by Band Back Together | Jan 22, 2015 | Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Child Sexual Abuse, Rape/Sexual Assault, Self Loathing |
We all have ghost from the past that haunt us. Things we’ve seen that we can’t shake off, and won’t let us sleep at night. There are choices we wish we never made. We are some times broken. Desperately gasping for air. We feel dead inside and our hearts go cold, but our faces wear a mask of happiness to avoid uncomfortable conversations.
Sometimes we walk around feeling hollow, pretending to be people we aren’t and to a certain point we don’t even know who we are. Our identities taken from us, or lost in an abyss. Lost souls looking to find home and peace within themselves. I know how I got to this point; it’s complex and dark, and hard to stomach. I was a little girl. There were things happening to me that I didn’t understand, or wished I didn’t understand. My space was invaded and I would suppress it. Pretending that it wasn’t me it was happening to, because things like that didn’t happen to innocent people. But it was happening and it was real.
For years I was told I was stupid, fat, and lazy. I was doomed from the day I was born. Raised by a sister who was constantly taken advantage of by different men. We lived in a house hold where secrets simmered under a blanket of lies. Each of us stained by men. Our innocence tainted. It kills us slowly. Trying not to think of it. Wishing it didn’t happen feeling dirty and used. Our minds feel empty. Like there’s nothing left because all of our thoughts were taken from us at a young age. I remember how scared I was. How I knew what was coming every time I came home from school. It became our routine.
There are times where I’ll be doing something and I think about everything that’s happened to me, the abuse, the different guys I’ve let inside me, how I was told I was nothing. How I let myself believe that I’m not worth anything, and I get pissed off. I hate myself for letting myself submit to so much mistreatment. Sometimes I can feel my sanity leaving, my mind withering away. I can’t think as clearly, I can’t speak properly, and I become more withdrawn from the world. I become lost in my own mind. I trap myself in dark thoughts and I won’t let myself escape.
I’ve literally become two different people. Problem is I don’t know which one is me. Who the fuck am I? I look into the mirror and I swear I can’t seem to process who’s looking back at me. It’s almost like I don’t know my own reflection. I continue to let myself used as some dishrag because I believe that’s what I’m worth. Like as much as I might desire love, I’m not worthy of it. I’m honestly pretty sure I’m cursed, because I’ve been fucked over by almost every guy in my life. Let’s save that for later though.
Sometimes I can see the person I was supposed to be, or the person I could be. But her image is kinda fades. I wish it was as easy as ripping all the bullshit from your heart. Kinda like when you rip a piece of duct tape from your skin like dusting of rubble and dust from a gold totem. I wish it would be that easy to take the unbearable pain away. I want the scars on my skin to fade away. Because I swear there are nights where I feel like all hope is lost. I’ve been fighting for six years to recover …and I’m just confused now. Maybe I’m confused because despite all this bullshit I’m rambling about, all the hate, anger,and hopelessness. I’m still fierce, fighting, and strong. I still have hope and my heart burns with a passion to live life to it’s fullest.
I just need it to get better.
I want to live.
by Band Back Together | Jan 21, 2015 | Coping With Losing A Partner, Fear, Help For Grief And Grieving, How To Cope With A Suicide, Partner/Spouse Loss, Sadness, Suicide |
The love of my life chose to end his life two weeks ago today. There are no words to convey the loss and desperate emptiness I feel. He has struggled for years. I share here the words that I wrote during his last attempt, in August, as he struggled on a ventilator. I could do nothing but alternate between simply staring and listening and scribbling each moment as they came, clinging to each memory, as I feared that it would be our last.
He had threatened so many times that, sadly, the last time I saw him, I did not truly believe that it would be the last. You had to have seen the movie “Where Dreams May Come” to truly understand his final words to me.
“We are soulmates. I will always find you.”
We had a standing promise that no matter where life or death took either of us, we would find some way to find each other. This movie resonated strongly with us. For now, I digress and share my sad, almost prophetic words from my last experience as a tribute to him, as I know nothing else to do anymore but preserve and express my love for him and privately and also as publicly as possible.
A Tribute:
I write this as I look at you. Rise and fall. Mechanical clicking partially drowned out by The Fray’s “Happiness”. I thought I had felt pain before. Well, I have. This surpasses pain. Just like “love”. I don’t know the appropriate word to convey this emotion. If I were Catholic, I suppose I would be sitting in Limbo. Joy on one side, torture on the other. Once again, these words do not fit.
I write these words not knowing if you will ever hear them. I suppose either way, you will somehow.
