Category: In Your Words – Stories

There is beauty in healing

There is beauty in healing, broken inner parts (dissociation) from surviving. I resonate with the art of ‘kintsugi. This concept is an old Japanese philosophy’repairing pottery by golden joinery’

The Impact

We can mind our broken parts and our sadness, making them emblems of resilience, the passage of time, and the inevitability of change and transformation!! Like the Phoenix from the ashes, butterfly from a cocoon. Repairing our history we become more beautiful than before, it’s our karma.

What I Want Others to Know

Bringing ‘Kintsugi’ to mind,our cracks and scars can be made into patterns of golden rivers.you become more than you were,more than you are and more of that you will be.. I promise you this,as l can see the world reflecting light from my kingship…..

It Never Crossed My Mind the ‘Aunt’ Would Lie…And Be Believed

Warning: May contain triggers for survivors of childhood sexual abuse Originally published June 2, 2018

I was seven or so the first time I was left alone with my ‘aunt’. We lived across the street and the family was a big part of our lives. The parting nasty reminder to ‘mind your aunt !’ …. I took that seriously, because of the physical and verbal violence that ensued whenever we were ‘bad’. We were bad a lot!

I was told to undress and get in the bathtub…posed and told what to say…naked and afraid if I didn’t do what she daid, I’d get (another) standing on tippie-toes beating. I knew this wasn’t right, and as soon as my aunt went home, I told ‘mommy’.

I vividly remember her screaming at me, questioning me…and my thinking, as a seven year old, “she’s mad…but she’ll do the right thing”
It never crossed my mind the ‘aunt’ would lie, and be believed.

More screaming as I was told to repeat the words she told me to. Marched across the street, We met in the hallway, I was crying as I repeated,”I’m sorry, aunt ___. I’m sorry I lied”. She said nothing, just hugged me. That night my dad yelled at me, and shamed me by asking if I’d pull down my pants for a stranger on the street.

Convenient Denial

All these years later, I realize it was convenient denial. Not only did the undressing and posing continue, now my ‘uncle’, at the aunt’s sugestion, started playing – and now my younger brother was being undressed and posed. We were left in their care a lot, and they passed us around to their friends, and their cousins.

I touched my first penis at 8 or 9 years old…peed into jars…was a stripper told to open my legs wider…wider, hold ‘it’ (my vagina) open, thats what ‘they’ were paying to see. About this time ‘grandpa’ starting showing us ‘the little man’… He’d draw a face on his penis and show it to us. We’d see his hard penis hanging out of his shorts, wondering why he didn’t know it was hanging out.

never tried to tell again…and the molestation went on for years…

The Impact

I have PTSD and depression from those years, and trust issues. No one that hasn’t experienced this can understand how deeply it affects the survivor, and every aspect of their lives.

What I want others to know/understand

It’s not your fault. You can come to a peaceful place with the trauma with a competent therapist. I am working on it.

Stories: Here’s a Story About a Young Girl

Warning: May contain triggers for survivors of childhood sexual abuse

Here’s a story about a young girl
It’s traumatic and tragic
If you are easily triggered with child rape child abuse and domestic violence please don’t read any further
There was a little girl who lived with her mother and two siblings
The mom was an ok mom even though drugs and alcohol ran her life
One day when she was about 5 her mom came to the 3 kids and told them someone new was moving in
The kids especially the little girl was estatic at the prospect of a new daddy
In the beginning he was pretty awesome buying them stuff and taking them places

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Stories: A Fresh Start

Warning: May contain triggers for survivors of childhood sexual abuse

I was young, too young, to know what my two brothers were wanting me to do, like suck on my cousin’s penis and who knows who else…I blocked it out. Later in life, after my cousin lived elsewhere, my aunt/uncle lived in the house that this took place in. I babysat their kids and now know why I never wanted to stay overnight; my uncle would drive me back into town.

There were more instances of sexual abuse although more subtle, like my oldest brother putting his hands in my crotch to show me how to hike a ball. It’s like I can still feel his hands pressed against my crotch. Physical abuse went along with all of this.

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Stories: My Anguish Was My Healer

I was a survivor of CSA. Now I am healing back to ME – Who I was suppose to before two malignant narcs or dark triad parents did their vile evil work on me during my developing years.

Their evil mental illnesses caused me despair and suffering, and has caused the next generation to suffer too.

