I can't remember a lot of stuff

[quietdespair]

If anyone is going to read this I guess I should warn you that I am going to talk about some pretty horrible things. Things that may upset you and I don't want that. Please don't read if you are unable to handle talk of physical or sexual abuse.
I've been thinking a lot about my childhood lately. I usually try not to because it makes me feel angry and guilty. I can't remember a lot of my childhood, however. Most of it is like a huge blank space and a lot of what I can remember is pretty awful.
I remember playing with my little brother Ben. He was my best friend. I remember swinging and climbing on monkey bars and pretending that we were the X-Men. We had a lot of fun and we loved being outside in the sunshine, feeling like the day would never end and the dark of night wouldn't dare show its face. I also remember my dad hitting me with a belt and trying to cover my backside with my hands. It enraged him and he would swing the belt harder and faster and it would burn as my flesh rose in giant welts that covered me from my lower back down to my knees. I remember the way he would curse at me and that sometimes the welts bled and would stain my clothes.
I remember my older brother David, too. He was not my friend. He hated me and would tell me this often. I remember him giving me Indian burns that broke the skin and bled. I remember him tripping me and pushing me down and mocking me for everything no matter how small. And Matt, my oldest brother, I remember him when he was still around. He would tell David to leave me alone. And if he caught David hitting me or hurting me in anyway he would kick his * and make him apologize for hurting me.
But Matt left when I was 9 and he was 15. He left me there and my mother, who was never around and was an alcoholic and sometimes drug addict, told David that he was "in charge". He'd been beating the crap out of me every chance he got anyway but when Matt took off he didn't have to worry about anyone caring about it. Dad was 400 miles away, my step dad was forgotten like a bad dream, and David was " man of the house".
So he hit me at least once every day that I can recall. Sometimes only one punch, sometimes so many that I was covered in bruises pretty much everywhere. I remember pissing blood and him choking me against the wall or on the floor. I remember my vision getting darker and darker and how it seemed like waves of blackness lapping at the outer edges of my vision. And feeling like I was falling down a long dark tunnel as my face and chest somehow burned and tingled at the same time. How every breath tore at my throat like knives when he finally let go, how it burned to breathe in and out.
I remember when he hit me in the mouth so hard that a tiny piece of my top lip was pushed through the gap between my front teeth and how it ripped when I pulled it out and the blood poured down until my shirt and hands were soaked. So much blood that his eyes got wide and I knew that he was scared, not because he hurt me but because someone might know what he'd done. I remember the taste of it, I remember swallowing it and feeling sick to my stomach.
I remember him stomping on my head and then the darkness swallowing me. I remember waking up and seeing Ben crying and then him telling me I'd been talking in words that didn't make sense while I kinda flopped my hands like a fish. And oh god help me I remember him hitting Ben too sometimes. He didn't do it often but when he did I would feel helpless rage coming over me. I tried to stop him a couple of times but I was too weak. I couldn't hit hard enough and he was a lot bigger than me and he would just beat the * out of me.
I remember when he threw Ben face first onto that big ugly coffee table and when Ben didn't get up or move I vowed to kill David. Even when Ben woke up I planned on how I would take a steak knife and stick it in his * neck while he was sleeping. I imagined how the blood would look in the dark and wondered if it would be red or black? Would it smell like mine? Would he scream?
I remember standing over him one night not long after, my hands shaking, the knife gripped so tight in my fist that it hurt. I remember trying to psych myself up to do it. To kill the hateful, evil * and be rid of him forever.
But I couldn't do it. I couldn't find it in myself to do it. I knew somehow that no matter what he did, it wasn't right. I couldn't let him make me bad like he was, no matter how much I hated him.
I remember when his friend Jason came to live with us when his mom went to prison. I was 11 and he was 14 and my mom thought it would be a good idea to put him in my room because I had one to myself. I remember how I had a crush on him and how we'd talk at night when everyone else was asleep. We became friends, I thought. Even though during the day he'd mock me right beside David and sometimes he'd hit me too. He said he cared about me when no one else was listening. I remember him covering my mouth with his hand as he raped me and stole my virginity. I remember how for the next year he did the same thing every night and how I told myself it was because he loved me and I let him do it. Because that was what he said to me, even if he hurt me, he was the only person who cared or loved me. I remember not liking the physical part of it but loving the feeling that somebody loved me. That somebody cared because by then Ben was almost as bad as David. Mocking me, hitting me, and even if he only did it to stay on David's good side, it hurt so much more because I had no one who loved me. No friends, no little brother, no Matt. I felt so alone and all I knew during the day was fear and pain and sorrow and hate for myself.
I remember deciding suddenly to leave to go live with my dad and having hope for the first time in forever that I might be free from what seemed like a city full of people that hated me. I remember having that hope smashed when my mother insisted that David come too because I "needed someone to watch out for me". I remember praying to god to just kill me every night. I remember trying to find the courage to step in front of a bus or jump off of the bridge near the school.
And I remember the man, Raymond, who molested me at 13 in the camper on my friend's dad's property. I remember telling myself that he must care and being disappointed when he ejaculated on my leg instead of " loving me" in the way I'd become accustomed to. I remember telling myself that it was my fault, I was too ugly or dumb or fat or stupid for anyone to "love me" again.
I remember skipping school one day at fifteen and feeling something hard and heavy hit my back between my shoulder blades, knocking me against my dresser. I caught myself and spun around on my heel with my hands clenched in fists, ready to hit whoever it was. It was David of course and the look of surprise on his face to see me so. He knew I'd gotten bigger, stronger. He'd heard how I'd finally decided to stand up to the other kids bullying me, how I'd kicked the crap out of not one but two boys who tried to jump me. How I'd left them bloodied and shamed and scurrying away like rats.
He looked at me and my fists stayed raised. I'd finally * had it with him. He might kill me but I was going to hurt him however I could. I might just be a dumb, fat girl but I wasn't weak anymore. I would take out an eye or bite his face or whatever it took to get a little payback. He must've sensed it, as mean and as stupid as he was, he must've realized that I wasn't going to let him hurt me anymore. He turned around and walked out, muttering something but not looking at me anymore either.
I remember vowing to myself that I would never let another man touch me again. I would kill the next dumb * who tried. And no one ever has. I may have been my own worst enemy for the next three years with my suicide attempts, my promiscuous actions, my binge drinking and my total lack of respect for rules and authority but I've never had to piss blood or walk around with a black eye or fat lip ever again.

