Doing it right

1 Biographie  |   September 26, 2015  |     1361

I was abused many times; drunken many times, and tortured. This post might be the hardest to read as I go deeper into myself and discover what happened, how it happened and how I survived.

Most of the time when I was abused there was a pattern to it. That pattern would start by a fun activity, my grandfather loved me; or I thought he did, or I felt he did. Either way, we’d do something fun first, go play in basebal, go four-wheeling, three-wheeling, go fishing, go play in the hay. But pretty fast, it would turn around the fun would end abruptly as his urges became uncontrollable. My grandfather was a drunkard, I don’t think i ever saw him sober. He drank at or before breakfast until he went to bed at night; he drank while driving, he would complain when there was nothing to drink. At home we would stack beers in the fridge downstairs just for him, my father and mother rarely drank themselves; but we had to have cold beer for him which I will never understand. Why the fuck did we cater to his needs, why the fuck did my parents bend to his will, knowing as they did that he abused their children? I don’t understand how my parents would trust us to him, knowing he was drunk all day long. It makes no sense to me. Except maybe if they didn’t care. Then everything becomes crystal clear.

Anyhow we’d go fish, and or ATV, or whatever. I have a hard time with these memories since dissociation generally erases memory past the moment where the traumatic experience starts. It most likely erased the fun times too. Say I went ATV’ing with my grandfather, then he’d stop at one of his cabins, or have friends come over for the party; they’d force me to drink, abuse the shit out of me, and eventually made me loose consciousness in some way. Either through partial drowning, or with a plastic bag over my head. In both these events, when you are about to loose it you puke your guts out. It’s pretty damn horrible, and then leave your body for a while. There was a method to make me come back and I believe it is from having me hang upside down; with more blood going to the head maybe something happens?

During the dissociation process, your memory is erased and becomes unavailable. You forget entirely, everything that happened because it is too much to handle; too much to understand. Today they call this process, or the consequence of this process the “Dissociative Identity Disorder”. It is thought to be caused by events in life prior to 9 years old, to near death experiences, or abuse; or parental neglect. I wrote a post (in french) on the process [here]. But basically your memory is erased, except the last few minutes and the erasing goes all the way to before the traumatic event started, in my case a few hours before so I can’t remember anything at all. Without EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing) and Cranio Sacral Therapy I would have had a hard time remember anything at all. EMDR is good for the emotional earthly processing, whilst cranio sacral clearly goes deeper to the soul level interpretation and integration of events. In my case the EMDR is more accessible since the therapist lives close by, and with Cranio Sacral I trust Sandra Parkinson most and she’s 1.5 hrs away by car; I see her less often.

I had a hard time with the “how can I not remember”. I hid for years, since the first memory started coming out in 2008, I was hiding in “maybe it never happened”. It is just too much to handle. All of it. It is absolutely insane. But it happened. I can accept that now thanks to Emmanuel Gamache, the therapist who performs both EMDR and “line of life” therapies on me (and some hypnosis). There is barely any gap between my unconscious mind and conscious mind now. Barely. I go into trance in a heartbeat without any help.

When I revisit the traumatic nucleus, the area of my existence where all of this pain is stored and kept under pressure, I cross a boundary. Beyond boundary there is pure pain, disgust, physical damage, numbness, confusion (from all the alcohol), desire to be free, desire to be recognized, invasion of all my boundaries, no sense of self worth.. the list goes on. When you think of it, in some breakdown kind of way you get something like this:

  • sexual abuse
  • in childhood
  • before the age of two
  • that lasted 11 years
  • while drunk
  • by family members (authority)
  • by family members (who are supposed to love you)
  • my parents knew
  • my parents let it happen
  • my father brought me to some of these events knowingly, on purpose sometimes
  • he used me, as a gift, to get what he wanted (to get fucked up his a*hole)
  • my grand mother said that if I wanted to be loved, I had to take it and take it all in silence, if I yelled or express anything she’s get in trouble
  • she said these things while cleaning us up afterwards
  • every member of my family kept telling me how much they loved me
  • my uncle and aunt used me as a shield for their children, they’d create opportunities for my grandfather to abuse me so he wouldn’t touch their children
  • my other uncle invited his friend over, so he could also have a go. I was shared
  • that friend love making me lick his ass, and farted in my mouth quite often, sometimes shit came out
  • he also held my head up my fathers naked ass, and my father did nothing to stop him
  • a few times there were gang bangs
  • my grand father was very psychologically abusive as well, he’d yell at me, while fucking the shit out of me
  • he said things like: it’s your fault, you make me do it; you’ll never love a woman, you’ll always get fucked by men
  • then they either partially drowned me, or put a plastic bag over my head
  • i’d loose consciousness

And then when i woke up, my memory was erased. a big part of me was lost as well, since dissociation takes a part of you away, the pain cannot exist on it’s own, it needs a part of your identity to hold it; like a container.

