September 30, 2010
Fall Fallout
So, what's happening with Marj's annual "Fall Fallout," aka "Fall Freak-out" this year? Well, I'm only seeing my therapist once a week this time around and I even took last week off. There doesn't seem to be any need to stay somewhere else or have a therapy marathon in 2010. There seems to be a lot less panic than in previous years. So, that's all good.
But, I am dealing with a lot of grief and devastation. I've done quite a bit of grief work on my mother, but not so much on the old sperm donor. My father seems to be the focus of the therapy this year. After working through a lot of the panic and fear, I guess I'm ready to deal with the sadness and rejection issues that came from the man who was supposed to be my father. This man--who I wanted to be my Daddy--not only sexually abused me, but also systematically tortured me and broke my spirit, in addition to almost killing me on numerous occasions.
After crying and comforting this morning, I scratched out a poem. Here it is:
Nothing Human or Humane
Who are you?
How could you?
Force the innocence
From a precious child
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Your eyes don't see
Your ears don't hear
My pain and tears
Never seen or heard
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
My cries and pleas
To show some mercy
Mean nothing
To your cold, dead heart
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
The darkest evil
Pours from you
As you torture beauty
to unrecognizable ugly
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Copyright 2010, Marj McCabe ~ All rights reserved.
So, now I'm off to my therapist's office for a session. I will try to make it over to some blogs for a visit soon. I hope that the healing journey is kind to you today. And be kind to yourself, okay?
But, I am dealing with a lot of grief and devastation. I've done quite a bit of grief work on my mother, but not so much on the old sperm donor. My father seems to be the focus of the therapy this year. After working through a lot of the panic and fear, I guess I'm ready to deal with the sadness and rejection issues that came from the man who was supposed to be my father. This man--who I wanted to be my Daddy--not only sexually abused me, but also systematically tortured me and broke my spirit, in addition to almost killing me on numerous occasions.
After crying and comforting this morning, I scratched out a poem. Here it is:
Nothing Human or Humane
Who are you?
How could you?
Force the innocence
From a precious child
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Your eyes don't see
Your ears don't hear
My pain and tears
Never seen or heard
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
My cries and pleas
To show some mercy
Mean nothing
To your cold, dead heart
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
The darkest evil
Pours from you
As you torture beauty
to unrecognizable ugly
Is there nothing in you
That is human or humane?
Copyright 2010, Marj McCabe ~ All rights reserved.
So, now I'm off to my therapist's office for a session. I will try to make it over to some blogs for a visit soon. I hope that the healing journey is kind to you today. And be kind to yourself, okay?
Labels: abandonment, betrayal, broken, child abuse, comfort, feelings, grieving, inhumanity, Poetry, rejection, therapy
September 01, 2010
So, What's Happening?
Thank you all for your kind support on my last post. Even those of you who do not experience dissociation yourself--although we all do it, to a certain extent, like "highway hypnosis"--were very thoughtful in your comments. I so appreciate knowing that I am not alone.
So, my son did not want to go camping with us this past weekend and that brought up some rejection issues. At first, I started in with a lot of self-loathing and internal name calling like, "goober, loser," etc. Then, I just allowed myself to be sad. That feeling-the-feelings stuff really does help with my dissociation.
With some journaling and therapy "homework," I've come to the conclusion that rejection is a big issue for this "Fall Freak-out" period. Unfortunately, it also involves the actual fear of death if I get out of line. So, my therapy session tomorrow should be a whopper. Send up some prayers, thoughts or vibes, will you? Thanks in advance!
So, my son did not want to go camping with us this past weekend and that brought up some rejection issues. At first, I started in with a lot of self-loathing and internal name calling like, "goober, loser," etc. Then, I just allowed myself to be sad. That feeling-the-feelings stuff really does help with my dissociation.
With some journaling and therapy "homework," I've come to the conclusion that rejection is a big issue for this "Fall Freak-out" period. Unfortunately, it also involves the actual fear of death if I get out of line. So, my therapy session tomorrow should be a whopper. Send up some prayers, thoughts or vibes, will you? Thanks in advance!
