tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1195389840173484972024-03-08T12:58:12.986+02:00Ramblings of an Abuse SurvivorCreating awareness about child abuse and the effects thereof.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-79888204939461496172014-06-07T11:36:00.001+02:002014-06-07T11:36:21.503+02:00EpilogueIt's been a year since I've posted here, and I think this blog needs some form of closure. Yes, I use the word closure because I think that I have reached a natural end to what I started here. I wanted to tell my story, and I did. I wanted to get the truth out there, and while there will always be more truth to tell, I believe I have said on this blog what I wanted to say. I have laid bare the basic facts of abuse as I experienced it, and hopefully I have dispelled some myths, and shed light upon some mysteries. The last few posts on this blog veered closer to chronicling my personal journey, and that was never my intention. <br />
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And so, for the sake of closure, I post one final update, a sort of epilogue to my story.<br />
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Recovering from the loss of my late wife</h2>
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My story ended with the loss of my wife and unborn child. I still don't believe that loosing someone so important, so suddenly, is a pain that ever completely heals. I will always love her and miss her. There will always be a little pocket of pain deep inside me, but there is life after such loss. I did learn to live without her and be happy. I made new memories, and I am now able to remember the good times we had without being overcome with grief. </div>
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I have met someone else, and after a lot of thinking and self-examination, accepted that to move on, is not to betray my first big love. I did not replace her - I merely started a new chapter in my life. I chapter that now also includes a strong, healthy and very cute 5 month old boy, for whom I would lay down my life without thinking twice. </div>
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I have a real family again, and it feels good. </div>
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My older brother</h2>
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One of the my more distressing experiences of 2012/2013, was recovering memories of being abused by my older brother. This discovery shattered a lot of what I had always believed to have been good. But - I am happy to say that I have worked through that trauma, and I have reached a point where I can have compassion for him, as an abused boy who had been taught, under threat of violence, to abuse his brothers. To have expected him to take responsibility for what he did, would have been unfair. I believe that he loved us. I believe that what he did must have haunted him till his death. Perhaps it played a role in the way he willingly risked his life by joining the special forces.<br />
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I have forgiven my brother for what he did, and can once more remember the times he stood up for us and tried to protect us. I can, once again, look up to him as the older brother I wish I still had. I wish I could look him in the eyes and tell him this...<br />
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My cousin</h2>
In early 2013, I found out that my father also abused my cousin, who is a few years younger than me. He finally found the courage to speak up, but unfortunately only after the effects of the suppressed trauma had destroyed his marriage, and most of him. I had hope that like us, he would recover and rebuild his life, but tragically, it was too much for him. He took his own life a few months later.<br />
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Rest in peace, my cousin. I hope that you are happy where you are now, and free from all the pain in your past.<br />
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What the future holds</h2>
Who knows what the future holds? All I know is that right now, I am content to nurture my family, to be the best father I can be, and to give my children all the love, protection and support I never had.<br />
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I will probably not post to this blog again, and nor will I visit malesurvivor again. It is a chapter in my life that is over, and even though I feel some obligation to support other men who have not yet reached this point, I don't think I am strong enough yet, to dive back into that world. I still cherish my dream of starting a safe-house for troubled teenage boys, and over the next few years I hope to start working towards realizing that dream.<br />
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If any of my friends from malesurvivor are reading this - please take care of yourselves, stay strong, and keep working at your recovery. And feel free to drop me a mail to say hi at any time!</div>
survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-72570861555657774612013-06-03T20:20:00.001+02:002013-06-03T20:20:15.186+02:00When will it end?I haven't posted here in a while. In a way, I feel bad. When I created this blog, it was with one main purpose: truth. Too few people know the truth about child abuse - about how common it is, how devastating it is, and most importantly, how false most of the so-called "knowledge" about abuse that is out there really is.<br />
