh.) or steal them and hide them while I was in the shower, and tell me I enjoyed what Karl did. The way they saw it, I was sleeping with my stepfather and therefore a disgusting freak, queer, and whore. Even if I'd told them it was never consensual, they wouldn't have listened, so I just stopped talking altogether, and studied really hard to never be like my father or mother, get out of the fucking slums and make something of myself. At 13, I was risking my life slipping out of the flat at 3am and hitch-hiking my way accross the country.

Now I'm just venting. I'm sorry. There's no point to this. Sometimes it just all needs to come out. And the jealousy hurts me and I just don't like it. I hate jealous people, but I am one. And everytime someone talks about their childhood I want to cry because I just.. WISH. 

I have a chance to make my teen years good. I've taken entrance exams to a private school (dad made alot of money after he left us, that's a long story that doesn't need retelling here) that doesn't require a psychological profile and am entering into the year above my age group, which is a start to making something of myself. I just wish I had a healthy, happy childhood for a foundation. I'm still worried I could fall apart like my mother did.. I've, horribly, smoked since I was 11 and don't have the willpower to stop (and believe me it stunts growth, I'm 5'3", if I don't get taller by 19 I'm going to be mighty pissed), and I drink alot when I'm unhappy. I don't want to fall down and end up just like her.

Thanks for reading. Sorry for the rambling.
Tags: abuse: child, abuse: emotional, abuse: incest, abuse: physical, abuse: sexual, memories, rape, seeking opinions, seeking support
  • Post a new comment


    Comments allowed for members only

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded