by Band Back Together | Oct 8, 2015 | Abuse, Bullying, Fear, Loneliness, Self Loathing |
First, let me share some things I’ve learned from several sources.
According to some sources, as children, our brains are extraordinary at forming new connections. We are more able to learn any number of skills as children than as adults. We retain a certain amount of neuroplasticity into adulthood, but most of our neural circuitry becomes fixed.
According to some sources, in childhood we are mirrors. That is, especially in childhood, we are prone to taking what others give us in regard to our self-image. This may explain why some of us grow up with decent self-esteem levels and others have little to none. Certainly, we still are mirrors as adults, but we don’t usually morph ourselves to conform to what others say or do as often.
Bullied kids tend to take on the names that their bullies give them.
Children who encounter abuse of any kind tend to shape themselves according to that abuse. We become the”‘ugly” or the “stupid” or the unwanted” that we’re told we are. We become desperate ones, seeking the approval or protection we never got as kids.
So, I must ask the question if it is truly possible to recover from childhood trauma and abuse?
How do we replace the experiences we were deprived of as children when we become adults? It’s not possible to delete our bad memories like some corrupted file and replace it with an error-free one. This is something our machines have the advantage in; when their parts and pieces break or fail, they are easy to replace. The myriad experiences that make up an individual personality are unique and irreplaceable.
But how many people wish that certain things would have been different?
In my own life, I wish that my childhood was different. That certain things never happened. I have no idea this would differ among us. What would that man be like? Would things have been the same yet better?
I can’t have an affectionate father. I can’t have a healthy mother.
I live in another town, away from the abuse. I can’t have it any other way than it is now. It is what it is.
How do I heal this gaping hole in my heart where self-confidence is supposed to be, when the experiences are long gone?
Self-care goes a long way.
Flipping all the negative over and telling yourself good things can go a long way.
But there are times that all of it seems so hollow. That little boy can’t be protected. The damage was done long ago. The boy is now a man, all the wounds are scarred over. Permanently.
When I imagine the future, it’s one in which I’m alone, friendless, without comfort. I feel like a dumbass when I daydream a better future. Companions and friends who actually visit. Maybe even a significant other.
I KNOW it’s because I had shitty experiences growing up. People who have had a healthy childhood EXPECT more of the same from the future. They have no problem imagining nice futures.
After all, their inner children feel happy and safe. They aren’t disbelieving when someone misses them or expresses their admiration. They probably think “Yeah, I am pretty great!” I don’t believe compliments. I attribute them as ignorance or politeness. I’ve made a conscious effort to be gracious when I receive a compliment lately, but my initial reaction, is always, at the core, negative.
So, since these experiences are fixed, can we ameliorate the past by adding new experiences? I don’t know.
At the end of even a great day, I still feel ready for the other shoe to drop. The few fun dates I’ve had as a single man don’t engender any hopeful attitude for me. I just give up on these relationships, believing I’m just getting to the inevitable conclusion. These past few years have been hard.
I’m alone half the time. I don’t have a ‘circle.’ The friends I had are no more. They have lives. I don’t have anywhere to fit in. Everywhere I go, I feel like an interloper. Permanently sidelined. Wallflower. I want to move, yet I cannot imagine what would be different. After all, no matter where you go, there YOU are.
Sometimes I fantasize about a new life. Friends who visit and invite me to things, self-confidence, a real relationship with someone who is my best friend AND lover. I want so desperately to have this new life, where I’m not ashamed of myself in public. Where I make eye contact with people and put my best foot forward. Where I’m not embarrassed by ME. In this new life, I’m not scared of rejection. After all, in this fantasy, I actually love myself, so rejection doesn’t affect me as much as in real life. In this fantasy, I live in a place where I have lots of friends who share my interests. We go out and play music on weekends. We talk about the books we’re reading and the ideas we’re thinking of. We have FUN.
Then I wake up. Yep. Still the same life. No friends. Little fun.
I give people great advice that I cannot follow. I’m quite sure that everyone except me has a great future ahead of them. I try to get them to see if they don’t like their situation, they can change it. I tell them that there isn’t anything they cannot have if they are willing to work toward it. Why in the hell can’t I believe that for myself?! It’s that little boy, cringing away from a world that didn’t accept him for who he was. The world that took his innocence and left only self-loathing behind. The little boy who escapes into books to hide his big, goofy teeth and glasses. The little boy who was told by his peers how geeky, nerdy and weird he was till the little boy wouldn’t even make eye contact with them any more. The young man who played hundreds (probably thousands) of hours of video games to escape from a world that seemed to have no place for him. The little boy who would become the man that now wishes everything were different.