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I started the exercise by writing down my own story, in all it's sordid detail. I did not expect it to affect me as much as it did. I did not expect to end up on the Bathroom floor, one dark night in January, with a razor in my hand and agony in my soul. So I did what I had to do so many time before to survive - I picked myself up, put down the razor, and reached out to a therapist. Slowly, things got better again, and a few months later I was ready and motivated to not only finish my story, but to jump head first into this blog, using every spare moment to turn this into source of information - a source of truth - about abuse.<br />
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And then everything fell apart. Wave upon wave of new knowledge of the depravity of my family, followed by memories I hadn't even known I had suppressed. Triggered, almost daily, by simple things people said, by posts on a site that was supposed to provide healing and support, by the mere act of writing on this blog. Dreams of my foster father haunted my sleep, unexpected and unwanted memories of being abused by the one person I had though had tried to protect me tormented my waking hours. Finally, mentally and physically all by destroyed, I dragged myself up and went back on medication.<br />
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Now, I am rebuilding my mental and physical health. This involved stepping away from the things that had triggered me - including this blog. It was necessary. Tonight, deciding that I feel much better, I check back into the forum that has given me so much support for the first time in a while, only to realize that we had lost a member. The last time we communicated, he said that he admired me. I never understood why. I knew he was in a very deep depression, but I didn't expect to read about his death. The post doesn't say explicitly, but it's there - in between the lines. It was suicide.<br />
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So here I am, trying to keep it together, trying to write something coherent. Trying not to think of my own cousin, lying on that narrow bed in the clinic I had convinced him to book into when he confided in me that he wanted to take his own life. Trying not to think of my own semi-lifeless, 17-year-old body being dragged out of the shower, spilling blood on the bathroom tiles... and my grandmother's face when I woke up - tired, grey and with the lines more accentuated than ever before. My twin, sitting on his bed with that gun that he got god-knows-where... Walking up that mountain after my darling wife's death, planning to jump off a remote cliff... It occurs to me that suicide seems to be a endlessly recurring theme in my life.<br />
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When will it ever end?<br />
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Why does there have to be so much pain in the world?survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-79129757536160872922013-03-23T02:14:00.002+02:002013-03-23T02:20:34.050+02:00To This Day Project - Shane Koyczan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I came across this video about bullying recently. Watching it, I realised that even though I was never bullied very harshly, the poem still resonated with me. I realised again how little difference there really is between child abuse and bullying, apart from the age of the perpetrator(s).</div>
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View the lyrics <a href="http://www.shanekoyczan.com/2013/02/21/to-this-day-lyrics/">here</a>survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-23968160451668009332013-03-08T11:08:00.000+02:002013-03-08T11:08:39.081+02:00Arguments used to discredit survivors<br />
There are a number of standard arguments used by predators and their lawyers to discredit those who accuse them sexual abuse. This is my response to them.<br />
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He (the accuser) is troubled/emotionally unstable. You cannot take him seriously.</h2>
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There are two responses to this, both of which are often true for any specific survivor.<br />
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First, it is well known that predators often target troubled children. The quite boys, the outsiders and the misfits are simply more susceptible to grooming and easier to isolate from their peers. The lonely child is much more likely to respond to perceived kindness and acceptance from the predator. How many survivors have echoed the statement that "he made me feel special"?<br />
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Secondly, and just as well know, is the fact that sexual abuse causes various types of emotional and behavioural problems. Lack of self-esteem, inability to relate to other in a healthy, age-appropriate way, substance abuse, depression and anxiety, self-injury and inappropriate anger are just some of the long-term effects of childhood sexual abuse. Survivors might even develop pathological mental illnesses, like PTSD and BPD. In short - yes, it is very likely that the "accuser" is troubled and emotionally unstable. This should be seen as proof that he was abused, rather than proof that he isn't a credible witness.<br />
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He is only after making a quick buck.</h2>
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This would be laughable if it wasn't so cruel. If any money is made from a sexual-abuse law-suit, it is hardly "quick". I can't help but wonder if the people who say this have ever realised that there are far quicker and easier ways to make money than to sit through gruelling and traumatic cross-examinations for days, week, sometimes even months or years.<br />
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Why only now, years later? Why did he not say anything when this was happening?</h2>
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There are many reasons why abuse victims don't speak up. These reason can include, but are not limited to -<br />
