Tag Archives: blaming the victim

Grieving out loud…

For those of you that can’t handle my extreme and unbridled rage right now, let this serve as a TRIGGER WARNING.  And here is a picture of a bunny to give you the opportunity to get the heck out of here.

Hey, I'm a hot mess, time to scramble...

Hey, I’m a hot mess, time to scramble…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let the rant begin.  This moment, right now, I’m furious.  I’ve snapped with grief and I’m tired and exhausted and insulted and unwilling to hold it in any longer. The music is on full blast with Janis Joplin screaming I’ll say come on, come on, come on, come on and take it!
Take it!
Take another little piece of my heart now, baby.
Oh, oh, break it!
Break another little bit of my heart now

I’ve cleaned and cried and smoked cigarettes as I look at my home that I’ve finally decided has to be divided.  How the hell did I get here?  Did I not try hard enough?  Did I not bleed enough for this relationship?  When did my beloved home turn into a cold gilded cage?  Where are my plants going to live now?  The wisteria planted in the early days of love that is deeply intertwined among the trellis and surrounding trees, how do I tell it to unwind, that there is no place for it here now?

I’m full of rage as I look at the items deciding what’s mine and what’s his.  I hate his socks right now.  They are everywhere, haunting me from the place where they were discarded at the foot of the couch for an intimate moment.  His socks are mocking me.  I still love, he doesn’t.

I’m seething at any person, at any time, for any reason has questioned my sanity.  My brain, while different and reacting unlike normal people (whoever the fuck they are) is not crazy.  It was changed.  It was changed as a child when my father and my uncles for numerous years raped the children in my family.  They forever and permanently changed the way that I see the world and severely limited my ability to trust.  But they never stole my ability to love because that I do fiercely, deeply and with loyalty to a fault. But back to crazy, I’m not.  And I’m fucking tired of folks too ignorant and lazy to become informed before slicing me and other survivors open with insane stupid comments and blatant arrogance that you know better.  You don’t.

And by the way, disassociation is a thing. A real fucking thing.  It happens because its the wondrous coping mechanism of the human under attack.  When the pain becomes too traumatic, too difficult, too much for tiny little children’s minds to process, it splits.  Bam, just like that.  You go somewhere else, someplace safer than the place you are in where your uncle is raping you at gunpoint. And guess what, when you’re gone, you’re gone.  And to the major asshole who said that my disassociative episodes were a ploy for attention, well simply put, go fuck yourself.  You speak with ignorance and venom.  Anyone who knows me at all, knows that I try and try and then I fucking try some more to be the best, intact, whole person I can be given my history.  To say anything less than that of me is cruel and unforgivable.

No, I’m not done yet, there’s more. I’m enraged at any person, for any reason who turns a blind eye to pain.  This happens in so many ways; through denial of wanting to acknowledge a person’s pain, therefore maybe having to deal with it OR being frustrated that said person struggles a lot so you offer a platitude in order to get the hell away from this person you’ve judged as insane.  Again, look at the above bunny and leave me the hell alone.  You don’t have to hurt me just to get a safe distance away.  I get it, of all people I understand that this is tough fucking shit and not everyone has the stomach for it.  BUT…there’s always the option of offering love and leaving anyway.  Bottom line, I’m left here to deal with this confusing mess of neurons on a daily basis and it’s no walk in the park. It takes hourly awareness and diligent practice to stay centered and even heal from these traumas.  Don’t add to them.  And especially don’t pretend it’s in the name of love.  I’m calling bullshit on that one.

While I’m ranting, I may as well cuss the pharmaceutical companies who manufacture drugs to make lots of money that are prescribed by asshole doctors.  My anti-depressants are giving me such incredible suicide ideation that the ideation is now taking form and making a plan.  And getting off this shit is a bitch.  Again, another mind-bending bitch to contend with.  And yes, suicide ideation and self harm is a real thing too.  It’s not just words that we in a secret meeting of the I’ve-been-molested club got together and invented.  These are real psychological phenomena.  Google it, you’ll see.  We don’t just get up in the morning, feed the dogs, have a cup of coffee and say “I think I’ll go slice on myself today and maybe for fun, I’ll go sit in the garage with the car running and see how fast I’ll puff up from carbon monoxide”.   But seriously, people talk to us as if we do this self-loathing, self-harming shit for attention.  Really?  Do you really believe that I’d prefer that method of coping to say…. working at the dog rescue shelter or taking some flowers to the old ladies at the nursing home?  If you believe that, you need a quick reality check and a good therapist.

The rant winds down here.  Be kind, everyone is struggling.  If you don’t know how to help and you want to, ask.  It’s that simple.  Is there anything I can do to help?  If you don’t care or are just socially awkward, flash a peace sign, say Kumbaya my Lord or offer a hug.  If you don’t have more, that’s fine but if you think you can fake concern, use condescension or just toss a crappy cliche’ toward me, you’re wrong.  Because here’s the other thing that develops in survivors as we are fending off our nasty fathers and uncles, we became ultra-sensitive.  I’m talking over-the-top, can practically read-your-feelings-without-you-knowing-it, living and floating in an emotional bizarre dimension that few know anything about.  We know when you’re lying and we know when you’re trying to be cruel.

End of rant.  For those who stuck around to the end, well, thanks.  You’re tougher than most.  For those who didn’t stay, block me on FB and have a good life. Kumbaya.

Unknown-1

 

 

 

 

 

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How Do You Honor Your Parents, When They Do Not Always Honor You? by Karen Hernandez

karenGod commands it – Honor your mother and your father.

I believe God passed down this commandment with the meaning that when you do honor your parents, you are honoring God, because, after all, God is our ultimate parent, considered “Father,” to many.

