Unagi

What is Unagi, you ask? Well, Ross Gellar tells it best. He developed his Unagi while studying karate`. (You should watch the episode, it is hysterical and cleverly titled, “The One with the Unagi.” But, for a quick background, and also so you get the tone of this post, view this youtube video of the Unagi episode...at least to 3:30 minutes. ) Anyway, to summarize Ross, “Unagi” is a sense of awareness about one’s environment. If you have Unagi, you can sense danger coming your way. I have a hefty dose of Unagi.

As I have mentioned before, in an almost paranoid fashion, I am constantly scanning my environment and assessing those around me for threats. It is involuntary, it is Unagi.

That feeling in the pit of your stomach that something is wrong? Unagi. That unease when you meet someone new and they creep you out a bit? Unagi. The three bears had Unagi. They knew someone had been in their home, in their chairs and beds, and eating their porridge. Ok, so they had more evidence than just their Unagi.

When I was living in Florida, my already hyperactive Unagi was in overdrive. Everyone creeped me out. I didn’t trust anyone. Then, while working at a restaurant, this huge guy would not leave me alone. When he wasn’t staring at me from his perch at the bar, he was following me around the restaurant. Then he came in repeatedly asking for me and trying to find out when I worked. Several times he refused to leave unless I talked to him…um, yeah, like that was going to happen. My Unagi really didn’t like him. Even more creepy was when he showed up with a girl who looked eerily similar to me…

Some months later, I had just gotten home from work around 930pm and was talking to my sister in her bedroom (she’s a teacher, they go to bed early). I heard a noise at the door. Knowing my Unagi was sensitive, I shook it off. Then it happened again. My sister asked if I heard it and if I locked the door…um, of course, who did she think she was talking to? Anyways, she went to sleep and I hopped in the shower. Shortly thereafter, I was watching TV when I heard a noise at the door like someone hand grabbed the doorknob and inserted a key. I ran to the door and punched it, denting the door. (Yay me!) But, when I peered through the peep hole, I saw nothing and no one. I thought I may have gone crazy. I grabbed a can of wasp spray and dared whoever it was to come back and try to mess with me…but nothing. My sister didn’t really believe me when I told her the next day. Aah, salmon skin roll. I can’t blame her; my Unagi is much more sensitive than hers. For the next several weeks, I slept with that can of wasp spray by my bed and a light by the door-The Light of Unagi to be exact. Weeks went by and nothing happened. Then, when my sister was visiting her now husband out of town, I returned home from a graduation party around 10pm. I was talking on the phone with my mom, when I walked in the door and got an instant spike in Unagi. Something wasn’t right, but I didn’t want to alarm my mom, so I blew it off. About 30 minutes later, I was on the phone with a friend in Michigan when I heard the sound again at the door. Recognizing it immediately, I told her that I thought someone was trying to get in. She was yelling at me to get something to hit him with, when I saw the lock turn open. I ran to the door, and a nearly unrecognizable voice from somewhere deep inside me yelled, “GET THE F*** AWAY FROM MY APARTMENT!!!” I hung up and dialed 911. The poor dispatcher had to stay on the phone with me in my panic until the police officers arrived. Who, by the way, knocked on the door without identifying themselves…uh, yea, like I’m going to open the door. They found no signs that anyone had been there but mentioned that the complex had a voyeur and had a rash of burglaries in recent months. Awesome. I called some friends to come pick me up so I didn’t have to stay alone there. The next morning they returned with me to make sure there were no recording devices in the apartment, which there were not. I had to fight the feeling that I was crazy, that my Unagi was too sensitive. I know what I saw, I didn’t hallucinate the lock opening like that. It was awful, I couldn’t sleep for months. In fact, I don’t think I slept even after we moved to a new second story apartment. I still left the lights on during the night and a TV on while I was gone to convince said threat that I was not alone. I also developed the usage of “The Rock of Unagi.” The Rock of Unagi was a little rock that I would put in front of the door in a very particular place, one that couldn’t be reached from inside the door. If that rock was moved, I knew someone had been or was at that moment inside. It gave me great comfort. There were no other incidents that I know of. I chalk up the lack of incident on both occasions to the efficacy of my Unagi.