As a kid, coming from authority figures, you feel like you did something wrong. It is your fault, and my grandfather kept repeating that too, YOU MAKE ME DO IT (he would yell, decorated by a bunch of swear words; while fucking me up the ass). And so I spent all my life feeling like there was something wrong with me. I had done something wrong, and I tried my hardest, I put my entire being out there trying to do things right so that this time, when we had some fun I wouldn’t get abused.

I started feeling other people deeply, especially men. I was afraid of all men, it didn’t matter where they came from, or who they were. Any man around me was perceived like a threat. I didn’t feel this consciously; it was very deeply unconscious. I was shaking internally, scared all the time, and I didn’t know what was happening. But I felt others deeply and tried to anticipate what THEY wanted, in the unconscious hope that this time I wouldn’t get punished.

And so this is what my life has been like. Up until today. When I reached adulthood I quickly forged a lifestyle where authority didn’t exist. I became a consultant, I charged incredible sums of money for my time (up to 300$/h) in a quest to find freedom. To me money = freedom from punishment; and the freedom to do what I want. Exactly what I want. Without anybody being able to say anything about it. I have to admit I couldn’t have gone this path if I wasn’t so smart. I also couldn’t have gone down this path if I didn’t have such a big heart that even in the darkest moments, I still cared about my grandfather, and his friends, and my uncle. When I visit those moments I feel my heart beaming out to them. That too is insane. Why do I do that?

I guess the insanity of what they did had to be met by the insanity of the love that dwells in me. So much love. And that carried me through, and instead of dying, or repeating the pattern.. well I am breaking it. YOU HEAR THAT? I AM NEVER GOING TO ABUSE ANY CHILDREN. EVER.

And so, in the emotional, unconscious mess, I lived a life where I escaped, I fleed my body; refused to let my roots grow, lived mostly in reaction to the outer world. I was always leaving to go somewhere new, the next step. The next destination.

Here is a list of things I avoided, in fear of getting “punished”:

  • any family gathering
  • any form of authority (police, customs officers, family, school, bosses)
  • routine
  • any form of proximity, except sexual, although that caused heaps of problems too
  • groups of men, i mostly surrounded myself with women
  • being broke (ie having no freedom)
  • office politics
  • any person who wasn’t true to herself/himself
  • any type of manipulation
  • being loved
  • anybody trying to care for me
  • anybody having expectations of me, especially sexual
  • over time, alcool, drugs, etc

Although some items on that list sound like a good thing; some are quite sad. I was a mess, of confusion, of contradictions. I wanted to be recognized, but I didn’t want anybody to look at what I did for fear of punishment. I thought I always was doing something wrong no matter what I did. There was no way out. I also want love/need love to heal, but I don’t let anybody get close to me. It’s a bit crazy.

It is really crazy.

All these years in self doubt, in working on myself with obsession. It has become an obsession. I want to get it right. And whenever I have something to deliver, it is never enough. The unconscious fear of “you will get punished, NO MATTER WHAT”. Because for 12 years I tried to find the “right way” of doing things as to avoid my perceived “punishment”. Truth is, what they did to me had nothing to do with me. I was just a tool, a toy, an object. They didn’t respect me, they didn’t really care for me. They didn’t give a fuck; well beyond keeping me alive.

And someone, somewhere, somehow did stitches to my anus when it was ripped at 2 years old. I wish I knew who this person was.

And so, time and time over, I tried to do things right. I tried to make it so the abuse wouldn’t be so hard. I tried to avoid the worst. But no matter what I did, it just got worst. More people joined, and because of the setting it only brought out the worst in them. I even started getting good at giving head (at some point). I tried to please them. And as almost every sexual abuse victim will end up admitting to themselves in the process of healing, I ended up enjoying giving pleasure. Now that is fucked up. It brings shame into play.

I don’t know what to say more. I hope I make it through. I hope this fear of “delivery” leaves me. I hope this problem with authority also dissipates; the fear of love; the fear of somebody else taking care of me too.

I hope.

I wish.

And I keep doing therapy and facing things.

When I cross the boundary into the pain nucleus, and I come back out, each time i get a small taste of the dissociation. My memory wipes. Since I don’t spend too much time there, it only wipes 20-30 minute’s worth of information. But it’s scary as shit. It did help me understand how I could not remember the evens of abuse tho. And that has helped a lot.

And so I hope.

and so I wish.

That I will start enjoying the good things, instead of pushing them aside. How many women tried to get close to me and I pushed them aside? A hundred? more?

How many people saw huge potential in me professionally and I ended up sabotaging the relationships? so many. How can I trust again? I want to trust.

I want to love, and be loved.
I want to deliver, and be recognized.

Comments
  • September 26, 2015 at 10:39 pm

    elijahrenard

    Hey Martin,
    Thank you for sharing your experiences and thoughts. It’s been a long time (since we saw each other) but I remember you telling me you had “stuff to deal with”. I am glad to read that you are doing this work.
    Hang in there, I want to see you deliver!
    Elijah

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