I’m so careful with my children’s self-image. I don’t allow name-calling, even in jest. I don’t allow angry harsh tones of voice. I don’t allow them to call themselves names. I make sure that they treat others with respect. I play with them and make sure they get to do the things they want to do. I suppose, in the end, they deserve to have what I could not. Compared to them, my matters don’t add up to much.
I’m dead scared of what I’m going to do when they’re adults. I know I need to get something going for myself, but I have no idea where to begin. Bars and churches hold no hope for me. I cannot imagine any possiblities for the man I am. I don’t mean to sound like a complete downer, it’s just how I feel.
I know! Those blokes in bowflex ads seem to have it figured out. Just get in shape and your world will right itself! That’s what I should do, right? A tight bod and a convertible will fix everything! Sarcasm off… I’m not at all ignorant to the fact that I just need to take my own advice and pursue my desires. I just can’t really believe in a good life. It may seem like very small potatoes but I can’t summon the effort to try because I don’t believe it will do any good!
This is what I mean about these formative experiences: they have me so quagmired that I all I can do is maintain some kind of routine. The positives I’ve accumulated in my life fade into the darkness that I’ve carried from childhood. All that’s left is….nothing. No hope, no reason to plan more than a couple days to a week ahead other than for the kids. I don’t even know what it means to be excited anymore. The only kind of anticipation I know about lately is anxiety. The skills I do have for coping only do so much. The past is still there, just around the corner, shading and tainting everything in the present. All because of a crappy childhood. All because of events that occurred more than twenty years ago.
by Band Back Together | Sep 30, 2015 | Addiction, Addiction Recovery, Anger, Incarceration |
July 1st, 2015
To me, recovery is something one person takes to heart to better him or herself and breaks away from the chains of addiction. It is far from playing with someone’s emotions and feelings in front of a group. When a person in a professional position picks apart a person’s flaws in front of the whole group, then this person is not taking that individual’s recovery seriously. Assigning 500 word essays that are not related to my recovery is no more than an abuse of power.
Here at this correctional facility, my recovery is a joke. It is nothing more than a waste of tax payers’ money. This is the wrong setting to break the chains of someone’s addiction. If you have someone in a professional position acting unprofessionally, how is that helping with recovery? All it does is push me to the point of anger and attitude, which just triggers my addiction.
I know that when I finally do leave here and go home, my recovery was not taken seriously. I will be going out that front gate worse than when I came in because of the way I was treated as a human being. I have come to realize that recovery is not the priority of this system. Instead, it is a way to condition me to be a failure. That will make me come back here, keeping the money rolling in, so everyone can receive their paychecks.
To me, my recovery is much more important than someone else’s paycheck. This DWI program is not allowing me to be honest. It is teaching me to lie, wasting money on teachings that are just common sense. I feel like this program is like forcing a horse to drink water. If I do not do this program, then I max out and lose all my good time. If I want my freedom, I am forced to be in this program, even though it isn’t helping me.
All I know is that my recovery goes far beyond this program, and I need real help.
by Band Back Together | Sep 11, 2015 | Abuse, Anger, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Fear, Intimate Partner Rape, Jealousy, Self-Esteem, Trust, Violence |
So, I’ve just realized that I’ve been in an emotional, physical, and verbally abusive relationship for five years. I am in the process of healing.
You would think that healing comes easily. It doesn’t. Every day seems like a struggle. Sometimes I hate myself for the person that I have become: fragile, weak, heartbroken, depressed. I thought that I loved this man. He told me that he loved me, and I told him that I loved him, but everything changed so fast. The gentle, sweet talking man that I thought I knew turned out to be an angry, jealous, bitter abuser. I can’t help but think about the chances that I had to walk away.
I met him on a Christian blog. I discovered my spiritual side wanted to learn more about the Christian faith. He sent me a friend request, and I accepted it. I invited this man into my life because I thought that he was a fellow Christian with good intentions. Being 19 at the time, with many problems in my personal life, I realize that I was also naive. I did not think about the repercussions of pouring out my heart to a complete stranger.
Not long after we had met, he started to tell me that he loved me. Soon after, I gave him my phone number. I thought that I could trust him, and I gave him my address. Over time, he would send me gifts: candy, clothes, money, and other things. He told me that I was the only one, different from the other girls that he met. He made me feel loved, in his eyes I was perfect.