My Unagi helped me again when I noticed a man following me around Walmart. He literally followed me everywhere in the store, through checkout and out into the parking lot. It was daytime, so I wasn’t too scared and my Unagi had prepared me for action. This girl has no flight in her, I fight. And, I was ready to fight should he attempt to touch me. He ended up following me to my car and commented on the appearance of my derriere. He was on the receiving end of a few terse words. Other than that exchange, it was a nonevent. Thanks to my Unagi, I was prepared for him and I’m sure the look on my face told him to F*** off. My Unagi had saved me again.

All joking aside, I do believe that those of us who have been violated in some way, whether it is sexual abuse, robbery, stalking, have an increase sense of awareness of our environment. We are on alert for threats, we don’t want to be violated again. Some days it drives me crazy, other days it is an invaluable tool. I like to think that am working on developing my Unagi to a point of maximum effectiveness without hyperactivity. I am aware of the environment around me, but I am less fearful than I once was. Progress. I also have the confidence that if someone were to mess with me, I’d most likely rip them to shreds. Which is a good feeling.

I love my Unagi. 

In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.

I kill houseplants. I may be able to tend a garden, but I murder every plant I bring into the house. My major downfall: overwatering. It never fails. I think a plant is dry, so I water it. I come back 20 minutes later and there is water everywhere. It seeped down through the soil, the plant taking what it needs-and then some. Then, it pours out that little hole in the bottom of the pot and floods my windowsill. That hole only lets so much out; even it can’t keep up with my relentless urge to water the plant. Even worse, pots with no holes, then the soil gets oversaturated and moldy, suffocating the plant. Then, inevitably, I get frustrated and refuse to water this poor, mistreated bit of greenery, and it shrivels and dies. I can’t ever find a happy medium.

Apparently, this is how I deal with more than just houseplants.

Initially, when I stood up for myself at the young age of twelve, it was like the first watering of the little seedling in its new pot. I picked up a guitar and I was ready to swing. I stopped him with just a threat. Victory. My young brain then associated that type of defense as the only way to live. So, I kept that guitar at the ready in every aspect of my life. Even my family was on the receiving end of the threat, even if they didn’t realize it. Friends had it even worse. The slightest faltering in loyalty, perceived or realized, they were put on warning in my mind. A simple glance from a boy had me ready to swing. (And, unfortunately for some, I actually did swing.) Increasingly, I kept more and more people further and further away. I thought I had to keep everyone at a guitar’s length to keep myself from being violated again. Every time I thought I was growing and learning, I was suffocating myself. There was no outlet for me in those years except perhaps athletics. A coach once told me intensity was my big key. I was intense alright; the court or field was where all my angst was released. My intensity was often over the top. I shudder to think about my attitude on the court back then. But that wasn’t enough, that hole wasn’t big enough to handle everything being poured into that pot. Some would argue that it is barely large enough to handle normal teenager tears, let alone that of a severely wounded child. My frustrations, my defense, poured out to those around me. My attempt at surviving washed anyone close to me away. Until, I was alone on the windowsill, praying that the Sun would dry up the mess and keep me alive.

When I went away to college, I had no outlet for my frustration. I kept everything bottled up inside. I could barely attend class. I was afraid of everyone and everything. I was far away from home and scared. Hearing stories about college life made me equally excited and terrified, and completely overwhelmed. I was barely present mentally, even if I went through the motions. I was gripping the guitar so tightly; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else. I could hardly speak. I was drowning. Water logged, moldy, and tired, I came home, and slept for about a year and a half.

Ironically, what followed in my life is a different kind of watering. I spent much of my time at a local watering hole. (Pun much?) This time I was literally drowning myself in alcohol. Bordering on alcoholism, I drank my way through my early twenties. The only way I could socialize was with a drink in my hand. The only way I could stand being alone with my thoughts was with a drink in my hand. Trying to forget what happened to me caused me to dry out while drowning myself in alcohol.

I know I have come a long way from those days. I have grown. God never allowed me to be scorched or drown completely.

I still find myself grasping that guitar more than I would like. Even sitting at home, driving down the road, shopping, socializing, I have my hands clenched, literally. I’m always ready to swing, if necessary. I sleep with a switchblade under my pillow. I lock my bedroom door at night. I make sure no one follows when I leave work or school. I’m constantly scanning my environment. I’m still suspicious of every male that looks my way. Even when I am in a room with male friends who’ve known me for years or male family members, I am unnerved.  

My coping has nearly flooded my whole identity. The slightest mistake at work or school and I’m in a panic. Even the anticipation of the mistake and I’m a nervous wreck. I lack self-esteem. I immediately invalidate any achievement or compliment with a denial or redirection to a failure. I feel ugly, fat, and unlovable.