I have had so much to talk to you about …so much to say to you. I began it in a text, which sits unread on your phone. I couldn’t wait for today, but to be sitting here now? My heart can’t handle it. It’s laying trapped in a chest two feet from me, still keeping the rhythmic pumping and it dances with yours. For how long?
I have told you before, but I couldn’t feel it like this until this moment. I am connected to you. I can’t come up with the words to explain how. I watch my own life hang in the balance. I know that if you die, I do, too. Maybe not my physical body, but the part of me that matters.
I knew that this would be a horrific feeling, but I had no idea how badly someone could hurt on the inside. I feel like I am being turned inside out. The world stopped turning. Perhaps literally, as there was an earthquake and pending hurricane. Perhaps, the earth itself groans in pain. The sun does not shine. There is no light. It has lost its meaning.
Being separated from you before was terrible, but I could still feel you out there. You were and are omnipresent to me. You are in the air. I never comprehended that something so simple as the scent of your hair could impact me so much. Colors fade. Light is darkness. But the music, I still find you there. It is something that is somehow not taken. The emotion with it is horrible right now, but I find you there, and so that is where I will stay for now. As I listen, perhaps you are the DJ. Every note, every word somehow fits each moment. “If there is no one else beside you where your soul embarks, I will follow you into the dark.”
I would still follow you if I had a choice, but perhaps the only clarity of the moment is that I do not. I will be taken, and I will go, but I hope that we do not have to.
Perhaps, this is paraphrasing, but I believe that is was F. Scott Fitzgerald that said, “I wish I had done everything in the world with you.”
I suppose that is still possible, regardless of what happens here. The world does not end at death, but mine does with yours. And so, as I know that my journey continues here for now, I can only hope and pray that you will continue to be my co-pilot.
Somewhere between the mechanical world and the spiritual realm that surround me, it is the organic that brings me the only comfort. The rise and fall of your chest may as well be a million seaside sunsets. I catch myself drifting, lulled by the peaceful repetition of each movement.
Again, I never fathomed that something so “simple” …how quickly and unexpectedly things can gain or lose their meaning.
I made sure to eat three times today. As I am not sleeping, I need something to keep me going for you. I even got some cookies. I tasted nothing. My stomach cramped. I didn’t feel it. The road poured ahead of me. I didn’t see it.
Nothing. There is nothing but this music and the rise and fall and the feeling that I never want either to end.
I am not sure where these words are coming from. I have drawn deeper into myself than, perhaps, I ever have. My motions are mechanical. I’m not sure what is guiding my physical movements. From soul to paper, I don’t feel attached to the space between, and, as I write, it takes me further and further away.
Where am I going? What is happening? Are you taking me with you? I am coming. Wherever you are and wherever this body is, I feel myself drifting somewhere in between.
I’m not sure that these words will make sense to anyone else at any other time, myself included, but, as I write, it is all I can do.
I have been emotionally stripped down. This is as raw as I come.
I’m not sure when they will pull me from your room. It may literally take that. I don’t feel capable of leaving you on my own.
I have no concept of time. I know that a good bit of time has passed from my first word to this one, but it could as easily been a minute as a year. What does it matter?
The rise and fall. The steady rolls of your breaths and the jumps between of your heart. I may experience the beauty or profundity of such things, but, as I bear record here, it will always serve as some form of remembrance in the future, whether it is a tear on my cheek or a curl on your lips, only time can tell.
Time. Time. Even letters look foreign. Words sound garbled. I feel as if somehow I have already known you for an eternity. Or maybe it was only a second. What is time, anyway? It simultaneously means nothing and everything to me right now. As it carries on this moment, it means nothing, but thinking moments into the future make my head spin. All I have is this one, and in this one, you are here, and, for now, THAT is all that matters.
My head quickly fills with horrific thoughts if I let it ponder beyond this second. What if I never hear your voice again? What if you never even read these chaotic words? What if …blank. Fortunately, my mind has pulled me back to now. There is enough time to worry about the future if it comes to that. All that matters now is this moment and the fact that you are still in it.
My eyes draw up. In that instant, your eyes flutter open. I don’t know if you saw me. Words can’t describe what I saw. Not even now. I suppose that this proves that there truly are no words for what I feel when our eyes meet, and I think, no, I know that that’s okay. I know what I feel, and I believe that you do, too, so why waste time struggling with an explanation that surpasses words? Time. We’re back to that. I suppose the future could be worse. It could be the already determined past, and all those wasted moments.
“I want to feel you. I need to hear you. You are the light that is leading me to the place where I find peace. You are the light unto my soul. You are my movements, you are my everything. And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you? You still my heart, and you steal my breath away. Would you take me in? Take me deeper now.”