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<ul>
<li>Being threatened by the perpetrator</li>
<li>Fear of not being believed (this is a valid fear, and many boys aren't believed)</li>
<li>Shame and guilt, being convinced that he did something wrong to cause the abuse</li>
<li>Fear of ridicule because boys aren't supposed to be victims.</li>
<li>Stigma - abused boys are often accused of being gay, future perpetrators, etc.</li>
<li>Uncertainty about whether or not it was abuse. This is especially relevant if the perpetrator was female.</li>
<li>The victim may dissociate during the abuse, retaining no memory of what happened. These memories sometimes return years, even decades later.</li>
</ul>
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The average age at which men finally uncover suppressed memories and/or find the courage to speak up about being abused as children, are between 30 and 40 years old. It is sad that once again, a very common occurrence that actually points towards the accusations being authentic, is used to discredit the victim.<br />
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<h2>
He's story keeps changing, obviously he is making it up on the spot.</h2>
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When suppressed memories start to surface, they are unclear and incomplete. As more memories surface the survivor's understanding of what exactly happened becomes clearer and clearer. The very experience of being cross-examined in court may cause new memories to surface, creating the appearance that the story is changing. In actual fact, it isn't changing as much as it is evolving and becoming clearer and more complete.<br />
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In the case of a mother accusing a father of abusing their children during divorce proceedings: Why now that we are divorcing? She just wants full custody/to alienate me from my children.</h2>
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This one I will answer with question - is she accusing him because they are divorcing, or did she file for divorce because she knows her allegations to be true? From <a href="http://www.xyonline.net/content/fact-sheet-1-myth-false-accusations-child-abuse">xyonline.net</a>:<br />
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<center>
<table class="bordered_block"><tbody>
<tr><td>Child abuse allegations in the context of family law proceedings have been analysed in four Australian studies. These examinations find that allegations rarely are made for tactical advantage, false allegations are rare, the child abuse often takes place in families where there is also domestic violence, and such allegations rarely result in the denial of parental contact.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
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Next time you read about a case of child sexual abuse and these arguments are used against the accuser in an attempt to discredit him, please see them for what they are. They are cruel lies, used by perpetrators who must know very well that the allegations are true, to reinforce the message that the victim is weak, pathetic, guilty and not worthy of being listened to. They take the effects of past trauma and use them to inflict even more trauma on an already battered victim - the epitome of cruelty!<br />
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The saddest part is how often it works...</div>
survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-41694222641304782972013-03-06T23:08:00.000+02:002013-03-07T10:16:26.727+02:00Letter to my big brotherBrother,<br />
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When I was a little boy, you were my hero, my rock, my guiding light. When I scraped my knees and our mother couldn't be bothered to pay attention, you cleaned them for me. When my father beat me, you read me stories until I stopped crying. When he was screaming at my mother in the kitchen, you taught me to put my hands over my ears and sing. When my mother couldn't be bothered to give us something to eat, you showed me where she kept the bread. You beat up any bully who as much as looked at us. You walked us home from school. You helped me with my homework.<br />
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And you made me suck you penis.<br />
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You were a lost child. You mother, for reasons I will never understand, took you from your dad and delivered you into the hands of a monster. Your step father, my father, beat you. He used you for an ashtray. He raped you. I don't know how old you were when he started abusing you, but I remember the first time he raped you, because that was the day I saw you die before my six-year-old eyes. Still, you found it in yourself to try to protect me, the child of your abuser.<br />
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You were just a kid! You couldn't have been more than 15, maximum 16, because I had not yet reached puberty. I know that because I remember that you were different from me - bigger, scarier. Then you stopped. I'm sure you stopped, because surely I would remember if you didn't?<br />
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I committed murder at 16.<br />
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Then you became special forces. Why did you do that? Were you running from something? My father, your mother, me, yourself? What did you think of yourself? How did you feel? Did you feel something like the guilt I've lived with most of my life?<br />
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How did you die? Did you suffer, or was it quick, perhaps even heroic? Or are you still alive, living somewhere far away, quietly raising a family with a loving wife, 2.2 children and a dog? Does what you did to me still haunt you, where ever you are? Do you realise how big a role your protection played in my ability to survive the hell that was my childhood? Do you realise that your care laid the foundation that enabled me to trust others, years later?<br />
