Human Trash

1 Biographie  |   August 14, 2016  |     183

In therapy recently, as I was focusing on paranoïa again, we visited a part of me that is still not clearly defined or fixed. It approaches on the 8th years of my life; it’s a dark area deep with pain. All kinds of pain from all kinds of origins. I’m a bit afraid of the period between 8 and 13 years old; I know the abuse continued but I don’t remember ANY of it. At all. And the last bits I do remember I felt like they were going to make me do things to other kids; and that isn’t something I sleep well over. I am a bit ashamed to say this, but it might have happened. And so far, the later things come up, the worst they are for me to deal with.

Lately I’ve been understanding that I need a witness; I need someone to tell me: martin this all happened, for real; it’s not just in your head. This and this and this has happened and normal consequences of that are X, Y and Z. And therefore your state; your struggles, the immensity of your pain body are all consequences; you can relax now.

My therapist often tries to make me feel like “it’s over now”. Telling the young me’s that it’s all over, I can relax now. There is no need to fear over your life or panic.

That fear is strong, for my life. I must have spent hours being drowned over and over and over again. Not able to do anything about it, feeling helpless, completely so. There was nothing I could do, they were so much stronger than me and I was incapacitated by alcohol. It’s weird how alcohol affects a kid differently from an adult.

That day, I can’t tell you where I was. I can’t tell you who was there; i can tell you there were 3 men, naked, with hard-ons, and me, somehow dressed and helplessly drunk on the ground. It was inside. They were done fucking each other, and one of the men came to me and lifted my head up, looked into my eyes to make sure I was still alive and conscious and then pulled my pants down and started fucking me…

The actual feeling I have from that time, it is simple and needs only two words: I was “human trash”. A mere thing in their hands, with no right to be alive really. Lets just incapacitate you and let us fuck you; and torture you, and make you eat feces. That’s what you are good for. That’s IT!

As for parental love, forget about that entirely. I mean there is not a single chance this will ever come together. On one side you are treated like goods to be bartered for returns, on the other side your mother doesn’t want to know what is happening to you; at all.

Normally now when we hit such memories, the technique is to bring me just before, and just after. To weld it back into it’s place in the timeline of my life; otherwise they are disconnected and keep floating above. Now that operation is painful, to say the least but necessary. As soon as we do that, I feel the full burden of the memory and it’s emotional baggage and physical baggage also. Normally it’s the symptoms of drunkess that hit me first. They are horrible. And then the emotions, although as I got older I had less and less emotions attached to the abuse. I’m not sure exactly why, but apparently “on s’habitue”!

that time, I couldn’t go before, I couldn’t go after, I couldn’t see the next events. Everything hurt way too much. I was “bleeping” constantly, like a car flasher (bleeps are momentary memory losses). In the end, it was horrible. The next day I tried to go to rafting, but I spent the whole day suffering soo much and having so much paranoïa I was completely dysfunctional. I couldn’t even show up for my shift to pass it on, although I WAS there. The pain was such. Unbearable. It took me a good two weeks to recover from that fucking memory. After that episode I started listening to Breaking Benjamin over and over and over again; on repeat. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I guess he expressed a similar pain to the one I suffered in his songs.

Breaking Benjamin - Phobia

Breath – Breaking Benjamin

I see nothing in your eyes, and the more I see the less I like.

Is it over yet, in my head?

I know nothing of your kind, and I won't reveal your evil mind.

Is it over yet? I can't win.

So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left.
I know that I can find the fire in your eyes.
I'm going all the way, get away, please.

You take the breath right out of me.
You left a hole where my heart should be.
You got to fight just to make it through,
'cause I will be the death of you.

This will be all over soon.
Pour salt into the open wound.

Is it over yet? Let me in.

So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left.
I know that I can find the fire in your eyes.
I'm going all the way, get away, please.

You take the breath right out of me.
You left a hole where my heart should be.
You got to fight just to make it through,
'cause I will be the death of you.

I'm waiting, I'm praying, realize, start hating.

You take the breath right out of me.
You left a hole where my heart should be.
You got to fight just to make it through,
'cause I will be the death of you.

It took me two weeks of dysfunction to recover from the human trash memory. And even then. It hasn’t really healed. What am I going to heal it with? Now that is a good question eh? I think so.

As for the witness, since nobody cares enough or has enough balls to be true with me and act as the witness, I will have to draw it. I will have to draw the whole fucking story. That will also help people who read these posts to really understand; images are one step closer to actual sensations. Words are but empty vessels. Relatively useless in a lot of cases, but they can be fun right?

😉

M

Comments
  • August 15, 2016 at 3:56 pm

    Min Ali

    My heart breaks, and I’m in tears reading this. Both for the little boy who suffered so… and for my friend, the man that has to carry that heavy burden of this horrific suffering through life.

    I pray that you find a way to disconnect and heal the man from the pain. And to forgive and love the boy who was the ultimate victim. My prayers are with you, my friend.

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