I feel like my life is a disappointment because I am missed out on so much because I have been so busy surviving.

Then, I get anxious about that. I start panicking that I will never be able to turn my life around. I cannot enjoy my life now because I feel like I wasted so much time and now it is too late.

I pray for contentment regularly.  I pray that whatever God has planned for my life that I will learn to be content with it. This would give me peace. Because, with all this guitar holding, I’m anything but peaceful. I’m angry.

I tend to get so down and depressed about 28 years of struggling and I get frustrated and anxious, almost to the point of overwhelming. Then I realize I’m angry. I’m so angry. I’m so angry that I could swing that guitar over and over and over again.

Instead, I go into the scary part of the basement and break stuff. I save every ounce of glass that comes into this house. Forget ten cent refunds; I’ll whip that beer bottle at the wall. That release is worth for more than ten cents.

Perhaps I’m playing out what I wish I would’ve done all those years ago. I’m swinging the guitar instead of just threatening. Although, I’m thankful I never needed to be violent. God wouldn’t approve of unnecessary violence.

This is my outlet now, the hole at the bottom of the pot. It is incredibly effective…when I recognize that I’m the anger is bubbling up again. I’m still working on that. But, I’m headed in the right direction.

In the mean time, I pray that God will help me forgive myself for the ways I coped, I was just a child. I pray that God helps me find contentment in all the blessings he’s given me. I pray that I will focus on those blessings instead of the disappointments in my life. I pray that I can move forward and not pour so much of my life into this survival. I pray for peace in this world.

When I am most discouraged, drowning in agony, ready to give up, hoping for an end. Praying, begging for any relief. I remind myself that no matter what happens here, no matter how bad things seem, I will spend eternity in heaven and these light and momentary troubles will matter no longer.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

Some days I miss my bunnies

Some days I miss my bunnies. When I was a child, I had a tall dresser with two small drawers and three large drawers. There were three adorable bunnies on the three large drawers. My sister and I used to jump off the dresser onto our beds (our hand-me-down beds, that didn’t have box-springs, rather a mattress made of springs that worked well as a trampoline…) until, inevitably, we would jump just wrong and the spring mattress and mattress would fall through the frame. Oops, dad loved that. (She says sarcastically.) Sigh, I loved those bunnies. In fact, when I moved back home from college and then back from Florida, I still used that dresser. (Part of that was just convenience, but, let’s face it, I loved those bunnies.) My family often poked fun at my dresser. I didn’t care, I would joke that they were my only friends. Wah wah, not at all true. But in the context of child abuse, it would make sense to hold onto something that was symbolic of my innocence. It was not until this past year, 16 years after I made certain he would never touch me again, was I ready to let those bunnies go. (Ok, so, they only made it into the next room, at least I’m not using it anymore. Baby steps.) I took another dresser, refinished it, it looks all grown up and it is awesome. I love it. The day I took the bunnies out of my room and brought the new “adult worthy” dresser into my room, I felt a shift. Like I had taken a huge step forward in letting go of the bunnies; realizing, I didn’t have to be stuck. I was holding on so tight to everything that happened in my childhood that it was holding me back. I couldn’t move forward…with a dresser with bunnies on it. Slowly, I’m noticing why I hold onto things, tokens, pictures, memories. My family is often amazed at the little details I remember from childhood, things I’ve held onto so tightly all these years. Remembering all those little details, all those little bunnies, leaves little room for the dark and not-so-adorable creatures of my childhood sexual abuse.

While I recognize the need to loosen my grip and feel safe enough to let those frightening memories come forward, it is incredibly difficult, and I try to let them through little by little. I also try to not lose my grip on all those adorable bunnies entirely. Despite the abuse, I had a great childhood. I was very blessed. I grew up in a loving, Christian family. We lived in a neighborhood full of kids our age. We went to a great parochial grade school. We never lacked anything we truly needed. Not everyone is so blessed.

My bunnies helped me survive. They protected me mentally until I was strong enough to face those other creatures from my childhood. Some may think it is silly, some might judge me for it and think it is ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’m learning not to judge myself for the way I survived all by myself for well over 16 years. I did what I had to do…and the bunnies helped me do it.