The more we got to know each other, the more serious we got. Since the relationship was long distance, we kept in touch with each as much as possible, maybe a little bit too much. We would literally stay on the phone with each other for hours. What I thought was a sign of care was nothing more than his way of control. If I did not return his phone calls, he would text me constantly. When ever we got into an argument, and I would ignore him, he would threaten to commit suicide.
Months into the relationship, I noticed that things were beginning to take a turn for the worse, but since I was going through a tough time in my life, and I needed someone to turn to, I chose to ignore the signs. A began to notice his jealousy, especially after I would tell him about my male friends. He punished for my honesty when I was only trying to establish trust. He started degrading me and calling me names. I thought that this was normal and forgave him after. He then started to send me pictures of himself, some sexual in nature. I was uncomfortable with this, but I did not tell him. I thought that sex would bring us closer since we were so far apart.
After seven months of communicating by phone, email, and text, I took a bus to meet him in Mississippi. I was scared, but felt that this would show how much I really wanted this relationship to turn out. When I saw him for the first time, I felt numb. I didn’t feel attracted to him, but did my best to make him feel loved. When I got to his house, I was nervous. His mom didn’t know I was there and I didn’t know anyone. We ended up having sex that first night. I didn’t enjoy it, but I felt like this would make everything official.
After two weeks, I returned home. I moved out of my parents house and stayed with my grandparents. We continued to stay in touch and we told each other how we wish that we could be together. One day, after an argument with his mother, he decided that he wanted to leave home. He wanted to come live with me even after I told him that I was not ready. He left anyway. I was scared at the fact that this man would come to my home even after I said no. I was worried about what my family would think.
When he got to South Carolina, I met him at the hotel to help him settle. I began to feel responsible for his homelessness and I stayed at the hotel with him. When he ran out of money, he asked if he could stay with me. As worried as I was, I let him.
Since that day, my life has never been the same. I live with a predator. He’s a completely different man from the man that I thought I knew. He accuses me of sleeping around. He’s looked through my phones, and even broken them. He destroys things that have value to me.
I’ve been sexually abused by this man. He touches me inappropriately without my permission. I’ve been physically abused: punched, kicked, slapped, bruised. I’ve called the police on him three times. He’s been arrested once.
I became pregnant by this man. The abuse did not stop after I got pregnant. After my baby was born, he started to isolate himself from me even more.
I wanted to share this story because I wanted to let any one who has been abused know that you can heal. I had to get on my knees and pray for healing. I accepted Jesus Christ into my life so that I could be saved. I know that Jesus loves me, and you, no matter what anyone else says. When we know that we are loved, we begin to love ourselves: then we can heal.
by Band Back Together | Sep 4, 2015 | Childhood Fears, Fear, Self-Esteem |
I am the Black Sheep, at least on one side of my family.
It’s not easy being the one who everyone seems to judge as being “bad,” when really, it’s that we are simply just not like the others. This is really the reason why you don’t feel accepted as one of them. I know this feeling. I totally get it. I am here to tell you that the most gracious thing that the Mother Goddess could do for you was to make you not be like them.
No one likes to be treated like an outcast, but when you take a step back and look at what sets you apart from everyone else, the stuff that you learn about yourself might not be so bad. You need to realize and accept that what others think of you doesn’t matter until you make it matter. Whatever they think does not have to be the truth of you.
As a kid growing up, I heard lots of ugly things about me. I was just a little kid. It makes me sad to know that there are adults on this planet who think that their word has to be gold. They use their words as a means to manipulate others to think the same way they do, without a thought to how those words will affect another person’s life. In fact, the reason that they are saying what they are is done out of fear, out of their own feelings of inadequacy.
All of us has the responsibility to create our own lives. Do not allow the opinions of others to keep you from making your life all it is supposed to be, and all that you want it to be. No one else has the power or the right to take away your ability to shine. You are who you are for a unique and special purpose. You hold the key to who you are, not someone else.
When people talk shit about you, it means they are guessing. It is easier for those kinds of people to go with what they have heard or what they assume rather than learning the real truth. When this is happening to you, it is hard to go through, and hell yes, it is hard to grow from, but you will grow from it. I Promise.
I come from a very “Born Again” family. As a little kid, I always thought I would go to hell because I was also one of those kids who conversed with the unseen world. I am Hawaiian. I am indigenous. I am a Pisces with my sun in the 8th house. What this all adds up to is that I am very weird, and for some of those very conservative people, I am evil.
