I M Perfect lady

One of the gifts of disassociation in the moment of trauma is that you are kept unaware.  And being unaware, you don't know.  It puts the event in very very very slow motion. Where the body takes the physical injury, but the mind doesn't record it for 40 years, in my case.

The total event doesn't happen until the mind and body are in perfect harmony with the truth.

So, it was like I was being raped again, when the mind became aware of it…I was a 46 year-old feeling the trauma of a seven year old being abused.

I was reverted back to being a very little girl, but had the words to articulate and to put up boundaries.  A very unique position to be in, a 46 year-old child being abused.

It was as if I was able to witness how a child goes through the motions of abuse and the reactions within the circle of her life.

I was able to see first hand the reaction of family and friends in how they treat and engage with the victim…and see how it is set up to embrace a wounded child.

Mostly, I am still waiting for the support team to arrive.

It is deeply appalling to me and vastly disturbing to know how little there is for an abused child to hold on to.

Who is there who will listen and to see the child?

Many will say they are open to hear anything the child has to say….but try speaking against a family and church and see how far you get…see how open that thick wall of resistance is.

I guess I have been trying to get them to hear a child, to see how hard it is to change their preconceived ideas, and thus far it has failed.

Mostly this blog has been to use my voice and words to articulate how it is being an abused child within a family that is wrapped in the beliefs of the FALC and dysfunction.

And mostly, it is like talking to a wall.  This is what a child feels.

There is no one hearing their cries.

Just about every spirited comment has been in the defense of the church or family.

Where is the outrage and injustice towards the abused children, the fear of there being pedophiles still running free inside of the church? 

Who is out there taking up the cries of the child and doing something?

I see the abused children sitting in a cold dark well of silence, while above is the singing of voices praising the ones who hurt them.

Above the well of silence echo words to ward off the truth the children are saying.  They are singing so loudly our cries can't be heard.

I would not have guessed in a million years the reactions I would be getting.  The level or thickness of the wall of resistance is pretty much impenetrable.  There is simply not a crack a child can wiggle into to be seen.

There isn't any word you can say that will penetrate the closed mind.

Walking the walk of an abused child, but in an adult body with a mind that is much more at an advantage than that of a child, has shown me clearly what a dark pathway it is for a child.

I had thought, that perhaps fancy words, articulation, siting books and authors I would glean some attention, that I could send in an arrow that would peirce the dark, but it hasn't been so.

Writing and talking for seven years…and the sing song voices continue to sing…and the cries continue to cry.

The detective asked me, "What would it have taken for you to wake up, prior to the truth that your father was a pedophile?"  And I had no answer. 

I don't know what would have woke me up any earlier than I did.

What one thing that will split the darkness wide open.

That is the answer I am seeking.  

That is the ball I want to lob at the wall of denial.

It is the magic word that needs to be spoken from deep within the well.  

Only a day or two after hearing that my father was a pedophile, I recounted the feelings of being in a well.  And I actually felt like I had crawled to the surface and was left standing out there, muddy and dirty, but free. 

Perhaps the freedom the children in the well need is to believe their own truth. The truth shall set you free.   The voices above are there to keep you from hooking onto them, and are challenging you to rise on your own…by following your truth, always.

The only one who truly needs to believe you is you.

When you are separated from your truth, you live deep within a darkened well.

Photograph by Hannah Jukuri