I Really Wanted To Make A Difference In This World
When i was younger just before I was old enough to go to school, I was abused over the span of about a month, I was abused by a teenage boy, by Danny Collins. Molested is a better word for it. Mercifully most the graphic, physical details are largely unremembered.
Molestation makes the abused feel dirty, and ashamed, helpless, and weak, small,and dirty, unclean, and afraid and alone, and cut off.
The deeds themselves only lasted a few minutes here, a half hour there, so long as i can remember anyway. The acts them selves were one thing. The REAL pain, the damage starts in the memories, in the feelings and and emotions, in the aftermath. It begins ripping the heart from spirit, the soul from the mind.
Although i had a whole family of older brothers and an older sister, non wanted to be bothered with their annoying baby brother tagging long ruining the the hours of a summer day. They would all wake up about the same time and bolt out the front door, before one of them could be stuck with the tedious task of dragging me along, so my mom had danny wayche me.
Not understanding how my mother or family could not see what I saw saw in him, how they couldn't know what I knew, feel what i was feeling. How they could NOT feel my shame, feel my hurt, know my pain. I felt distanced and detached from my family, just a dirty ugly stranger, choked by my dirty ugly secret, with familiar family eyes.
Experiencing them looking into my abusers face with respect and friendship: with acceptance and appreciation was painful, it hurt.
I felt as if the respect, and friendliness, the acceptance and appreciation that he was was receiving was the same that used to be mine. I felt like I had been replaced by him for for failing my family by become so vile and untouchable. It made me fell replaceable. I don't know what it may have done to another in this situation. but i but I what it did to me.
It ushered in a whole new family of grownup, dark, bitter, brooding feelings, feelings far to caustic, and destructive, for to polluting and weakening for a vulnerable heart losing its innocence.
Although it was highly unwarranted, as my mother didn't knew,but still, it flooded my emotions with bitterness and resentment towards my mother. Bitterness because she was the one who sent me to my place of filth, of dirt. She was so happy to see me off to my place of changing, my place of transition.
I felt Betrayed by my mother, who, unknowingly and unwittingly sent me to the place of shadows where the my worthlessness and shame grew stronger at every arrival.
Helplessness and frustration and bitterness where constant reminders of of how ugly, and worthless, and cheap, I had become, and was was becoming. I cant say what others may have went through, but I remember well what I went through..
I felt helpless because there was little i could do, even less that i could say, I was a small, weak, an unseen face, with an unheard voice in the world of grown ups in a sea of big words and conversations of matters with far greater import than I could have ever been.
I felt, weak. Weak for lacking the inner strength to do something about it, for not fighting back. for not saying something. It made me feel cowardly for not having the courage to take charge and save my self. I felt stupid for not knowing what to do or how to do it, stupid for not figuring out a way of escape.
I felt invisible, small, and insignificant. The pain and fear, and shame were strong and ever present, unshakable. They consumed my every thought. Every waking second of every waking moment, every single hour of every day was spent on pondering things far to vast to power, of trying to make sense, of a senseless situation. This went on,a good many days. off and on through out my childhood.
I realized my family and mother couldn't see what i was going through. It seemed as though they looked into my face and saw a distant memory of who I once was.
They didn't see what I had become. I felt invisible unseen and unworthy, alone.
Molestation makes the abused feel dirty, and ashamed, helpless, and weak, small,and dirty, unclean, and afraid and alone, and cut off.
The deeds themselves only lasted a few minutes here, a half hour there, so long as i can remember anyway. The acts them selves were one thing. The REAL pain, the damage starts in the memories, in the feelings and and emotions, in the aftermath. It begins ripping the heart from spirit, the soul from the mind.
Although i had a whole family of older brothers and an older sister, non wanted to be bothered with their annoying baby brother tagging long ruining the the hours of a summer day. They would all wake up about the same time and bolt out the front door, before one of them could be stuck with the tedious task of dragging me along, so my mom had danny wayche me.
Not understanding how my mother or family could not see what I saw saw in him, how they couldn't know what I knew, feel what i was feeling. How they could NOT feel my shame, feel my hurt, know my pain. I felt distanced and detached from my family, just a dirty ugly stranger, choked by my dirty ugly secret, with familiar family eyes.
Experiencing them looking into my abusers face with respect and friendship: with acceptance and appreciation was painful, it hurt.
I felt as if the respect, and friendliness, the acceptance and appreciation that he was was receiving was the same that used to be mine. I felt like I had been replaced by him for for failing my family by become so vile and untouchable. It made me fell replaceable. I don't know what it may have done to another in this situation. but i but I what it did to me.
It ushered in a whole new family of grownup, dark, bitter, brooding feelings, feelings far to caustic, and destructive, for to polluting and weakening for a vulnerable heart losing its innocence.
Although it was highly unwarranted, as my mother didn't knew,but still, it flooded my emotions with bitterness and resentment towards my mother. Bitterness because she was the one who sent me to my place of filth, of dirt. She was so happy to see me off to my place of changing, my place of transition.
I felt Betrayed by my mother, who, unknowingly and unwittingly sent me to the place of shadows where the my worthlessness and shame grew stronger at every arrival.
Helplessness and frustration and bitterness where constant reminders of of how ugly, and worthless, and cheap, I had become, and was was becoming. I cant say what others may have went through, but I remember well what I went through..
I felt helpless because there was little i could do, even less that i could say, I was a small, weak, an unseen face, with an unheard voice in the world of grown ups in a sea of big words and conversations of matters with far greater import than I could have ever been.
I felt, weak. Weak for lacking the inner strength to do something about it, for not fighting back. for not saying something. It made me feel cowardly for not having the courage to take charge and save my self. I felt stupid for not knowing what to do or how to do it, stupid for not figuring out a way of escape.
I felt invisible, small, and insignificant. The pain and fear, and shame were strong and ever present, unshakable. They consumed my every thought. Every waking second of every waking moment, every single hour of every day was spent on pondering things far to vast to power, of trying to make sense, of a senseless situation. This went on,a good many days. off and on through out my childhood.
I realized my family and mother couldn't see what i was going through. It seemed as though they looked into my face and saw a distant memory of who I once was.
They didn't see what I had become. I felt invisible unseen and unworthy, alone.
56-60, M