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Do you realise that regardless of what you did, if you walked into my house today, I would feel nothing but joy? I can't hate you. God knows I tried, but I failed. I can't do it.<br />
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You are my big brother, my hero, my rock, my guiding light and I don't even have a grave, or even a wall with your name on it to prove that you once existed. I have only my memories and my grief for a boy who grew up in hell and didn't live long enough to heal.<br />
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Much love,<br />
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Your little brother.<br />
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PS: I'm so sorry about what my father did to you!survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-52849965737930257442013-02-06T13:22:00.001+02:002013-02-06T13:23:26.382+02:00My support networkOver the past few weeks, my PTSD has been hitting me hard again. I've been struggling through nightmares and flashbacks that kept me awake at night and left me severely sleep deprived and depressed. The one thing that is different from previous cycles like this, is that I have solid support network in place. This has allowed me to stay focussed and keep on keeping on, as as the saying goes.<br />
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I thought I'd share what my support system looks like, for two reasons - first, to show my gratitude and give some credit to those who form part of it, and second - to give other survivors who haven't yet built up such a strong network some things to consider.<br />
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So, what does my network look like?<br />
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1. Friends</h2>
I have few close friends, but as times got harder, I have had to lean on them more and more. I have learned to send of a quick SMS to one close friend when I need a comforting voice on the other end of the phone line, or someone to talk me out of doing something stupid. I have learned once again how much relief I can get simply from sending an email to a friend saying - "Life sucks, I'm struggling". I don't ask friends for advice - I don't expect them to be able to give it to me. But knowing that there are people out there who know my story and still care enough to listen, means a lot. I would urge every survivor to disclose to at least one close friend, if you can bring yourself to do so. The love of a friend who knows, means so much more than someone who doesn't know, because there is no "but if they knew, would they still...?".<br />
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If you read this, you know who you are - my dear old friend from my drug-using days, my much-abused former neighbours, my online friend from the other side of the planet... Thank you so much, all of you.<br />
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2. MaleSurvivor.org</h2>
Male survivor, as the name suggests, is an on-line community for male survivors of sexual abuse. It is populated with men who "get it". Men who have been through hell and back, and now band together to walk the road to recovery, fighting their daemons together - shoulder to shoulder. There is no deeper validation than another man who says "I know, I've been there'. I have only been a member there for a few months, but already I can't imagine fighting this fight without the support of my on-line brothers.<br />
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3. My Brother.</h2>
Talking to my brother about my abuse history is sometimes a delicate matter. Considering that he also lived through everything I lived through, I have to be careful not to trigger him. Even so, he is still a valuable part of my support system. Of all the people in the world who understand parts of my struggles, he understands the most. I could not have survived the last few months without him.<br />
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4. My girlfriend</h2>
My darling... I believe that I don't deserve even half the love and support she's given me. She's been there at every moment that I've allowed her to be. She bore the brunt of my trust and abandonment issues, and yet bounced back, worked hard to understand what really happened, and was still able to put her arms around me and tell me that she'd be there until everything was ok again, and long after. I just hope that some day I'll be able to return the love she's given me and make up for the pain I've caused her in the months we've been together.<br />
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Fellow survivors - if you are lucky enough to have a supportive partner, treasure her, and make sure you never forget to say "I'm sorry" when it is needed, and "Thank you" when it is deserved.<br />
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5. My Therapist</h2>
Last on my list, but possibly the most important. I am fortunate to have a therapist who is not only a registered psychiatrist, able to prescribe medication when needed, but also an experienced expert of childhood trauma in men. She understands PTSD, BPD, dissociation and addiction like few other therapists do. A rare find indeed. She's been guiding me through my healing journey, but also served as a valuable safety-measure in my darkest hour, when I was struggling with intense suicidal ideation. She made me call in twice daily to confirm that I am safe, and kept a bed in an in-patient facility on standby, should I falter. She carried me through the darkness until I could see hope again. Not for the first time, I possibly owe her my life.<br />