[sanmagic7]

hey, quiet despair,

you've got quite some survival spirit within you!  while i honestly couldn't read your story word for word (very distressing), what i did read showed me someone who has a sense of self that will not be denied.  that you are still here speaks volumes to the warrior woman you are. 

your post said that you can't remember a lot, but it sounds like you do remember quite a bit.  are you seeing someone professionally who is helping you with this?  i hope you know that you didn't deserve any of what happened to you, that any shame you might feel rightfully belongs to the people who abused you, and that you have coped in the best way you knew how to stay alive and sane.  your strength and determination to get through all this are immense.

thank you for sharing.  my best to you in moving forward and recovering from your traumas.  sending a calming, peaceful hug to you.

[Three Roses]

Thank you for the courage it took to write this. I read every single word, and I pay my respects to you from a place deep inside me.

Maybe someday I will even feel brave enough to tell my stories. People like you give me hope and courage.

Here's to never letting any * ever hurt us again.

[quietdespair]

Sanmagic7, I am truly sorry that my words here were upsetting to you. That was not my intention.
I am currently not seeing anyone therapy-wise and haven't been for quite some time, not since 2000-2001. When I did, my therapist was a lovely woman but she couldn't find a way to help me. She couldn't settle on a diagnosis; ptsd, anxiety, clinical depression,  borderline personality disorder, bi-polar (which made NO sense to me at all). She tried giving me medications that ended up only making things worse; Paxil, Effexor, Trazadone. She really tried but she couldn't help me because I don't think she knew how.
I don't have the funds to seek help (if I wanted it now) and the MHMR would likely either reject me or put me on a waiting list that would be around 5 years.
I don't suffer the way I used to so that's something. The anxiety and anger lingers but I've learned to cope with it. Hypervigilance is still very much a thing with me and I find myself unable to trust others almost completely. But I AM coping. Right now it's the most that I can do.
I've healed some although nowhere near enough and every day is hard in varying degrees. Writing things down helps, talking about it helps more. I try to remain hopeful and loving to myself and others. I try to let the darkness have as little hold over me as possible.

[quietdespair]

Thank you Three Roses. I appreciate your kind words.

[sanmagic7]

oh, quietdespair, i hold no blame for you.  i just wanted to let you know that the impact of reading about what you went through can be nothing compared to the actual experience.  i'm glad you were able to write it down, get some of the poison out of you.  that's the important thing!

writing has helped me as well on several levels.  first, to get it outside of me, but also it often clarifies something confusing or causes a spark of realization.  i hope you keep writing.  i'll keep reading what i'm able - you're worth supporting.   keeping that darkness at bay takes a lot of strength and determination, and i give you so much credit for doing what you're doing to continue moving forward away from it.

we're here with you and for you, all together. 

[quietdespair]

Thank you sanmagic7. Your kindness means a lot to me and I truly appreciate it.