Labels: dissociation, feelings, grieving, rejection, support, therapy
August 20, 2007
Looking at What I Don't Want to See
You know how Scrooge had the Ghost of Christmas Past to point things out for him? That's how I feel with a dream I had last night.
Earlier in the week, I felt like my therapist was suggesting something that I just couldn't see at the time.
This dream last night was like that long finger of the ghost, pointing. It was like a voice in my head, directing and asking, "Look! There. Can you see it now?" What I hadn't wanted to look at, but finally saw, was the scarier, crueler origins of my ever-present fear of rejection.
In the beginning of the week that just past, I was so proud of myself. I stayed present and I stayed safe while I was assertive, stated my boundaries and stood my ground during a difficult confrontation. I felt stressed and tired from the confrontation, but I felt good about myself and I didn't dissociate. I even asserted myself as I insisted on some time-out for me for self-care.
Yee haw! I was on a healthy roll!
Then, WHAM! I got stopped in my tracks. I immediately felt bad about myself--rejected and unlovable--after some perceived social snubs by some wealthy parents of students at my son's school. Uh oh. I could almost feel myself getting smaller. I could sense the old, familiar urge to run away and hide. I had to grab my cozy blanket and rock in my rocking chair to comfort and ground myself, in order to resist the dissociative urges.
I felt a bit better after talking it out with my husband. He agreed that some of the behaviors I endured were snobby and rude. Pardon the expression, but I just have no patience for people who act like their shit doesn't stink just because they have money and live in a big, fancy house!
Aaarrrgghh! How did I end up in this situation again?! The people in our immediate neighborhood have different values and priorities. They don't act like snobs. They are very down to earth.
But now my son has to deal with this at school. Just like I did. My high school, for instance, was full of kids who got brand-new cars the day they turned sixteen and went off to expensive, private colleges after graduation. This one girl, I'll never forget, never repeated the same stylish, put-together outfit in the six years I was with her at junior high and high school. I was lucky if I could mix and match enough to pull together a week's worth of clothes without repeating anything!
Anyway, in therapy, I had been casting my nets, so to speak, in search of some junior-high-aged part that, perhaps, I needed to work with on this rejection issue. I feel bad that I dismissed a part who was obviously hurting and calling out for attention. I didn't think she "qualified" because she's younger--between the ages of six and eight, I think. I've always thought of my social rejection era as being somewhere between the ages of 12 and 18; especially concentrated in the junior high years.
That's the time, after all, when I had to endure the social scenarios like walking up behind a group of girls I thought I liked and overhearing them say, "Nobody tell Marj where we're going. We don't want her to come." I was mortified. Back then, I did, literally, run away to hide my embarrassing, unacceptable, unlikeable self.
The dream I had last night started out in this oh-so-familiar way, with the pretty, popular girls rejecting and snubbing me. Ho Hum. That again. Then, the dream took a more sinister turn. In this version of my nightmare, all the popular "kids" look about college age and all live together...like some kind of co-ed fraternity or something. For some reason--even though I know I'm not welcome, not "allowed" there--I go up to the door and one of the resident guys lets me in. He's kinda giving me the tour of the place and being really friendly and nice to me. How strange.
I keep glancing at the front door nervously. I keep thinking, "What is this idiot doing? Doesn't he know that he'll be an outcast if the others return and find him being nice to me?" By the time the others do return, his hideous plan is revealed. He has lured me there in order to enslave me there permanently as his personal step-and-fetch servant!
At the end of the dream they're all standing around, snickering and laughing at the fool--me--who is cleaning and carrying and delivering every whim and desired thing to this guy. The same guy who was once so nice and kind to me is now ordering me about, criticizing my work and belittling me with insults. He is treating me as less than human.
Less than human.
That's what I was in real life. I was stripped of my most basic human dignity, rights and respect, the respect that all humans--child or adult--have an inherent right to. Why do we do it? As a species, why do we stoop to inhumanity? Why do we fool ourselves into thinking it's "us versus them?" How do we allow our ourselves to treat our fellow humans, our brothers--OUR OWN CHILDREN--as less than human objects?