I wrote as fast as this pen and hand would move, trying to pick up the pieces before they were laid out. I didn’t know the lyrics as well as I thought I did. Maybe that isn’t exactly what it said, but that was all that I heard.
And, now, as the physical sleepiness sets in, I feel myself being drawn back, back into this world, which somehow, stands still, suspended, and all there is is you. I don’t want these eyes to close. I fear the next thing that I see. But, for now…
You ARE the DJ! I should not have feared the next thing I saw. I looked up. Your eyes. I know that you saw me this time. I reached for your hand. You grabbed mine. I tried to adjust. Tighter. “My hands are holding you,” pour out over the speakers. I hear you, baby. I hear you.
I don’t know what is happening, but after these moments, I feel overwhelming peace. Somehow, it is okay, and I don’t know how, but it is.
I got lost in your blue eyes, your warmth, your touch, and I transcended. I’m not sure where we went, but it was not here, and it is okay. For now, at least, fear is gone. It is okay. Enough words for now. Time for some peaceful, quiet, wordless moments with you before sleep.
by Band Back Together | Jan 20, 2015 | Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Psychological Manipulation, Self-Esteem, Suicide |
I guess I am not your typical abuse survivor. I still hurt from the turmoil that I have gone through, but I will not ever allow it to control me or change how I feel about me. Healing myself was ugly, hard work, but I did it.
I thought a long time about no longer allowing myself to be angry with this person. I still have an emotional response to the memory, but I chose to learn from where I had been in life. I understood both sides of the coin. The first step was learning and accepting that I did not have to allow those things to make me feel like I was the worst person on the planet. It is not easy to let these things go, by the way. Healing the wounds of the Soul is very dirty, very ugly, very personal, and of course, very hard work.
Yet, it is work that is well worth the effort because it helps us to grow into who we are meant to be. It takes time, patience and lots of acceptance of ourselves with all of our flaws. It is not for the faint of heart. Judging from the things that I have learned, I find that the only thing that is missing for a whole lot of people on this planet is NOT the balls to do anything, but rather the permission.
It seems kind of weird to think that we would need to permit ourselves to feel one way or another. We have been taught to turn the other cheek and “take it like a man,” and when we did, we just ended up getting hurt.
I was not meant to be someone’s target, but that is how they win – by our being so damned down on ourselves that eventually, the control that they have wielded for so long finally makes us sick enough in the soul to end our own pain. If I did not choose to let my abuser’s own sickness of the soul further permeate my soul, I would have probably done something very bad to myself, and would not have even tried to start my own healing practice (which, that is what I am in this lifetime – a Medicine Woman. My first client was me). Had I not decided to stop the ongoing recording that was his voice, and then eventually my own voice agreeing with him, I would not be here to tell anyone that there is another way of looking at what you have gone through.
I am not saying that you have to literally make amends with whoever it was who hurt you, but you can make amends with you, over what they did to you. You can heal yourself through meditation, art, journaling, through a whole lot of different things. You can go on to be everything you want to be, in your own life.
The reality is that we have all been through a whole lot. The thing about verbal or emotional abuse is that, whatever is being said, is not the truth.
This is the beauty of the other side of things, the part that, when we are in the throes of all the things that we need to escape, is that WE are who create ourselves. We are lucky when we are afforded with the chance to recreate ourselves after we have been what seems as though an eternal wounding. It only stays that way if you let it stay that way. This is one of those things that we are not taught. The sting from it all is not forever. You can create a new thought about it.
Creating new thoughts about anything at all is how this consciousness was created. We were all and each created in the image that is that of Love, not division. What abusers like to do is divide us from all that we know, and then eventually, from all that we are. They do not want us to be who we are – they need to create something that they can call their own. We, on the other hand, have the chance to create beauty from the excrement left by the abuse. It is the other side of the coin, really.
Sure, we can choose to think about our abusers as the pinata at a birthday party, but that just creates within us a negative energy like them. It is our downfall that we feel the need to convince our abusers that we are not the bad person that they have told us we are. It is not up to us to convince anyone else about who we are. We only need to be able to see ourselves as lovable and worthwhile.
Think about it. The thing that makes us all want to cry are the things that are said that hurt us. Okay fine. BUT, the thing that makes us crazy is our trying to convince anyone else who we are. If it is not the truth, it is not the truth, and no one can change that. Truth is truth, no matter what, no matter what anyone else has to say about you.
You went through what you went through for no other reason than that you loved someone else. It is okay to accept that you have come a very long way. You are no longer required to believe what you were told. You alone have walked the fire, barefoot and without anyone there to teach you how to not get burned.