Some days, I miss my bunnies. Some days, I think it would be easier to bring them back to chase the creatures away so I can go on surviving. My bunnies helped me survive, but they can’t help me live. I need to look those creepy creature memories in the eyes and say, I beat you, and you can’t hurt me anymore. I need to stop surviving, and start living. So, the bunnies will stay peacefully in the other room, having done their duty. Every now and then, I’ll look at them and say “well done bunnies, thank you, but I’ve got it from here.”

“Be self controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

I just can’t take days like today. As a CNA and nursing student, I’m often in situations that make me a bit uncomfortable given my past experiences. Normal days are no problem. Some days are a little trying.

Everyone has experience silly old men who forget themselves from time to time. Or the men and women who are sadly stricken with dementia who literally forget themselves and have huge lapses in judgment which cause them to do or say things that are totally wrong and out of character. Then there are the people who take advantage of the fact that they are alone with a female and that female is helping them bathe.

Today was terrible. I was helping a man bathe in bed when he became sexually inappropriate with me. Rather than assume that he is aware of what he was doing, I dodged several of his advances as I have in the past. But, today he was more persistent, more grotesque, more frightening. He repeatedly grabbed my shoulders and tried to pull me down towards him on the bed. He tried to grab various parts of my body that he shouldn’t be touching. Then he pulled back his covers and started to fondle with himself.

I remained professional, simply covering him up with his hands outside the blanket and called for another aide to help me get him dressed. He tried again to fondle himself; the aide simply stopped him and told him it was inappropriate.

I held it together long enough to talk to my bosses and tell them I felt uncomfortable caring for him after today. They completely understood and said I should not have had to endure that under any circumstances, let alone as a sexual abuse survivor.

I left the office and called my sister, sobbing hysterically, as I drove to church where my mom is the secretary. It was there where I proceeded to sob, gag, and dry heave, recounting the story for a third time.

I don’t know what to say about days like this. Partially, I feel victorious, because as an adult I was able to handle the situation appropriately. I told him repeatedly that he needed to stop and I got help. I remained calm in the room, I didn’t panic.  The other part of me feels like I overreacted and I’m too sensitive. But, in talking with coworkers and family members today, I’m reassured that I did not. One thing I know, I’m exhausted.

I hate feeling like I am not safe in my own body. I hate feeling like someone has the power to hurt me. I hate feeling trapped. I hate feeling scared. I hate feeling like an object of someone perversion.

I’m not feeling very peaceful today.

“Be self controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

But, another reason to feel victorious…

The devil really seems to have my number when it comes to which buttons to push to get me worked up. He knows that days like today will cause me pain. He tries so hard to push me to the point where I curse God for allowing these things to happen. But I did not. I will not. Try as hard as he may, that bastard the devil with all his tricks and schemes will not shake my faith. I have a good and loving Lord who never leaves my side. “And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.” 1 Corinthians 10:13b

 

“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power.  Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.  For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace.  In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” Ephesians 6:10-17

 

See, Luther gets it…

A mighty fortress is our God, A trusty shield and weapon.

He helps us free from ever need That has us now o’ertaken.

The old evil foe Now means deadly woe

Deep guile and great might Are his dread arms in fight;

On earth is not his equal.

With might of ours can naught be done; Soon were our loss effected.

 But for us fights the valiant one Whom God himself elected.

You ask, “Who is this?” Jesus Christ it is,

The almighty Lord. And there’s no other God;

He holds he field forever.

Though devils all the world should fill, All eager to devour us,

We tremble not, we fear no ill; They shall not overpow’r us.

This world’s prince may still Scowl fierce as he will,

He can harm us none. He’s judged; the deed is done!

One little word can fell him.

The Word they still shall let remain, Nor any thanks have for it;

He’s by our side upon the plain With his good gifts and Spirit.

And do what they will—Hate, steal, hurt, or kill—

Though all may be gone, Our victory is won;

The kingdom’s ours forever!

 

 

Validation

I had to tell myself it wasn’t a big deal. I had to tell myself that I just needed to “lighten up”. I told myself that my family would make light of what happened to me because I was the sensitive child. So, I told myself that I was just being too sensitive.

I kept it all inside, knowing in my heart and soul that what was done to me was wrong and sinful. I kept it all inside, knowing in the rational portion of my brain that I needed to tell someone. I kept it all inside, in the victimized portion of my brain, grasping at anything to make the pain and torment go away.

