People Do Shit. And Bridging That Gap
How many times have I talked about this? How many times have I felt like I’ve had to say it or remind myself of it, or remind myself of the feeling?
When I was little I was scared of this guy that my mother brought into our lives. I knew I was not going to be taken care of. I knew I was in danger, even.
He ended up beating me with a bamboo switch. With his hand. And trying to smother me with a pillow. All before I was 8 or 9 years old.
He was a burly guy, volatile, ignorant, young. But he should have gotten his fucking arms broken for the shit he did to me. For the way he acted towards me.
He hit my brother years later (my brother was his kid and was too young to get hit for anything before he and my mother split up). My mother called him out of the blue to discipline my brother for doing badly in school. So, let’s call him John. He came and picked up my brother and took him for a drive and when my brother didn’t tell him the truth about school he punched him in the face a few times.
He dropped my brother back off less than an hour later and I was waiting…for the worst. My brother came in the house and went straight to his room. My stomach was disintegrating into dust, or roughly cut pieces of steak. I wanted to bash my mother, and take a fucking 2×4 to my father. I would have, if I had have been in the position…
So, today at the therapist’s office I was talking with her about her comment last week that she could not understand how I felt, in particular how I felt about a situation with a guy I have recently met. She essentially said that in my description of what was going on she was confused about how I felt about things. This week we explored that a little more and so much came out about me being so incredibly terrified to reveal my emotional experience.
There is a huge gap right now between my Little self. My vulnerable self that got pulverized physically and emotionally as a little girl — and — my bigger self who is still scared and angry, who still feels that there is a threat — AND — my adult self who is learning and doing more and more with the understanding that I am and/or already know how to keep myself in a safe place (in a few senses of the word).
In my relationships with my mother and my father, there is no record of my feelings. No existence or validity for sure. I said to my therapist that… There was no record of how scared I was when John became a mainstay, no record of my reactions given my fear of him, no record of how I felt being molested at 5 years old…no record of how I felt afterwards when my mother was ‘negotiating’ with the mother of the boy who did it…no record of how I felt when my mother said she was going to leave me with John and come back and get me…no record of how I felt when I left in the middle of the night so I would not be left there…no record of how I felt when he left for the last time…no record of how I felt when my mother used me as a sobbing rag…no record of how I felt when I was molested again at 9…no record of how I felt when I had to sit in front of the boy and his mother while he smirked, while his mother said that I was ‘fantasizing’ and while my mother did not protect me from that cruelty…no record…
Which is maybe why the memories and feelings hold on. Until I make them true and give them validity. Bridge that gap between helplessness and awareness…