Tag Archives: Childhood trauma

Bad

360f91b2-8be5-4757-8526-8e375b194c0d

Some  days I wish I was back getting whipped by my Daddy Dom, tied to a tree ball gagged and blind folded wearing nothing but a pair of stilettos.

Why?

Things seemed easier, everything was so clearly defined.  I didn’t have to make too many decisions.   If I overate, there were immediate consequences; he beat me so hard I couldn’t stand.  He was like a sadistic drill instructor that was up my ass   24/7.   He probably wasn’t helping to manage my eating disorder out of genuine caring; it was self-serving because he wanted me to remain in a slender body .  After all, he was superficial and shallow and had I gained weight he would have dumped me in a heartbeat.

He told me he loved me but I knew somewhere deep inside me that it was a lie.   I hurt but I ended up being okay with it because on some core level I didn’t feel deserving of love.

So the relationship ended up being based almost entirely upon sex.  Which wasn’t all bad.  Right? I mean sex is good.  Even bad sex is good.  Well, until he started telling me his fantasies were about wanting to abduct teenage girls and torture them.  Yeah, that kinda ruined things.   It’s kinda that oh shit moment where you realize it’s a lot bigger than just your relationship going belly up or the loss of your integrity.

My fiancé is sober almost 3 years from alcohol.  He doesn’t beat me for overeating.  He’s not a Daddy dominant.   He doesn’t tie me to trees and cane my tits til their purple.  When I met him he didn’t even know what “rimming” was.    We are a vanilla couple.  He tells me he loves me but deep down I don’t know if I believe it because at that same core level I still don’t believe I am deserving of love.

What is the old saying, you can take the girl out of the city; but you can never really take the city out of the girl.

It seems like whether I am paired with a sociopathic pig or with a decent man the end result is the same, my feelings about myself have not changed over time.  My long-standing operating belief system says “You are bad”.   It is preventing me from any real chance at intimacy.

While I with the ex-Dom I knew that he was a bad man.  I felt bad about myself and suffered a great deal at his hands but I longed for something better.  However,  I figured this was as good as it gets for someone who is broken like me.  In the end I resigned myself that we were just better paired for each together because we were both broken.  He in his sociopathy and I in my victimization.

At present, that the proverbial good guy is finally in my life and I can’t shake off this feeling that I am still not good enough.  Which makes me throw walls up, I don’t want him to get too close.  It’s like I don’t want to infect him with my “broken” poison.   At times when my walls aren’t strong enough to keep him out, I resort to direct self-sabotage methods which are more aggressive,   Mostly verbal attacks.  This causes him to emotionally distance and pull away.   He doesn’t know it’s because I fear he will somehow get contaminated just by being involved with me too closely.

It all started so far back in childhood.  This brokenness.   The feeling unlovable, like I was just “bad.”  I suppose it was a product of the incest, physical abuse, emotional abuse, and verbal abuse.  How much does one have to rehash this shit in therapy before they can be “done”?

I’m just so done with seeing a shrink.   There’s only so much you can tell, the same horror stories without them becoming too activating and re-traumatizing.

I’m coming to the conclusion that maybe some people like me, just stay broken.  I mean, maybe we just do.  Or maybe I just need to take a flight out of the country and just need a geographical break from my life.  Like that movie,” Eat, Pray, Love”.    

Okay.  First pay off  $30,000 in credit card debt.  Then travel abroad.  Then get unbroken.  Find spiritual peace.  In that order.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Brokenness

35BD623D-A1A9-46D6-AEDC-1E3AF6FACB74

Growing up I had many fears.   They were not just ordinary kid fears.  For there were things which lurked in the dark.  Things from which my parents could not protect me.   I often felt petrified particularly at night.   The nights were long and at times seemed to stretch out interminably.

To make matters worse the landscape of my daytime was such that I was rather invisible.   Usually well-behaved, I got lost in the shuffle of the chaos and discord,  the cacophony of our home.  I needed comfort after the unspeakable terror of the night.  I often fantasized about being rescued by a benevolent parent archetype.  Someone who would recognize my hidden suffering and rescue me from the profane which my parents could not see.

So ever since I was small I can remember seeking out bits of care and affection hoping to stitch together enough to survive.    I have a crystal clear memory of cutting a bunch of lavender colored lilacs with a pair of scissors from the bush outside my bedroom window.   I brought them to school as a gift for my 3rd grade teacher, with some tin foil wrapped at the base.  I was hoping my good deed would earn me a bit of her praise.  Wishing she might look favorably upon me.   I was starving, aching for somebody, anybody,  to tell me that I was a good girl.

That desperation has not changed much since then; only my age has.

Even when I have managed to capture that attention and validation from a man as an adult,  that I had so desperately sought back then, I cannot hold onto the warmth I feel from receiving it for very long.  Because my early childhood trauma left me with a hole somewhere, all of the warmth and goodness I am able to take in slips away into the darkness leaving me feeling empty and alone.

I have been left in a constant unending cycle of seeking attention and validation from others.  The process itself is exhausting, time-consuming, and always ends the same.   I must begin it all over.

Trying to figure out how to construct the emotional glue with which to fill this invisible hole has proven a lot harder than I ever imagined.  For I don’t know where the hole exists within myself to patch and the spackle is not readily available at the local hardware store.

I still feel like a little girl inside, wanting that care and reassurance that I am lovable and good.  There is the sobering realization that it’s all going to have to come from me.  I’m going to have to be that voice I always needed.

I don’t want to shoulder this.  I want a different way.  I continue to struggle with accepting that there will never be anyone to rescue me.   There won’t be any grown up to tell me that I’m good.  Because I’m not 7 years old anymore, even if I feel like it on the inside.

It sucks being broken.   Dealing with kid feelings, kid fears, in a grown up body.

Kid Fears – The Indigo Girls – 1988

Pain from pearls, hey little girl
How much have you grown?
Pain from pearls, hey little girl
Flowers for the ones you’ve known
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running high (running high)
You had a hiding place
Secret staircase (secret staircase), running low (running low)
They all know, now you’re inside
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Kid fears
Skipping stones, we know the price now
Any sin will do
How much further, if you can spin
How much further, if you are smooth
Are you on fire (are you on fire)
From the years? (from the years)
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Replace the rent with the stars above
Replace the need with love
Replace the anger with the tide
Replace the ones, the ones, the ones, that you love
The ones that you love
Are you on fire
From the years?
What would you give for your
Kid fears?
Are you on fire
From the years
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
What would you give for your
Kid fears
You can’t feel
The kids
Songwriters: Amy Elizabeth Ray / Emily Ann Saliers

 


%d bloggers like this: