Shame

Where does it come from?

The images I keep seeing over and over (result of the most recent flashback) cause me such profound shame. But why? Intellectually I know it wasn't my fault.

So why do I feel such a deep-rooted shame over the things I did with my father. And that's not even talking about the rest - the rapes, my brother, my step-father, my uncle.

And now, here I am living this life of hell - certain everyone will say it's all of my own making and I'm sure to some extent that's true. But the shame is compounded now.

This morning I get text messages telling me that people are essentially coming out of the woodwork to talk about things "they've seen me do" - I don't have a clue, but just put me down more, make me feel even more like a piece of shit, unworthy, unlovable, undesirable, un-everything.

Shame.

People who want to see me work on my issues - as if I'm not.

Shame.

I don't talk about it, that's all.

But he keeps putting me down, focusing on one thing, never minding the rest of it...disregarding the rest of it.

My stomach can't handle being here, in this same house, in this place with him. I literally get nauseated. I can't handle it. I love him so much, yet I trust him not at all.

I believed in him.

Just like Daddy.

Just like the rest.

He accuses me of pushing people away. I suppose that's true...but not really. I don't push people away, I just don't let them all the way in. And this is a real good example of why that's so.

People - especially around here - can't handle the truth. The ugly. The nasty. The brutality.

I can't even handle it, and it happened to me!

So if you know someone who's going through the healing process, don't go around talking about them as if you know what they're going through. Trust me: you don't. You can't fathom what it's like to have a constant picture of your father's penis in your mouth, play over and over in your mind as if you're still a  child. You can't fathom how enormous a grown man's penis is to a six-year-old girl, pressing against her. You don't know what it's like to be repeatedly held down and gang raped and beaten. It's excruciating. You don't know what I'm healing from, nor the strength and courage it takes to face it.

To talk about me behind my back, as if you have some understanding is an insult. It's also a betrayal of the worst kind.

And you worry about my drinking a six pack? To numb the pain of your giving up? To numb the pain of your constant betrayals? While I'm dealing with this shit?

Really?

Drinking is bad - but it's not as bad as what you've put me through. I don't drink a lot (except once, the other night, had too much - what a disaster that was) and I drink alone, with nobody. I stay away from people. I try so hard to ignore the fact that you're out partying with your friends, everyone's (apparently) talking about my "problems"

Whatever it is they imagine my "problems" to be.

There is no compassion in this town. There is no understanding.

Everything is just hunky dory.

Cruel doesn't begin to describe what you've done to me...and then pretend to care, just adds salt to the wound. So daddy-like.

I love you enough that I would never do this to you. Ever.

Still.