Instead of recognizing that we re all connected--that we are all one--we strip these other divine souls of their humanity. We take an equal--a being that has come from the same source of light and love as ourselves--and we beat him down and strip him of all his rights and human dignity, until he is nothing more than an IT. That's what the plantation owners did to the slaves. That's what the Nazis did to the Jews. That's what my parents did to me.
I was set up. How was I ever supposed to stand up for myself, love myself, or find any social acceptance after that?
My old therapist used to accuse me of taking on too many of the world's problems. But it was my problem It is my problem. As unthinkable as it may seem, this is what parents can do to their own child. This wasn't black vs. white or Christian vs. Jew. This was a case of a parent reducing their own innocent, precious child to an object--an IT--for their own sick pleasure and convenience.
I know this to be true. But, I'm still not quite comprehending or accepting it.
It blows my mind wide open.
It breaks my heart in two.
Earlier in the week, I felt like my therapist was suggesting something that I just couldn't see at the time.
This dream last night was like that long finger of the ghost, pointing. It was like a voice in my head, directing and asking, "Look! There. Can you see it now?" What I hadn't wanted to look at, but finally saw, was the scarier, crueler origins of my ever-present fear of rejection.
In the beginning of the week that just past, I was so proud of myself. I stayed present and I stayed safe while I was assertive, stated my boundaries and stood my ground during a difficult confrontation. I felt stressed and tired from the confrontation, but I felt good about myself and I didn't dissociate. I even asserted myself as I insisted on some time-out for me for self-care.
Yee haw! I was on a healthy roll!
Then, WHAM! I got stopped in my tracks. I immediately felt bad about myself--rejected and unlovable--after some perceived social snubs by some wealthy parents of students at my son's school. Uh oh. I could almost feel myself getting smaller. I could sense the old, familiar urge to run away and hide. I had to grab my cozy blanket and rock in my rocking chair to comfort and ground myself, in order to resist the dissociative urges.
I felt a bit better after talking it out with my husband. He agreed that some of the behaviors I endured were snobby and rude. Pardon the expression, but I just have no patience for people who act like their shit doesn't stink just because they have money and live in a big, fancy house!
Aaarrrgghh! How did I end up in this situation again?! The people in our immediate neighborhood have different values and priorities. They don't act like snobs. They are very down to earth.
But now my son has to deal with this at school. Just like I did. My high school, for instance, was full of kids who got brand-new cars the day they turned sixteen and went off to expensive, private colleges after graduation. This one girl, I'll never forget, never repeated the same stylish, put-together outfit in the six years I was with her at junior high and high school. I was lucky if I could mix and match enough to pull together a week's worth of clothes without repeating anything!
Anyway, in therapy, I had been casting my nets, so to speak, in search of some junior-high-aged part that, perhaps, I needed to work with on this rejection issue. I feel bad that I dismissed a part who was obviously hurting and calling out for attention. I didn't think she "qualified" because she's younger--between the ages of six and eight, I think. I've always thought of my social rejection era as being somewhere between the ages of 12 and 18; especially concentrated in the junior high years.
That's the time, after all, when I had to endure the social scenarios like walking up behind a group of girls I thought I liked and overhearing them say, "Nobody tell Marj where we're going. We don't want her to come." I was mortified. Back then, I did, literally, run away to hide my embarrassing, unacceptable, unlikeable self.
The dream I had last night started out in this oh-so-familiar way, with the pretty, popular girls rejecting and snubbing me. Ho Hum. That again. Then, the dream took a more sinister turn. In this version of my nightmare, all the popular "kids" look about college age and all live together...like some kind of co-ed fraternity or something. For some reason--even though I know I'm not welcome, not "allowed" there--I go up to the door and one of the resident guys lets me in. He's kinda giving me the tour of the place and being really friendly and nice to me. How strange.