I am the eldest of three children. My father, a preacher. My mother, I refer to as being “God’s Secretary.” As a child, I was freaked out when the lights were out and the house was dark and still. I knew that there were entities there with us, so I would talk to them. My parents likely believed that I was just a little kid with a great big imagination. As I got older, the things I was learning from my parents and my church did not agree with who I was. Did that give me the right to go out into the world and say horrid things about people and things that I did not understand? Not at all.
I tell my Spirit Students that through the hurt and the pain caused by the thoughtlessness of others, we become Stand Alone. I will repeat it again and again – you’re not alone …you’re Stand Alone.
The truth is that when we are at the weakest point in our lives, we are actually at our strongest.
Yup …you read that right. Think about it in terms of someone being hurt in a battle or perhaps someone being attacked by an abuser. When people who were attacked and done wrong to, they have walked through a fire of refinement. That is how people come to their own self-conjured amazingness. Though you may not see it, you never strayed from being you, meaning that in all of your you-ness, you managed to be able to remain true to you.
In remaining true to you, you have endured losses of gigantic proportion in terms of being able to trust others with your heart and soul. You have been able to walk with your head held high. Here you are, in all of your shining, fractured glory. It is the fractures which make you so very you.
It is not a bad thing to be what is known as ‘The Black Sheep.’ You are equipped to handle things beautifully, even the ugly, crappy things.
You are the black sheep, not because you are bad, but because you stand out.
You are the black sheep, not because you are weird, but because you are an original thinker.
You are the Black Sheep, because the Goddess and your Ancestors knew that of the entire herd of proverbial sheep you were born into, you stood out among them.
It is one thing to stand out, but you were meant to be Stand Alone, because really, there is no one like you.
Aloha!
by Band Back Together | Aug 25, 2015 | Abuse, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Anger, Child Sexual Abuse, Date/Acquaintance Rape, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault |
t’s always hard for me to start these sorts of conversations. Although I feel a bit more at ease, considering the audience. I’m a victim of multiple forms of abuse, but most recently I’m having issues dealing with date rape. I was raped once, back when I was in middle school and came to terms with what happened. I never once considered it would happen to me again.
I was naive.
It happened six weeks ago at a really inconvenient time. Yeah, I know, it’s NEVER convenient and no one is ever prepared for it. It just further complicated issues with my ex-boyfriend. I was raped by an acquaintance; a friend of a “friend” (I use the term loosely now).
I still blame myself even though I know I shouldn’t. I have some pretty textbook reasons:
• I had too much to drink that night
• I allowed myself to feel safe in a clearly risky situation because I believed that the people I was with had some sort of accountability
• I openly admitted to being attracted to my attacker
• He kissed me once and while I made it clear I was uncomfortable, I did not remove myself from the situation.
I get that it’s not supposed to be my fault but I have a hard time allowing myself to believe that.
I was invited to a party at a coworkers house who I’ve worked with for the past six months. He had some friends staying with him from Chile who were there, too. My coworker, his best friend/my attacker, and several of our co-workers were there.
Beer pong and alcohol consumption wasn’t the problem. There was marijuana present and that illegal activity was my first deterrent to seeking help – there goes some of my credibility.
I hung out with the girls and was doing fine until I was comfortable with the group. We all work together, we have to see each other at work. I took that as we had accountability for our actions.
Nope.
I broke my self-imposed rule: don’t accept alcoholic drinks at the point you no longer feel the need to drink. I was persuaded by hospitality and the “party vibe.”
I drank too much and at the point that rest of the group was leaving, I decided I was not quite yet ready to drive. I asked to stay a few more minutes before leaving.
I thought I was being responsible.
His buddy speaks about as much English as I do Spanish. My Spanish isn’t fluent but I can get by. Still, he got me alone while we were talking, which wasn’t hard. I know the game, avoid the chick your friend is trying to “impress” and give them space. I spent a good thirty minutes trying to avoid this guy. He kissed me and I pulled away, politely excused myself, and he kept his distance. For a bit.
My coworker and his Chilean guests were very accommodating and offered me their couch to crash on. I politely declined but elected to stay another fifteen minutes. My coworker asked me to dance and I politely declined. Suddenly, he felt tired and went to his room, leaving me alone with his friend.
I felt uneasy, decided I didn’t like the scenario so I went to get my bag off the couch. He told me to sit, sleep here, “don’t drive, you’re drunk,” and took my keys. I would do the same for my friends and I appreciated his concern.