I’ve been told not to judge myself for what I did to survive those years. Fine, I’ll try not to. But, realistically, this fear and irrational thought process caused me immense pain and suffering. I’m not saying my life would be all sunshine and roses if I had told my parents immediately. I very easily could have most of the same difficulties I have today. But, what I’m certain I would have been able to avoid is this feeling that I have overreacted. This feeling that, if people knew the details of what happened to me, they would roll their eyes and tell me to get over it. In fact, very few people actually know the details of what happened to me. I don’t feel the need to tell people. Yes, this is partially to protect myself from real or imagined ridicule. But when I’m being rational, when I look at all this clearly, I know what happened was wrong. I know it. He knows it. God knows it.

But sometimes I get tired and scared and tell myself to get over it. (Uh, right, if only it were that easy.) It is at those times that I go to this website, Definitions, Scope, and Effects of Child Sexual Abuse.

This website outlines what constitutes sexual abuse. What I experienced is there. Validation.

I want to post some excerpts from the website to bring to light some of the acts that are included, legally, under the umbrella of sexual abuse. Aside from these excerpts, this website is a valuable resource on the subject of sexual abuse. Some of it is graphic and may make you feel a little uncomfortable but this discomfort may benefit you or someone you love who is dealing with sexual abuse.

v  Sexual abuse is further defined to include:

v  "(A) the employment, use, persuasion, inducement, enticement, or coercion of any child to engage in, or assist any other person to engage in, any sexually explicit conduct or simulation of such conduct for the purpose of producing a visual depiction of such conduct; or

v  (B) the rape, molestation, prostitution, or other form of sexual exploitation of children, or incest with children;..."¹⁵

v  The penalties vary depending on:

v  the age of the child, crimes against younger children being regarded as worse;

v  the level of force, force making the crime more severe;

v  the relationship between victim and offender, an act against a relative or household member being considered more serious; and

v  the type of sexual act, acts of penetration receiving longer sentences.

v  Clinical Definitions

Although clinical definitions of sexual abuse are related to statutes, the guiding principle is whether the encounter has a traumatic impact on the child. Not all sexual encounters experienced by children do. Traumatic impact is generally affected by the meaning of the act(s) to the child, which may change as the child progresses through developmental stages. The sexual abuse may not be "traumatic" but still leave the child with cognitive distortions or problematic beliefs; that is, it is "ok" to touch others because it feels good.

 

v  Sexual Acts

The sexual acts that will be described in this section are abusive clinically when the factors discussed in the previous section are present as the examples illustrate. The sexual acts will be listed in order of severity and intrusiveness, the least severe and intrusive being discussed first.

v  Noncontact acts

Ø  Offender making sexual comments to the child*
- Example: A coach told a team member he had a fine body, and they should find a time to explore one another's bodies. He told the boy he has done this with other team members, and they had enjoyed it.

Ø  Offender exposing intimate parts to the child, sometimes accompanied by masturbation.
- Example: A grandfather required that his 6-year-old granddaughter kneel in front of him and watch while he masturbated naked.

Ø  Voyeurism (peeping).
- Example: A stepfather made a hole in the bathroom wall. He watched his stepdaughter when she was toileting (and instructed her to watch him).**

Ø  Offender showing child pornographic materials, such as pictures, books, or movies.
- Example: Mother and father had their 6- and 8-year-old daughters accompany them to viewings of adult pornographic movies at a neighbor's house.

v  Offender induces child to undress and/or masturbate self.
- Example: Neighbor paid a 13-year-old emotionally disturbed girl $5 to undress and parade naked in front of him.

v  Sexual contact***

Ø  Offender touching the child's intimate parts (genitals, buttocks, breasts).
- Example: A father put his hand in his 4-year-old daughter's panties and fondled her vagina while the two of them watched "Sesame Street."

Ø  Offender inducing the child to touch his/her intimate parts.
- Example: A mother encouraged her 10-year-old son to fondle her breasts while they were in bed together.

Ø  Frottage (rubbing genitals against the victim's body or clothing).
- Example: A father, lying in bed, had his clothed daughter sit on him and play "ride the horse."

v  Digital or object penetration

Ø  Offender placing finger(s) in child's vagina or anus.
- Example: A father used digital penetration with his daughter to "teach" her about sex.

Ø  Offender inducing child to place finger(s) in offender's vagina or anus.
- Example: An adolescent boy required a 10-year-old boy to put Vaseline on his finger and insert it into the adolescent's anus as initiation into a club.

