Scarring your children: how not to do it.

Arnold: When I was about 5, my cousin and I . . . went into the basement and dropped our pants. We touched each other’s penises, and that was it. I guess I didn’t realize the total significance of the secrecy in which we carried out this act. For later . . . my parents questioned me . . . and I told them exactly what we had done. They were horrified and told me that that was definitely forbidden (Morrison et al., 1980, p. 24)
Despite Arnold’s parents’ “horror,” same-sex sexual play in childhood does not foreshadow adult sexual orientation (Reinisch, 1990). It may, in fact, be more common than heterosexual play. It typically involves handling the other child’s genitals, although it may include oral or anal contact. It may also include an outdoor variation of the game of “show” in which boys urinate together and see who can reach farthest or highest.

I’ve been made to feel guilty about my body and about normal sexual exploration as a child, since I was young. I was told that I was oversexed, I was dirty, that young ladies didn’t touch themselves there, that I was too young to be doing that, etc. Then, when my cousin (slightly younger) and experimented, like the above example, and we were caught by my Aunt, I was lectured by father. He actually did a great job of gently telling me that it wasn’t okay. It was my crazed, stoner Aunt who went off and was yelling insults at me. She said I was gay, that I needed help, that I was disgusting.

The logical part of me knows that what we did was mere childish experimentation and nothing more. The scared, guilty child in me wonders if my cousin thinks I coerced her. I am worried that she thinks I’m some molester. That now she’s in therapy or that she needs therapy or something, because of it. It’s so painful, I push it away and don’t think of it. It goes into my gut. For Christ’s sake, I was fucking molested! I know how it feels and to think that someone out there, let alone family, might think that about me or feel the same way I feel towards the man who did it to me; I could kill myself right now without hesitation.

I will never talk to her about it. Ever. This is something I will just have to resolve with myself or just live with, kind of. I guess writing this is a way of living with it, sort of.

I will never talk to my mother or my mother’s sister (different Aunt) about how they shamed me and made me feel like shit for being perfectly normal about my body. Yes, I touched myself when I was young and I did so in front of the TV, when I thought no one was around. Yes, I masturbated when I had no inkling what the hell masturbation was; I just knew it felt good. Instead of making me feel bad and scarring me psychologically for the rest of my life, how about talking to me about it and educating me? Luckily, I plan on talking to any children I have. I won’t scar them for life and make them feel self conscious every time they pleasure themselves as a teen or adult.

Way to go, bad parents.

Sex ed rocks and good sex ed should be mandatory to have children. Sexual psychology is a prerequisite.

Touchy subject, no pun intended.

I saw my therapist for the first time in, well, over a month today. We briefly caught up, but ended up on a very sensitive subject for me: sexual abuse when I was a child. I still haven’t told her, in detail, what happened and I’m not quite sure why. This is a link we both share, so you’d think I would be more open to saying what happened. I think I feel an extremely large amount of guilt. I don’t think I was at fault, by any means. I was only a small girl when it happened. I think I feel guilt because I didn’t stop him and I could have. I also didn’t tell anyone about it until I was much older and in therapy. I feel guilt because there are those in this world who have suffered far worse at the hands of someone they trusted, loved, etc. and I feel like maybe I should just get over it. The logical part of my mind says this is all bullshit, but my emotions say something completely different.

We also discussed my current relationship and how I cannot be intimate because my mind won’t stop racing back to that night. Whenever we try to be intimate, which isn’t often anymore, I wince. I can’t stop my mind from racing. I keep thinking:I hope he doesn’t touch me like I was that night. When I think this, I end up ending whatever was happening. Sex is obviously out of the question at the moment until this is tackled. The amount of guilt I feel because of this is monumental. The logical part of me realizes that I’m in no type of “binding contract” to perform sexual acts for anyone unless I damn well please, but I still feel an insane amount of guilt. Self loathing, low self esteem, and guilt have been my constant negative feelings lately, coupled with stress and loneliness. It’s all too much sometimes.