The mood didn’t change – I was still uneasy. Rightfully so. He pulled me in and made an advance in the living room minutes after my coworker retired to bed. He grabbed my bag and keys and took them from me. I explained I needed to leave and he pretended not to understand me – he reminded me that I was drunk.
It’s funny how fear sobers you up.
He pushed me down and got on top of me. What pisses me off more than anything is that I saw it happening and froze. I just fucking froze. The man was on top of me, my arm in between is groin and mine and all I could think was: “make a fist” – and I did. “Bring you arm up. Straight up as hard as you can and run” – I didn’t. I froze. I talked myself out of it.
He tried to kiss me and grope me. He had me beat on upper body strength and I knew it. I was terrified. What if I didn’t stun him and just pissed him off? Then what? He clearly didn’t care about me; would he punch me in the face?
A million questions ran through my mind as I lay there. I looked at him and said “please no, please stop” again and again and again and all he said back “No problem, I understand, no sex”
I mean, what the fuck, man. No English isn’t your first language but you plainly made it known you understood me, you jerk!
I tried to pull my panties back up and push him off me – and he just continued. He had to know it wasn’t consensual.
There’s another reason I can’t even look my coworker in the face. I screamed. I stopped being scared and screamed, I begged for help and only got louder. It’d been maybe fifteen minutes after he went to his room. I KNOW, I just KNOW he had to hear something. Someone had to hear something. And no one did anything to help.
After he finished, I laid there and cried. He’d shocked the hell out of me. I didn’t even know how to respond. I get now that it was very controlling but I don’t understand my reaction. I laid on the couch and didn’t – couldn’t – move.
He covered me up with a blanket got down by my face and said three things I’ll never forget: “What is my name?” He asked over and over until I said it. “Give me a kiss,” and he pushed my face to his until I kissed his cheek, and then “Good girl.”
I wanted to spit in his face. I want to kick him in the throat and run screaming for the neighbors to hear. Instead, I listened and I laid there and cried until I was sure he was asleep in the other room. It was two hours before I moved. Then I got dressed, fixed my face, and left.
The guy was a jerk. My co-worker is an enabling scumbag who told me it was my fault
The first person I called, a longtime friend, threatened to tell my mom (who I still haven’t told) if I didn’t go to the police because, “It would be my fault for letting him get away with it and do it again.”
The rape is affecting the relationship I’m in now. The date rape happened while my boyfriend of three years and I were broken up. We weren’t dating but both hoped things between us could be worked out. I had no intention of dating anyone else. Then this happened and I reacted in such stupid crazy ways that even I can’t explain my behavior.
I didn’t want to tell him and I regret telling him because he did exactly what I thought he would – he basically blamed me.
I figured making him want to leave me would be better than dealing with it, so I sent provocative pictures of myself to some random person online hoping he’d just leave me. It seemed like a better alternative. Yes, I know how dumb that sounds. In the end when he questioned why I wanted to hurt him, I felt like utter shit.
I don’t know how I thought hurting him and making him leave me would be better than explaining what happened.
So I explained it. I wish I hadn’t. The first things he said to me were: “how do I know you didn’t cheat on me and just regret it? Did you like it? Did you kiss him at all? You didn’t lead him on at all? How do you know he used a condom and if he did how’s come you waited for him to put it on? If he had time for a condom you had time to do something…”
We’re back together now, but he couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to say anything.
My boyfriend said it’s not my fault sure but he didn’t act like it. He blames me for protecting my co-worker because I won’t tell him where the guy lives so he can kick his ass. And I’m mad at him.
I’m frustrated, tired of trying to explain feelings he can’t understand. I’m sorry for intentionally hurting him, but making him feel better about what happened to me isn’t my job and it’s pissing me off. I want to say:
I’m not here to make you feel better, kicking his ass doesn’t change what happened to me it just opens you up to an assault charge.
By now, it’s too late to press charges. I didn’t go to the doctors or police. He and his friend were only staying in the United States for a few weeks and I’m pretty sure he’s already back in Chile. I’m happy I’ll never have to see his face again.
I see it sometimes when I go to sleep. I wake up and hear myself saying his name. I wish I’d have spat in his face but instead I said his name. I’m not sure why he even cared if I knew who he was – it’s not like he’d ever see me again.
I’m confused, upset, pissed off, and tired of trying to sort it out for other people. I haven’t even done that for myself yet.
I will never again assume people are to be held accountable for their actions.