The question begged, however, is what if your parents do not honor you? What if your parents are abusive? What if they treat you with disrespect? Are we, their children, still expected to honor them?

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she’s ranting again…

Good Lord, I don’t even know where to start.

Here’s the thing about a rant.  It zig zags around, not  following any particular order, a cathartic serving of bottled up emotional energy and other crap.  Its taken me months to put this certain stream of events in order and now that I have, I’m pretty pissed.  Perhaps some of the folks who subscribed to this blog are expecting only my visions of beauty and introspection and yes, there will be some of those.  But, here’s a spoiler alert for the faint of heart, bail out now, cause i’m pissed.  This is about my anger about betrayal.

I feel betrayed.  I feel betrayed on several levels by comments made to me by family/friend  that “you drive people away” with my disassociative  episodes.  So here’s is where I’m gonna break that apart and maybe someone else can get the benefit of this mess.

One of the first things I remember learning in Sunday school (of all places for me, since I’m a very infrequent church attender) is that one didn’t assign judgement to the person but instead to their behavior.  I learned that day that people aren’t bad but sometimes do bad things.  Susie isn’t a bad girl for hitting the boy on the playground but Susie did a bad thing by choosing.  (Of course, I always figured that Susie didn’t do a bad thing and the boy most certainly deserved it and had it coming, but that is another character flaw meant for another blog post)…..Now this is a really broad statement that can be debated forever by great legal, philosophical and ethical minds but for here we are keeping it simple and going with the fact that people aren’t bad but their actions sometimes are.

But what about in the case of someone having an illness that causes them to do something that is uncomfortable, inconvenient or even frightening?  What then?  Is the diabetic “bad” because she lapses into a coma in public causing everyone to scurry around and tend to her?  I wouldn’t think so.  Do we scold and shame her for not watching herself closer and tell her she is driving her family away with her condition? That doesn’t even sound right.  But that  is the scary reality of those with fragile diabetic conditions, among many other conditions, that if not monitored they could become unable to care for themselves and need help.  And I hope always that their families approach them with compassion and care.  

Is the elderly person moving slowly through the grocery store doing that on purpose to anger those around her who believe she should keep up the pace?  God no.  But there are those with huge egos that will look upon her with scorn at the very prospect of her getting in their way.  And again, I hope we always can view her as human being moving at the cadence perfect to her at that moment.

But what about the invisible mental illness and specifically disassociation?  When a child is subject to repeated trauma, there is an inevitable and glorious place that their brains take them to survive the horror where they can camp out until the danger passes.  Then once the trauma is over, they can gradually find their way back and piece themselves together.  Hopefully and ideally this is how it works.  I find this whole concept of beautiful design and thank God for creating such a beautiful place to go amidst such ugliness.  The brain becomes familiar with this escape route and uses it whenever necessary albeit sometimes with faulty implementation, meaning one can become overly dependent on escaping.

But what if that part doesn’t learn to re-integrate and gradually over time becomes stuck in that limbo, that in between purgatory place?  That splintered part can become dead to our conscious selves, silent for years or decades and for some folks, it never appears.  The disassociated self becomes so adept at splitting and creating its own personality/personalities but continues the entire time to record any and all events, smells, light, and energy, down to the tiniest detail of the traumatic events.  It stores them and hides them so well that often we don’t even know that other self/selves are there, its as much of a surprise to us as it is to the family who surrounds us who watch us behave in ways seen in the worst horror movies.  When that tiny self decides it is time to emerge, that their surroundings are safe enough to come out and that they don’t have to stay cloaked and cloistered any longer, it can be a small tiny drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet or it can be a tsunami taking down everything in its path or something in between.

So are we to blame?  Would we ever ask the disassociated among us to keep that part inside or somehow hide it because its ugly, unpredictable, “not done in our family”, messy or just plain freaky?  Some will say yes to themselves because the thought of having such reality thrust into their lives just sends them spinning.  Most will say no, that we shouldn’t hide those people away but silently thank the universe for not putting those troubled souls in their world for them to deal with.  Maybe because I’m in the population of the “split and fractured” that I’ve decided to embrace this tiny little girl for the freaking superhero that she is and not only revere her but defend and spout back to my people that they need to look at themselves closer if they can’t handle looking at her.  I think she rocks and I’m done hiding her even if she appears ugly to some, she’s beautiful and courageous to me.  And I’m looking the world straight in the eye now, for her and for me.

Now in the end, I will settle down about this.  Will I find another word to replace betrayal?  Probably, because overall I do have a huge tendency to see the other person’s side as well as smooth out differences with anyone I’ve gotten crossways with.  I also want them to understand that judgement in this situation is trauma layered with more trauma to the very confused survivor trying to make sense of the insides of their own soul.

Will I forgive the people who don’t understand?  Maybe in time, but I know I will forgive them more for me than them.  This is a concept that I continue to learn about but have a really difficult time with.  The example that made the most sense was Oprah‘s comment that “not forgiving someone is like drinking poison and expecting it to hurt the other person” or something close to that…but you get my drift.  I know its the right thing to do and will continue praying for my ego to melt enough for forgiveness to happen.  

But, I have also learned a very valuable lesson as I search out who to trust and who not to.  Survivors are awful at trust.  We want to so badly yet often choose people that we shouldn’t trust or at least trust so entirely when we should have pulled back the reins a great deal.  I can’t speak for all survivors but this seems to be the general trend for myself and as I’ve heard it from others.  But here’s the thing that I have gotten from all this soul searching and pain, I have to trust myself fully and others somewhat.  This will give me the most peace and serenity.

Done for now.


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