Continue reading “Stories: My Anguish Was My Healer”

Stories: I thought fighting to stay alive was normal

Warning: May contain triggers for survivors of childhood sexual abuse

When I got in my teens, I had these weird flash backs, of someone on top of me, I couldn’t breath. I saw myself floating above me. I thought I was dreaming, I heard my mom, call my dad’s name, I looked over towards her, then my dad yelled go back to bed, I then realized the horror, my dad was on top of me, I felt the pain, I was back in my body, I was told keep my mouth shut and don’t tell anyone or I’d get an a** whipping.

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My Toolbox

By Anthony Carrone

In my last article, I mentioned the tools I try to use every day to continue coping with my memories of sexual abuse. For me, coping is a never-ending process. Unfortunately, my tools don’t make the memories go away, but I can’t think of a healthy alternative that does. Like many tool boxes, the tools in my box were acquired over time. I don’t use all of my tools every day, and sometimes I need WD-40 to get them working correctly, but knowing I have a set to use is helpful in its own way.

My toolbox:

  • Staying active
  • To-do list
  • Charity
  • Mindfulness meditations
  • Journaling/Storytelling
  •  

Staying active

Finding ways to stay active has played a major role in coping with my troubling memories. In addition to all of the known benefits of staying active, for me, it brings back favorable memories and feelings from my childhood. Some of my favorite memories were made playing baseball and camping with my friends. Staying physically active has allowed me to reminisce about those times while creating new memories with my new friends. Completing a game or a difficult hike also provides me with a sense of accomplishment that feels really good!  

To-do lists

Some mornings, I wake up feeling anxious or depressed and feel like there is nothing that will get me out of bed. It would be so easy to turn over and go back to sleep. What I have found is that making a to-do list helps me get past that initial morning depression and jumpstart my day in a much more positive way. I actually use a cheat code for this – Let me explain. On those difficult mornings, after I realize I am dangerously close to falling into a non-productive day, I get up and make my bed (I know this is not always easy – but it got easier with repetition) After I make my bed, I create a checklist of things I need to get done. My trick is adding “MAKE YOUR BED” as the first task on my list and immediately checking it off. Oh, it is so satisfying! It may seem silly, but sometimes that small sense of accomplishment is what I need to change the trajectory of my day.

Charity

Practicing random acts of kindness and charity every day is, I think, one of the most effective ways to cope and also make a real difference in someone else’s day. Charity does not have to be monetary or even publicized to make a difference or be an effective tool in your kit. Unselfishly giving your time, love and attention creates a positive energy that you and people around you will benefit from.

Mindfulness meditation

Meditation has been the most useful tool in my toolbox. Actually, it may be the material many of my tools are crafted from.  Or maybe it’s what my toolbox is made of?  Anyway, before I lose you… Practicing mindfulness meditation has changed my life. Most of us are mindful at some point during the day, but it’s really difficult to stay in that zone.  Sometimes we are distracted by a thought from our past that brings up uncomfortable memories. For me, if I let it, those thoughts have the potential to bring me to a dark place, usually filled with anger and a case of the f*ck its. A place where my mind is racing all over the place, but my body is paralyzed – a feeling of defeat. Practicing mindfulness through meditation has helped me recognizing when these intrusive thoughts arise, accept them, and get my mind back to the current moment – Like when I am having trouble getting up in the morning, recognize my negative emotions and decide to make a to-do list to help get me started.  There are many different styles of meditation, so if mindfulness is not the way for you, check out some other forms of meditation that seem like a better fit!

Journaling and storytelling

Getting my thoughts out, one way or another, has always helped me cope with what I am feeling inside. What I like about journaling is the ability to go back and actually read my own words about what I was thinking or feeling during that moment – it’s right there in front of me. It also helps me see my own potential behavioral patterns. If I notice I am feeling a certain way, I’ll often go back to my journal to see when I’ve felt that way before. If I have, I’ll recall how I reacted and review how that worked out for me. Finding a group of friends or an outlet like Gravity Network to share your thoughts with can be super helpful.

As I said earlier, these tools have not deleted my memories of sexual abuse, but they have taught me skills to live a happy life without blaming myself for other’s actions. I plan to stay physically active and remain healthy to help find the joy in things I used to love. I will do my best to make to-do lists to help me stay on top of my daily tasks when my emotions want to distract me. I will give my time and attention to other who need it, because others have been there for me when I needed to be lifted up. I will practice mindfulness to remain aware of my true self and chart the path to my brightest future. And I will continue to tell my story through personal journaling and this blog, not only for myself, but for others who read and are going through their own struggles.