I keep glancing at the front door nervously. I keep thinking, "What is this idiot doing? Doesn't he know that he'll be an outcast if the others return and find him being nice to me?" By the time the others do return, his hideous plan is revealed. He has lured me there in order to enslave me there permanently as his personal step-and-fetch servant!
At the end of the dream they're all standing around, snickering and laughing at the fool--me--who is cleaning and carrying and delivering every whim and desired thing to this guy. The same guy who was once so nice and kind to me is now ordering me about, criticizing my work and belittling me with insults. He is treating me as less than human.
Less than human.
That's what I was in real life. I was stripped of my most basic human dignity, rights and respect, the respect that all humans--child or adult--have an inherent right to. Why do we do it? As a species, why do we stoop to inhumanity? Why do we fool ourselves into thinking it's "us versus them?" How do we allow our ourselves to treat our fellow humans, our brothers--OUR OWN CHILDREN--as less than human objects?
Instead of recognizing that we re all connected--that we are all one--we strip these other divine souls of their humanity. We take an equal--a being that has come from the same source of light and love as ourselves--and we beat him down and strip him of all his rights and human dignity, until he is nothing more than an IT. That's what the plantation owners did to the slaves. That's what the Nazis did to the Jews. That's what my parents did to me.
I was set up. How was I ever supposed to stand up for myself, love myself, or find any social acceptance after that?
My old therapist used to accuse me of taking on too many of the world's problems. But it was my problem It is my problem. As unthinkable as it may seem, this is what parents can do to their own child. This wasn't black vs. white or Christian vs. Jew. This was a case of a parent reducing their own innocent, precious child to an object--an IT--for their own sick pleasure and convenience.
I know this to be true. But, I'm still not quite comprehending or accepting it.
It blows my mind wide open.
It breaks my heart in two.
Labels: child abuse, human dignity, inhumanity, rejection, seeing the truth, social acceptance
July 12, 2006
The Many Faces of Abuse
I'm writing this post for Marcella's Abyss2Hope Blog Carnival Against Sexual Violence. She wanted to get some articles that involve emotional and verbal abuse.
There was no talking (except for some brief begging from me) during my college rape. But, the abuse that I suffered as a child--sexual, physical and what I call spiritual--cannot be separated from the emotional and verbal abuse that went along with it.
My father could be described as many things, one being a rage addict. He would fly into out-of-control rages that always included verbal abuse toward anyone who happened to be in his way at the time. Some of his favorite terms to use on me were, "idiot," and "stupid moron." I still play these tapes in my mind when I hit a low spot. My work continues for improving my self-esteem and eliminating those terms from my self-talk vocabulary.
When I was growing up, my father was an avid tennis player. He prided himself on being able to easily defeat tennis opponents who were half his age. At one point, he decided that he was going to give his three young children tennis lessons. I remember that we were given these wooden "rackets" to use. I remember them looking homemade--my father may have crafted them himself. They looked like something one would use to play a giant game of ping pong.
I'll never forget my father's lack of patience and annoyance when attempting to teach us tennis. One of his favorite coaching techniques was to come up right behind me and yell in my ear, "What are you, an idiot?!"
He was also verbally abusive during the sexual abuse, of course. I think, however, that my mother's verbal and emotional abuse following sexual assaults was much more damaging to me. The betrayal, abandonment and rejection from my mother is still difficult for me to deal with. On numerous occasions, my mother would clean me up after my father had his way with me. I remember lying on the little bath rug in the middle of the bathroom floor while my mother dabbed and wiped.
The message was clear from her words to me during these clean-up sessions. It was a message of judgment and damnation and it was almost impossible for me to bear. My mother called me a "bad, dirty, evil girl." Then she would lament about how she seriously doubted that even God could forgive such a girl as me. She told me I would have to pray diligently to Jesus to intervene on my behalf. Perhaps, if I asked Jesus into my heart and prayed and prayed for his forgiveness and intervention, I would be able to avoid the fires of hell.
