Issue Avoidance & Dancing Around the Scenes

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 . . .

(sighing)

oh well: nuff for tonight.  Just can’t seem to write until I get ‘these things’ done.

Advertisements

About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
This entry was posted in DID, mental health and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Go Ahead. You were thinking . . . ?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s