Ø  Offender placing instrument in child's vagina or anus.
- Example: A psychotic mother placed a candle in her daughter's vagina.

Ø  Offender inducing child to place instrument in offender's vagina or anus.
- Example: A babysitter had a 6-year-old boy penetrate her vaginally with a mop handle.

v  Oral sex****

Ø  Tongue kissing
- Example: Several children who had attended the same day care center attempted to French kiss with their parents. They said that Miss Sally taught them to do this.

Ø  Breast sucking, kissing, licking, biting.
- Example: A mother required her 6-year-old daughter to suck her breasts (in the course of mutual genital fondling).**

Ø  Cunnilingus (licking, kissing, sucking, biting the vagina or placing the tongue in the vaginal opening).
- Example: A father's girlfriend who was high on cocaine made the father's son lick her vagina as she sat on the toilet.

Ø  Fellatio (licking, kissing, sucking, biting the penis).
- Example: An adolescent, who had been reading pornography, told his 7-year-old cousin to close her eyes and open her mouth. She did and he put his penis in her mouth.

Ø  Anilingus (licking, kissing the anal opening).
- Example: A mother overheard her son and a friend referring to their camp counselor as a "butt lick." The boys affirmed that the counselor had licked the anuses of two of their friends (and engaged in other sexual acts with them).** An investigation substantiated this account.

v  Penile penetration

Ø  Vaginal intercourse
- Example: A 7-year-old girl was placed in foster care by her father because she was incorrigible. She was observed numerous times "humping" her stuffed animals. In therapy she revealed that her father "humped" her. There was medical evidence of vaginal penetration.

Ø  Anal intercourse
- Example: Upon medical exam an 8-year-old boy was found to have evidence of chronic anal penetration. He reported that his father "put his dingdong in there" and allowed two of his friends to do likewise.

v  * When children are victims, sexual comments are usually made in person. However obscene remarks may be made on the telephone or in notes and letters.
** Activities in parenthesis are not illustrative of the sexual act being defined.
*** Sexual contact can be either above or beneath clothing.
**** The offender may inflict oral sex upon the child or require the child to perform it on him/her or both.

 

v  Finkelhor,⁴² whose conceptualization of the traumatogenic effects of sexual abuse is the most widely employed, divides sequelae into four general categories, each having varied psychological and behavioral effects.

Ø  Traumatic sexualization. Included in the psychological outcomes of traumatic sexualization are aversive feelings about sex, overvaluing sex, and sexual identity problems. Behavioral manifestations of traumatic sexualization constitute a range of hypersexual behaviors as well as avoidance of or negative sexual encounters.

Ø  Stigmatization. Common psychological manifestations of stigmatization are what Sgroi calls "damaged goods syndrome"⁴³ and feelings of guilt and responsibility for the abuse or the consequences of disclosure. These feelings are likely to be reflected in self-destructive behaviors such as substance abuse, risk-taking acts, self-mutilation, suicidal gestures and acts, and provocative behavior designed to elicit punishment.

Ø  Betrayal. Perhaps the most fundamental damage from sexual abuse is its undermining of trust in those people who are supposed to be protectors and nurturers. Other psychological impacts of betrayal include anger and borderline functioning. Behavior that reflects this trauma includes avoidance of investment in others, manipulating others, re-enacting the trauma through subsequent involvement in exploitive and damaging relationships, and engaging in angry and acting-out behaviors.

Ø  Powerlessness. The psychological impact of the trauma of powerlessness includes both a perception of vulnerability and victimization and a desire to control or prevail, often by identification with the aggressor. As with the trauma of betrayal, behavioral manifestations may involve aggression and exploitation of others. On the other hand, the vulnerability effect of powerlessness may be avoidant responses, such as dissociation and running away; behavioral manifestations of anxiety, including phobias, sleep problems, elimination problems, and eating problems; and revictimization.

 

Yes, this is difficult to read, but necessary and not just for me when I am having a bad day. I have had family members downplay what was done to me, perhaps unwittingly. When I’m feeling strong and rational, I know the truth of what happened. More importantly, God knows what happened. God, the judge of all, knows what happened. I do not wish for this family member to be damned. What gives me comfort, should strike fear in his heart. I hope it does. I don’t say that vindictively, I say that prayerfully. I pray every day that he repents of what he has done…because it was wrong and sinful.

