Fear sticks to me like the remnants of an old plaster. Once it had a use - it kept me safer from him. But now, it is just there: the dusty cobwebs of coping mechanisms that need sweeping away to let the light in.
What am I so afraid of? I am constantly terrified of being seen. Being seen when I was young meant being exposed and that was DANGEROUS. The alcoholic stare would turn on you and you'd be the one to have your ideas, feelings, passions - anything that was a strong part of your identity or something you cared about - crushed with strong, repeating blows. 'Words cut like an axe' I think Plath said. And it's true. They chop you off from the very roots of who you are and your feelings of security until there are only pathways of adrenaline which course through the whole of you, making you hyper-alert, hyper-vigilant to everything and everyone. Over time, your trust in anyone is disintegrated and there is only survival - 'I must do what I can to make it through today'.
And yet, inside there is a yearning. And the knowledge that there is more to life than this. That it is not just about surviving, it is about THRIVING. I recognised some time ago that there seem to be three stages of recovery from all this. The first is the Victim stage. This is horrible and many people remain caught in it for years - I know I was. I had been a victim so many times (and at the hands of more than one person) that that was how I unconsciously identified myself and everything in my life was coloured with that. I generally felt helpless, powerless and depressed, peppered with moments of such RAGE that I could hardly bear it. And the rage was directed towards one person in particular who hurt me and hurt the people I love most so terribly that most of the time I could not even think about it because if I did I might go mad. I didn't know how I could ever move on from this because how could I possibly forgive someone for doing this and I'd heard so many times from so many people that forgiveness is the only way to truly be able to move on with your life. All I could think in response to that is F**K OFF. Anyone who says that cannot have gone through what I've gone through, what my family have gone through and what we are all still going through.
The only way that I found to move on from this stage is by admitting and accepting that you've been a victim. Sounds like it would be easy to admit that - to stand up and say 'I've been a victim'. It's harder than it sounds. To want to stay in denial about what happened to me and my family - especially my siblings - was definitely the only way I could cope for a very long time. The moments when I allowed in the reality of the abuse, I was filled with such terror, horror, rage, grief, vengeance, guilt and shame, that I did not know what to do with myself. Anger was a constant presence in my life which tinged everything. My moods would swing wildly from day to day - even hour to hour. I would bury myself in work so I did not have to think. I would distract myself with films and tv shows so I did not have to feel. And yet, nothing really worked because Everything was a constant reminder of the pain in my heart. The unspoiled innocence of the children I worked with was unbearable because it was how mine and my siblings lives SHOULD have been. The manager who was attracted to me was met with an unfair projection of hatred mixed together with desire. The characters in films were always in some situation which I somehow related to my own and I used to weep so desperately for them - and for myself.
And being a victim is an incredibly insidious thing. You think you've got to grips with it and you suddenly realise that another little piece of your behaviour is about that. The powerlessness, helplessness and despair, the shame and anger - none of these are easy. But the little things like always asking for others' opinions; regarding others more highly than yourself (or switching from inferior to superior feelings and back again); always finding yourself waiting for other people in life (and feeling stuck because they are); and constantly blaming others for things you have done or have not felt able to do... these things are part of the same pattern. At least, they have been for me. And each time I see a new part of the pattern, it's the same process: denial, defensiveness, anger, pain, grief, acceptance, relief, feeling lighter. And often with an apology - to myself and someone else - in there too. I think this is where the forgiveness comes in. I have not reached a stage where I feel I can forgive my stepfather. I am open to the idea but at the same time feel very closed to it. The most important thing is to forgive yourself for being a victim - to understand that it was not your fault. And that is something I have spent the last few years grappling with and believe I am finally there. I understand that it was not my fault that my stepfather drank himself stupid and emotionally abused us all. I understand that it was not my fault that he sexually abused my siblings. And I understand that it was not my fault that I did not speak up when one of my siblings told me what had happened. I accept responsibility for the fact that I kept quiet but I do not blame myself for that (there is a big difference between the two). Instead, I understand the reasons why. My family was a family of many secrets - a family who were so close and yet somehow did not openly discuss the biggest, most devastating events of our lives together but tried (and failed) to cope with them on our own. My siblings and I knew many secrets - about our parents and one another - but these were never discussed with another living soul. My stepfather had repeated many mantras over the years to ensure that we kept our mouths shut when it came to the truth about him - the one he used most often was that, as my mother had already been through one divorce, she couldn't possibly cope with another and so they could never ever split up and she must always be protected and looked after. The kind of thing you listen to and which profoundly affects and conditions you as a child and well into adulthood. And the morning after I found out, I was so rage-full I nearly beat my stepfather over the head with a spade but my friend stopped me - he said it would not help. He was probably right but he had his own fears about speaking out - he had himself been raped as a child and never told anyone until he told me.
So, the devastations of keeping secrets in families aside, being a victim and forgiving yourself for having been a victim is, I think, the first stage of recovery. The second and third stages are for another time, though they all overlap and intermingle.
Take care.
Love to you,
Lyra ♥
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