One of my mother's top priorities was to see to it that her children were raised in a strict Christian religious upbringing. I remember a lot of talk about the concept of original sin in these early teachings. Because I believed what I was told about original sin, I was sure that I was just born bad and evil. I was convinced that I deserved everything that both of my parents dished out with their abuse of me. I knew to my core that I deserved what I got and I would most likely never be forgiven for it.
This is the verbal abuse that leads to emotional damage of what I call spiritual abuse. I believe that it suited the interests of both of my parents to break my spirit. They attempted soul murder.
I no longer believe in hell. This spiritual shift has provided enormous relief for me. I now believe in a loving, compassionate and accepting God--not one who condemns tiny children to burn for eternity. The tapes that play "stupid moron" in my head have lost quite a bit of their potency. Yet, my self-esteem is still a work in progress.
Don't forget: The deadline for the second edition of our Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is Monday, July 17, 2006. You can browse the carnivals in alpha order at www.blogcarnival.com or go directly to the submission form here.
***Trigger Warning: Be careful and stay safe while reading the following material.***
There was no talking (except for some brief begging from me) during my college rape. But, the abuse that I suffered as a child--sexual, physical and what I call spiritual--cannot be separated from the emotional and verbal abuse that went along with it.
My father could be described as many things, one being a rage addict. He would fly into out-of-control rages that always included verbal abuse toward anyone who happened to be in his way at the time. Some of his favorite terms to use on me were, "idiot," and "stupid moron." I still play these tapes in my mind when I hit a low spot. My work continues for improving my self-esteem and eliminating those terms from my self-talk vocabulary.
When I was growing up, my father was an avid tennis player. He prided himself on being able to easily defeat tennis opponents who were half his age. At one point, he decided that he was going to give his three young children tennis lessons. I remember that we were given these wooden "rackets" to use. I remember them looking homemade--my father may have crafted them himself. They looked like something one would use to play a giant game of ping pong.
I'll never forget my father's lack of patience and annoyance when attempting to teach us tennis. One of his favorite coaching techniques was to come up right behind me and yell in my ear, "What are you, an idiot?!"
He was also verbally abusive during the sexual abuse, of course. I think, however, that my mother's verbal and emotional abuse following sexual assaults was much more damaging to me. The betrayal, abandonment and rejection from my mother is still difficult for me to deal with. On numerous occasions, my mother would clean me up after my father had his way with me. I remember lying on the little bath rug in the middle of the bathroom floor while my mother dabbed and wiped.
The message was clear from her words to me during these clean-up sessions. It was a message of judgment and damnation and it was almost impossible for me to bear. My mother called me a "bad, dirty, evil girl." Then she would lament about how she seriously doubted that even God could forgive such a girl as me. She told me I would have to pray diligently to Jesus to intervene on my behalf. Perhaps, if I asked Jesus into my heart and prayed and prayed for his forgiveness and intervention, I would be able to avoid the fires of hell.
One of my mother's top priorities was to see to it that her children were raised in a strict Christian religious upbringing. I remember a lot of talk about the concept of original sin in these early teachings. Because I believed what I was told about original sin, I was sure that I was just born bad and evil. I was convinced that I deserved everything that both of my parents dished out with their abuse of me. I knew to my core that I deserved what I got and I would most likely never be forgiven for it.
This is the verbal abuse that leads to emotional damage of what I call spiritual abuse. I believe that it suited the interests of both of my parents to break my spirit. They attempted soul murder.
I no longer believe in hell. This spiritual shift has provided enormous relief for me. I now believe in a loving, compassionate and accepting God--not one who condemns tiny children to burn for eternity. The tapes that play "stupid moron" in my head have lost quite a bit of their potency. Yet, my self-esteem is still a work in progress.
Don't forget: The deadline for the second edition of our Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse is Monday, July 17, 2006. You can browse the carnivals in alpha order at www.blogcarnival.com or go directly to the submission form here.
Labels: abandonment, awareness, betrayal, Blog Against Sexual Violence, broken, child abuse, rejection, self-esteem, self-forgiveness