The grass is not greener anywhere else. No one tells us about the messes that they make. They only point out the messes that we have had a hand in helping to create. When we stop thinking that the grass might be greener, that we could have done something different, this is when you would do well to remind yourself that grass does not grow in cement, but only up through the cracks which reveal the truth of the ground beneath it.
There are a lot of ways to think about being abused. One day, the only thought in your head will be that you survived it, and that the rest of the world can kiss your sweet okole.
Aloha!
by Band Back Together | Dec 22, 2014 | Bringing the Happy Back World Tour, Happiness |
I recently heard about a sad story. (Don’t worry, it has a happy ending.) An artist at the tattoo shop I go to has a son who suffered brain trauma at birth, among other things. He is probably only a couple of years old. He can laugh and smile but that is about it. He can’t walk or talk, and he needs a feeding tube to eat. He is such a precious child though.
The tattoo shop decided to put on a fundraiser to help him get life-changing medical treatment. They had raffles and $50-100 tattoos of awareness ribbons. They called it Ribbons for Silas. I went and got a ribbon tattoo and a few raffle tickets to help as much as I could for this little boy. My tattoo is green and teal for Bipolar awareness and Sexual Abuse awareness, and it’s probably the most meaningful tattoo I have. It is beautiful. Here it is!
Now remember I said it had a happy ending? Well the tattoo shop was able to raise over $7,000 for Silas! I am so happy I was able to a part of the success! Now Silas can get the medical help he so desperately needs and deserves!
by Band Back Together | Dec 19, 2014 | Child Sexual Abuse, Shame, Uncategorized |
I’ve been keeping this a secret for years. The only thing I know is how to keep it a secret. I was molested as a child by two people, different times and no one in my family knows. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not my brothers.
How do you open up about this to someone you love? How will they believe anything you say? How will they believe you after all the years that has passed? Why is it easier to let your best friends know, but not your family?
I don’t want to tell my family because who knows what will happen after. I’m scared. I’m scared they won’t believe me and call me a liar. I’m scared what they might do to them.
But I still want to tell them. I just don’t know how. If I tell them, it’ll set me free. A huge weight lifted from my shoulders. This is probably the one thing keeping me from moving on.
It hurts me to hurt my family, but it hurts me more to keep this from my family. I think about it too much when I shouldn’t, but I don’t know what to do. I’m clueless.
by Band Back Together | Dec 18, 2014 | Anxiety, Bullying, Childhood Bullying, Coping With Bullying, Cyberbullying, Depression, Feelings, Happiness, How To Heal From Being Bullied, How To Help A Loved One Who Self-Injures, Self Injury, Teen Bullying, Teen Self Injury, Therapy |
I was in the third grade when I was given my first labels.
“Whale.” “Fat.”
I hear it now, as I did six years ago.
Still I hear it ringing through my ears, wondering if it is the truth.
Years later I think to myself, do they know how hurtful those words are? Do they know I still think of it? Do they know that every time I look in the mirror, those names, those labels comes to mind, along with many others.
If they do, if they did, would they still have chosen to say that, or would they go back and erase it?
I wonder.
Fast forward three years.
Just starting middle school, a new school, a new beginning, a new life. Right?
Wrong.
With a new school, comes a new bully, new names.
“Bitch.” “Slut.” “Ugly.” “Poodle head.”
The names go on.
And the first time in my life, I feel helpless.
I feel trapped.
Because now, not only were they attacking verbally, but now they attacked through social media.
Helplessly, I admit defeat, and call for help.
Therapy for one year.
It helps.
I stop going.
No more bullies …for now.
One year later.
Half-way through the terrible mix.
Not an adult, but not a kid.
You’re changing in different ways.
Discovering new things about yourself.
Life is great …until they come again.
A new army of bullies ready to take down their first victim.
“Idiot.” “Fat.” “No good.” “Dirty whore.” “Lame.” “Loser.”
Those were the nice ones.
One more year…
Once again, a new year, a new bully
This time it’s worse.
“Thunder Thighs” is the only thing I was called.
One name, twice the pain.
I pull out my razor, to help relieve the mental tension.
Trying to replace mental pain with physical pain.
It works …for a little while.
One year later.
I am now clean.
Going through therapy.
Recently diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety,
This puts a toll on my family.
I try and push through it, as I’ve done for years.
Apparently, I’m a great actress,
Fooling everyone around me that I am happy.
But now, I no longer have to pretend…
I am getting help.
Even though it hurts sometimes…
And those awful memories flood back.
I have self control…
I am seven months clean.
Still with urges, I manage to throw away my razor, and speak up.
With help from my family and friends, I am on the road to recovery.
Because after all, my disorder doesn’t define me.
