Halloween. LO (sorta nervous) L’s. Good time of year to ‘write about it’ – or at least write ABOUT writing about it . . . which is a good nervous sorta way of going around it. Kinda like beating around the bush defining the thing; kinda like avoiding another – those 3 events that happened . . . that chain-affected my life in some way; in some ways rather serious, rather hurting, rather crippling us in some way . . .
Being a child abuse survivor is kinda like having your hand cut off and one eye plucked out early as a child. And given a kick in the head or two (which we literally did) – thrown against the wall (just a time or two or three or four or five or ten or . . . sigh, I dunno) . . .
Or having your left ventricle ripped out. Yeah – kinda like that thing: having your heart ripped out
Here’s a graphic we did a long time ago of that thing . . . and us . . . sometimes.
LOL, see the Universe’s inside? That’s in our mind sometimes. And those blood drops . . . some of them tell stories . . .
. . . and yeah; we were a graphics artist at one time . . .
Another way of avoiding: going on to something else. Some other ‘issue’ of ours that is a non-issue in order to avoid ‘going into’ one . . .
Like that Halloween; like that following November . . .
Like the days (and years!) leading up to the thing . . . the slow and sudden betrayals; the stabs in the heart – in the heart of a child. In us. Because we were too young to understand; to fully comprehend: to KNOW what we know now.
We were caught unawares; unprepared, and then yanked from that thing (the horror of that Halloween – though trust me! – it was NOT BAD! . . . just some things that went on with it, just coincidences that day . . . something that built up; something horrible to behold; a secret betrayed; friends hurt; somebody lost – a family ‘gone’; hurt, ruin …
I almost forgot.
There were two deaths that day (sad). I liked that old man . . . though he could be mean some of the time, he was nice in his own way..
(cold shudders inside).
That in that puptent – things building up; the embarassment and scorn: it did something to me that day. Broke my love – or capability to accept and trust love (he was the VERY last one I trusted . . . I was never really scared of him; not like my parents; he always treated us . . .
crap, well, not kind. Not after what he did.
That in that tent really hurt us somewhere DEEP down in the heart. That ridicule and that scorn. After all: WE had become what HE had made us – and then he mocked us for what we are. Mocked us for being his plaything; for being willing (and wanting) to do anything he wanted us to – and now, suddenly, turning on us with a sneering smile, ridiculing, belittling – then telling . . .
Hell, why didn’t they turn on HIM instead of US? He was the one who was guilty; not “i”. He was the one molesting me; not I him. He got things started; not me. He was the one who trained me (and some other kids) in that way; why didn’t they go after him instead?
He got what was coming to him I’m tempted to say but he didn’t – and they didn’t: his entire family was shattered; broken apart; ruined, thrown from poverty into some kind of even worse lifestyle (only a desperate marriage by a life-beaten and kid-overrun widow saved the situation) – we LEFT right ‘then’ (meaning a month after) – then there was that ‘bad’ sorta thing (Halloween) . . .
It was an active season for us – and it ‘ended’ with us quite literally jerked and yanked into a different world (meaning Germany and overseas, living on an rigidly structured Army base – many of which were harboring secrets of their own) . . .
No wonder we went insane (sorta; and in kind of a different direction than most folks . . . and not always – or ever, it seems sometimes – in a ‘good’ way) . . .
As for my parents:
“Let the beatings continue until the moral of the crew improves.” (them saying that, naturally – though the beatings had become much quieter once we were in military housing – mostly it was through restriction that they got things done) . . .
It was a strange life. And look. Here I have went and gone avoiding those issues again . . .
oh well: nuff for tonight. Just can’t seem to write until I get ‘these things’ done.