I am not healed…and that’s ok

By April M.D. Resnik 12/9/18

 

How many times have I said these words to people, “You are never fully healed from sexual trauma. It never goes away. Your brain has been changed, and the biological change is not something that can be undone. But, you work with it and integrate it, mitigate the symptoms, and learn to live, hopefully well, with it.” I thought I believed this, I really and truly did. I thought I was living that. How arrogant and wrong I was. Because somewhere deep in my internal recesses, my unconscious had bought the curative hype. Some unspoken part of me thought I’d healed, thought I’d been cured, or pretty damn close to it. I wrote and spoke with confidence about the hardest parts of my childhood because some part of me not only felt healed, but believed I had found the key, had set my demons free, and was once and for all better. I hadn’t, I didn’t, I wasn’t. But I didn’t realize I had bought into these false confidences until my world cracked open and swallowed me whole.

He was my boyfriend at 16, we married at 22, we had a child at 30.

I’ve been facing the reverberations from being abused and raped at 8 years old, since I was in college. I’ve been consciously working on myself since I was 20, I am now 43. That work has shape-shifted and evolved over the years from cognitive behavioral therapy, to self-help books, to Jungian therapy. From meditation, to getting my master’s degree in meditation, to teaching meditation. From writing and art therapy, to creating my own blog, to writing poetry and publishing articles about my abuse. But through it all was one constant…my significant other. He was my boyfriend at 16, we married at 22, we had a child at 30. He has always known about my abuse, I told him when we were teenagers. He took it in stride and was unashamed. He was patient, my friend, my rock. He let me explore, explored with me, faced the intimacy challenges and worked to overcome them with me…until he stopped. I remember the day, years ago, I had a flashback during a particularly rough GYN exam. I called him afterwards shaking and crying. He coldly told me he was busy at work and would call me back. He never did. He texted to say he was headed home from work. He had totally forgotten that I had even called. I spent that afternoon sobbing on the floor with my dog. That day I knew, some part of me knew. My partner was gone. And still, the other part of me held on to what I thought was “unconditional love” as a cure-all, a backstop, a bedrock of my own healing. I see that now, all of it. The truth and the illusion. I did not see it fully then.

And everything I thought I knew about my healing…evaporated and was swallowed whole by grief

It took years for him to finally say the whole truth; that he was leaving me. That he’d found a new partner and was done being mine. On New Years Eve 2018, the truth came out of his mouth. No more us. (It took another few months for him to reveal he’d found a new partner, one who was a trusted family friend and coworker.) And in the many tear-soaked conversations we had about the dissolution of us, he laid his own issues, and his leaving, square at my feet. I believe his exact words were, “I became codependent and dysfunctional at 16, the day you told me about your abuse.” And everything I thought I knew about my healing, my ability to connect with another, my trust in myself and in love, in my own body, even in my voice…equally evaporated and was swallowed whole by grief. And that’s when I realized that I had bought into the curative fantasy. To spite my intelligence and my self-awareness. I had allowed myself to hold onto the love of another, as a huge part of my own healing and integration process. Only when my abandonment issues recently re-ravaged my body and brain did I realize I had truly, but foolhardily, believed that those demons had been exorcised. And I had believed they had been exorcised by someone else’s love. They hadn’t been banished, but only tamed and caged, by the false reliance on another. Not only had I believed that another person’s strength was my own, but that strength I had relied on, even if unconsciously, had itself been an illusion. I had relied on his love to redeem humanity, my past, and myself. It is time to see things clearly.

I am not going anywhere.

I am not healed, I am not cured, and I don’t need to be. I am simply integrating and moving with the trauma from being raped at 8 years old. I know this as a lived experience now. And I am finally learning to do it for myself, with myself, as myself…I hope. I am still in the midst of the divorce, and while the process is not over, his leaving is over. He can’t leave anymore than he already has, and yet I am still here. I am sometimes a mess of issues, of both mind and body. I know now down to my bones that will always be the case, perhaps to greater and lesser degrees given the day, and that is ok. There is no cure. I have PTSD and abandonment issues, and they will always need to be managed. I have no idea what any of that looks like moving forward. But I am also learning now that I won’t leave me. His strength was not my own, my strength is my own. His love did not save me, my own love for myself and that 8-year-old little girl, will save me. As much as anyone can be saved. Perhaps even that is inviting the curative fantasy back in. Rephrase: my own strength and love for myself and that 8-year-old little girl will hold me. That is the most I can do, and the MOST I can do. On those days ahead when my demons come to the surface screaming and sobbing, I will hold myself, I will learn to like myself, I will let go of my own shame instead looking to another to do so, and I will tell myself that I am here. And, I am not going anywhere.