We also discussed how my mom didn’t (maybe still doesn’t) believe me when I told her and how that makes me feel. I haven’t figured out if this is worse than what actually happened that night. To be told by your mother that “you must be remembering it wrong” or “he would never do something like that”. It’s a horribly invalidating experience and I feel like I can never trust her for anything. I feel so numb right now. I know that talking about it is better than bottling it up, but I don’t like the rawness I’m experiencing. I feel like crawling in bed right now for the rest of the day. I’m supposed to go to my mom’s tonight but I really don’t want to and I cannot think of an excuse to get out of it.

Being open about what happened to me has been a positive as well as a negative experience. I feel more empowered when I share with certain people and yet, I feel trapped at the same time. This is something I purposely pushed down so deep, for years, and completely “forgot” about. Now I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.

I thought everything would be perfect. I was wrong.

I told myself that as soon as I left my mom’s, as soon as I removed myself from that toxic environment, everything was going to be perfect.

I would finally be on my own. I was an adult now and was free of her own virus. I was to be financially stable with my boyfriend, my cats, a new bed, and kitsch from IKEA. It seemed like paradise to me at the time but my mind had other plans.

It didn’t take long for this ‘thing’ inside to find other reasons to be miserable. Some of them even remained carefully hidden, from me and everyone around me. I thought that at this point, I’d be so happy. I thought I had finally managed to carve out a sane chunk of my brain and wouldn’t be bothered by those other pieces.

I feel like I’ve not made any progress. The self deprecation, consistent self harm, and thoughts of death have persisted. They may even be stronger this round.

Now that I’m jailed in my ‘dream’ home, I’m stuck with my thoughts all the time. I see one person for days at a time and breathe in manufactured air. I can no longer afford this fantasy life anymore. Something must change. I fear the worse.

unconditional positive regard

” Express empathy for client’s difficulties (feeling inadequate or incompetent) through unconditional positive regard, warm acceptance, and reflective listening.” – taken from The Personality Disorders Treatment Planner by Neal R. Bockian and Arthur E. Jongsma

Hmm, how to phrase my connection to this statement? I’ll try my best I guess.

This is what has been lacking in my life since, well, forever. Can you imagine the damage it has done? If I had to pick one event or thing to pinpoint as the reasoning behind my mental issues, this would probably be it. Not the molestation, not the traumatic fire; this. When you have something you feel is important turned down or ignored, it burns. When you’re an overly emotional child like I was, it burned and left a deep scar. To this day, when this happens to me, I can’t handle it. I freak out and want to hide forever. Acceptance, let alone “warm acceptance”, has never been a part of my life.

What confuses me more is how am I able to be the exact opposite of my mother in this regard? I feel I am one of the most caring and attentive people out there. Maybe I’m not, I don’t know. What do you think?

Revelation of the morning:

My mother and father have helped to  make me an emotional cripple. They have made it so that I am afraid to become emotionally dependent on anyone and I’m confused as to what to do most of the time. I either become intensely obsessed and unable to separate myself from those who obviously don’t reciprocate my intense feelings or I am unable to make a connection at all. It’s a terribly uncomfortable feeling.

I guess this is what the professionals like to call emotional invalidation. Whenever I have reached out to someone for emotional validation, I haven’t received it. My grandparents are probably the only people in the world that I don’t question regarding their emotional dedication to me. Do you know what it’s like to feel like there is doubt regarding your parents love? It feels horrible.

Stressed beyond belief

I have to have a job by April 1st. That’s next week.

There is a limitation on what I can do also. Because of my ankle, I am unable to be on my feet for more than 30-45 minutes at a time. That pretty much limits me to jobs where I’m sitting down and babysitting. My mom seems pretty damn serious this time about kicking me out too. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.I will end up living in my car because I have nowhere else to go. I will then end up failing school and will never be able to find a decent job.

Why my mom has to be such a cunt about this is beyond me. If she thinks she’s teaching me a lesson, she’s not. She’s really only teaching me to hate her.

From okay to not okay in a matter of minutes…

My mom comes home and can ruin my mood in a matter of minutes with just a few sentences. I know many will say that “I shouldn’t allow her to wield so much power over my moods or emotions” or “She’s only as powerful as I let her be over me” etc. etc. That’s super easy to say but not so easy to put into action. My Sunday is now officially ruined, thanks a ton. I will now feel like I need to walk on eggshells the rest of the day.