 

 

 

The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

When I was a kid, I had a dream that I awoke and no one was home, in fact, everyone was dead. I had another dream that my family and I were on a cruise and we were jumping on and off the ship, but I jumped off and didn’t get back on in time and I was left floating by myself with two barrels. I saw two men planning to blow up the boat and I could do nothing to stop it. This morning, I had a dream that my entire family was moving to Florida, but I was not going. My family was making me help them pack up our entire house and help them move, but I was going to be left here all alone.

            I’m sure a mental health professional could have fun analyzing these dreams and many more like them that I have had my whole life. But it doesn’t take a genius to look at them and see I have felt alone my whole life. I have felt alone and solely responsible for my life. I have also felt responsible for protecting my family from anything and everything in my power. This started the day I decided not to tell them what had been done to me. I don’t remember considering telling anyone until I was twelve. At that point, I distinctly remember thinking that my dad’s heart would explode and he may kill someone. I thought my mom would cry. And, my grandma was old; she didn’t need to be put through this.  Throughout the next fifteen years, I would grapple with trying to suppress these memories, but inevitably they would come boiling back up. I would then struggle with whether or not it was the right time to tell my family. It was never the right time, there was always an excuse. This was happening in school. That person was having surgery. This marriage broke up. That person died. This person was graduating school. This person had their own problems, why give them more? I never wanted to add to anyone’s pain. This was always my last barrier to opening up about my abuse. I would have the courage to face anything else, but I could not cause harm to my family. I wanted to protect them. So, I handled everything on my own.

And I have been handling everything on my own since.

It is very rare, and very frustrating, for me to ask anyone to help. I don’t need help; I can do it on my own. I also often take on tasks that I do not want just so I don’t have to bother anyone else with it. This is most evident in how I cared for my father when he was dying of lung cancer. I could handle it; they didn’t need to see that. I must protect them from seeing him like this.

Some people would call this personality trait “strength”; others would call it “stubbornness” or perhaps “controlling”. I suppose it depends on how you look at it. This trait can be very beneficial and very harmful. Taking everything on yourself is taking too much on yourself. But, sparing others pain and suffering or even inconvenience could, and should, be admired.

When these two angles are intertwined, it becomes a dangerous slope. I should’ve asked for help sooner.

I needed help. I sacrificed my mental health and many years of my life trying to handle everything on my own so that what he did to me would not have to hurt anyone else. I kept it all to myself. I was all alone. Unbeknownst to them, I had forced them to abandon me it my time of need by keeping them in the dark. Yes, these are harsh words, but it is a harsh reality. I have felt alone and helpless my entire life, because I was trying to protect those I love. It sucked. I’m tired. I had to realize the effect keeping this secret was having on my life, not just the effects of the abuse itself. I couldn’t do that to myself anymore. I had to repeatedly tell myself that revealing the molestation would not kill everyone in my family. No one would die of dehydration from crying. No one would have to be institutionalized. No one would have their lives ruined forever. Even my life hadn’t been ruined, although sometimes that is hard to see.

It took a lot of self talk and even more desperation to ask for the help of which I had deprived myself for so long. I still feel all alone at times.

I often asked God for help over the years. Help to keep from going insane. Help to live a “normal” life. Help to keep this secret. I often felt my prayers weren’t answered. I often felt alone and helpless. Looking back, I see how God answered my prayers and how I was too afraid and wounded to take that next step and ask for help. It is like that story of the guy in the flood who prays for help and God keeps sending help. Every time a helpful person arrives, the man says “it’s ok, God will save me. I’m waiting for God.”

I don’t want to sound like I am taking blaming myself for these years of internal turmoil. I am just recognizing that my defense mechanism became unhealthy and harmful. I needed time to deal with what happened to me. I was in shock; my brain didn’t know what to do. But, the longer I procrastinated, the more blurred the lines became. Then I shifted this defense into other aspects of my life. I am determined to do everything on my own, I don’t need help. But, in actuality, I do. I need to stop trying to do everything on my own and ask for help when it is needed. If I don’t, I will continue to feel abandoned and all alone.

God answered my prayers; I just didn’t take him up on the offer until recently. He helped me even when I denied the help he sent. I never lost my faith and I was never left entirely alone.

 ^“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.” Deuteronomy 31:8

I am glad that I have finally stopped bearing this all myself. I am glad God opened my eyes and gave me the courage to take the help he was offering through church, family, friends, and faith. More importantly, I am thankful that even when I was bobbing in the ocean behind those barrels, God was with me. God was and is my barrel. God kept me afloat until I had the courage to swim to the boat. Now I am safely back on dry land with my family and friends who are willing to help me put my life back together. All I need do is ask…

 

 

Suspicion, Doubt, Fear, and Faith

I often look at life through gray-colored glasses. I wish they were rose colored; I’d be oblivious, but happier. Ignorance is bliss, right? The fact is, a large chunk of my physical and emotion security was ripped away from me when I was molested. Consequently, since then, I have looked at the world with suspicion, mistrust, dislike, envy, and fear. Sometimes, my hyperparanoia has served me well. However, on most occasions it has prevented me from living a full life. There have been countless opportunities missed in my life because I was not facing my abuse. I was hiding it away, too embarrassed to tell anyone.  In college I hid away from the world. On weekends when everyone else was out “being college students”, I was huddled alone in my dorm room, afraid to go outside. I was afraid that I might be physically hurt and emotional hurt again. In high school, it was even worse. Due to other family happenings, and the hormones that go along with being a teenager, my emotions were out of control. I was miserable, afraid and angry 90% of the time. I distrusted my closest friends and pushed everyone away with my out-of-control emotional outbursts. I knew it all along, but I could not control what was happening. With the onset of the interpersonal relationship building years came a whole slew of conflicting emotions-as if those years aren’t horrible enough to begin with. I longed to have a boyfriend. I longed to be accepted my classmates. I longed to have every experience that is a rite of passage for highschoolers and college students. With a couple exceptions, I feel like I missed out on nearly everything. Because, even when I was able to get up enough courage to spend time with friends, I wasn’t present. I had to be on my guard because someone was going to hurt me in some way. I tried to keep a straight face. I am so saddened when I think about the wonderful opportunities I missed as a result of unhealthy coping. A counselor would tell me not to judge myself because I did what I had to do to survive. Well, to that I say, I barely survived those years. I dropped out of college in my fourth semester because I couldn’t take it anymore. I was an absolute wreck. Life was a vicious cycle of debilitating anxiety, feverish work-out sessions, insomnia, and less than rejuvenating naps between the classes that I managed to attend. I left school and came home to loving parents who may have misunderstood the cause of my depression, chalking it up to genetics, but they understood the depression and anxiety and supported me. In the years that followed, I slowly got back pieces of myself, very slowly. I took a step back, started to focus on myself and tried to muddle through as best I could. There were times when I got angry with God for allowing these bad things to happen in my life. I would look at others who have not endured what I have and questioned why he was so easy on them. I doubted whether God would answer my prayers. What is the point of praying for something when we know that even though all things work for our good, horrible things may still happen because the world is sinful? I’m sure my parents prayed that God would keep my safe from harm, but I was harmed. Stupid Satan.

The fact is, I can look back at my life and say, “why me?” or “where was God during all of this?” or “what’s the point” or “WHY?!”…did I mention that I’d like to know why? But, what is the point of such questioning? Does the reason something happened negate the pain it caused? No. Does knowing the end game of a struggle God allows us to endure eliminate the struggle itself? No. Does knowing why God let this happen to you instead of someone else help you in anyway? No. Would you even want to think about it happening to someone else? No! And, where God was during all of this?

He was right by my side, holding me up. He sat next to me in my dorm room and kept me from the brink. He gave me strength to keep going. He did not allow me to lose my faith, even if it dwindled to the size of a mustard seed. He never left my side.

I wake up in the morning with gray colored glasses. Sometimes I don’t take them off for days. But occasionally, I take them off and see the world and opportunities in front of me. As I work through the abuse and its effects on my life, I am able to look at the world clearly with neither gray nor rose colored glasses. And, I am even finding ways to see the blessings in my struggles. Although, this may be true and although I do know that God works all things for my good. (Romans 8:28) And I know that struggles produce perseverance and perseverance produces character and character, hope. And, hope does not disappoint us. (Romans 5:4-5)  Although I know all this, I still mourn for those years I lost. I feel the pain and I give due weight to those hardships. And, I make a vow that I will not let any more opportunities be ripped from my hands; enough has slipped through my fingers already. Struggles produce perseverance and perseverance produces hope. I have hope that no matter how crappy life can seem and how alone I feel at times, God is with me and he is blessing me even in my weakness. I have hope that my struggles are “light and momentary” and when it comes times I will experience “an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” (2 Cor. 4:17)