How is there not a way to protect children from other children?

Originally published 1/14/2019

Five short weeks after my honeymoon, my then 6 year old made a disclosure that would change our entire forward trajectory. My stepson (9) had shared with him that he had been sodomized by my older stepson (13). Shortly following that disclosure, we found out that my son had also been sodomized by my 9 year old stepson. Immediate separation followed, my son was diagnosed with severe ptsd, and he’s been in weekly therapy for 7 months. My ex was enraged from the getgo that I reported this to child welfare and police. We all know sex abuse comes from somewhere and I wasn’t about to sweep it under the rug. Following the abuse I learned that my father in law is a sex addict, had multiple affairs, and that a number of his family members have been molested.

At the end of the summer, my ex enrolled his son into an athletic program at a school we are at daily, that his kids are unaffiliated with. Clearly this was a calculated move to cause alarm. Naturally, I went to authorities to try and protect my son as their presence caused an immediate regression in PTSD symptoms that had begun to fade. Surprisingly, because my stepson is younger than 12, my son has no rights despite having forensic interview proving sodomy. There’s no consequences and no legal way to allow my son to be free of unwanted contact with his abuser. Though my ex has already demonstrated lack of concern for my son, our divorce judge won’t even grant restraint so that my son is free from unwanted contact. How is there no protection for kids when child on child sexual abuse has the same effect on victims?

I was counting on her

This is my story. Today I am 31. Up until the abuse started I had a great relationship with my parents. I was attached to my mom. I was called a daddy’s girl, I have 1 brother which is 3 years older than me. We lived in small country towns. Which was how my whole family lived. I feel that my brother was never really there for me which I could of used, specialy since he had too been sexualy assaulted, but doesn’t talk about it. Very sad story there. Now theis days we are distant to each other.

I felt so little and felt like crawling into a hole in the ground and never coming out.

The pain of my sexual abuse is horrifying and intense. I know the abuse went on for 2 years at least, (not sure exactly what my age was when it all started) Mid 90s I know. My abusers were males first cousins to me, they were brothers. They are in my Mothers side. All my aunt’s and uncles was suspicious of how the boys were, heard stories from their own kids. A year into “it” I had talked to my close friends about getting touched in my privates. They were twin sisters almost two years older than me, which were first cousins to my abusers on there dads side. They got mad at me and started a fight over it and told me that its not nice to make up lies… I felt so little and felt like crawling into a hole in the ground and never coming out. So at this time they are the only people I came out and told until I got a little older.

My early teens is when I told my mom

My early teens is when I came out and told my mom not Dad. It was a very big deal for me for my mom to take the right steps to help me, I was counting on her. We had a girls night out and I broke down in her car outside of pizza Hut and was sure she was going to help. My parents and my abusers parents were planing a vacation for the families I wanted to let my mom know that I didn’t feel comfortable going with the two boys.That’s how I came out to my mom.

I wish I really knew if she understood

Vacation was coming up and my Mom for some dumb reason which to me didn’t seem like all that great of idea, gave me a two sentence not a dress to them and signed by her telling them to leave me alone and let me enjoy my vacation. To this day I wish I really knew if she understood what I was telling her like it wasn’t a bullying making fun of kind of thing. Which I did get bullied in school by classmates so maybe she thought that’s what I was talking about. My Dad was never aware of any of this story and I still don’t believe he knows.
My parents split up the day after I turned 21 and divorced later on. Both remarried.

My pain and stuggkea are very real and it caused me a big chunk of my life as I never payed attention in school and feel that never got the education I needed. The School was small and graduated in 2005, but I wish I wouldn’t of. I was put into special education classes when I was in 3rd grade but i still had attention problems. The teachers werent all that up on teaching very good or even caring. The school consolidation in 2009.

I now have a family of my own with two kids. I have a boyfriend I’ve been with for 13 years.

What I want others to know or understand

PARENTS listen to your kids well and ask questions if needed PLEASE and THANK YOU