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I believe that the most important thing anyone who is facing trauma can do, is to find a competent therapist to work with. Their knowledge and experience, not to mention structured therapies like CBT , DBT or EMDR, can make all the difference in the world.<br />
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These five groups of people have been instrumental in allowing me to survive the last few months without medication, and without falling into the trap of self-destruction. I am more grateful for having them in my life than words can express...survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-42202682830258507742013-01-23T11:23:00.000+02:002013-01-23T11:23:34.000+02:00Confusion and self-loathingI feel like I owe you, my readers, an apology. I haven't posted in a while. I meant for this to be an uplifting and informative blog. It is hard to post something uplifting and informative when you are hanging onto sanity with your fingernails. So please forgive me for posting about my own struggles yet again.<br />
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I have never been under any illusion that my father was a good father. I have never been able to refer to him as "dad". Dad is a title that is earned. He has never earned it.<br />
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There is, however, a world of difference between a bad father and an evil person, between an abusive parent and a pedophile. This weekend, I was forced to admit that my father had stepped over that line. He was not only a bad parent, he was a bone-fide pedophile. He was the type of man who picks out vulnerable boys, grooms them, and then sexually abuse them repeatedly, over a period of years. He is no better than Sandusky, Savile, or those thousands of boyscout leaders and Priests. He was a predatory pedophile who preyed on innocent young boys.<br />
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At first, I was angry, then my anger morphed into revulsion. Then it hit me - this predator, this personification of pure evil, is also the man to who I owe 50% of my own genetic make up. I have his eyes, his build, his tendency for addiction.<br />
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I can no longer look in a mirror. In every mirror lives a pedophile, staring back at me with my own eyes. I can no longer look people in the eyes for fear that they will see the evil in mine. I don't want people to come close to me, to look at me, to touch me. I feel like I will contaminate anything or anyone who comes close to me with my evil, pedophile genes. I am filled with revulsion at the mere thought of touching my daughter, as if he will be touching her through me. She is still so innocent - how could I ever expose her to the part of me that is him? How can she be in the same room as so much evil, without somehow getting contaminated?<br />
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People tell me that I'm not him and that I can choose my own destiny. They aren't the ones have to look into a pedophile's face in the mirror!<br />
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I'm not yet sure how I will come out on the other side of this realisation, or even if there is an "other side". Right now, I only know that in the past, even the most painful chapters of my life always had an end. It might take a very long time, but the pain has never lasted "forever" before, so I have to keep hanging on, hoping that there will be hope in the end, that somehow I will be able to heal from this, too. Hoping that I will be able to learn to look my reflection in the mirror in the eyes again...survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-82702483170969193222013-01-07T13:08:00.001+02:002013-01-07T13:08:10.255+02:00Gun control, mental health and traumaEver since Sandy Hook, there has been a lot of discussion on the web about gun-control and whether or not it could have saved those children.<br />
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My personal belief was that regardless of what caused his mental illness, Adam Lanza was a dangerously unstable young man. His mother should not have been allowed to keep multiple fire-arms within his reach. Would lack of easy access to firearms have stopped him? Not necessarily, but it might have slowed him down and forced him to think twice.<br />
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I am told that to check mental health records and interview friends and neighbours of people who share the home of the applicant, or even the applicant himself, is to convict someone before a crime has been committed. In America one is innocent until proven guilty, and one should not be treated as a potential criminal until a crime has been committed. One should not be required to give up one's constitutional rights until there has been a conviction.<br />
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It is a noble argument, but I'd like to call bullshit.<br />
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I don't believe that any form of mental illness necessarily makes one a danger to society. Someone who suffered from depression after the loss of a loved one, for instance, is unlikely to be dangerous. Should such a person be denied the opportunity to exercise his second-amendment rights, he should be able to appeal the decision, even forcing the state to justify their decision in court. However, mental illness can make a person dangerous and should play a role in deciding whether or not a person should be allowed to own a gun. My foster father is one such person.<br />
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During the court case, after my foster father's death, documents were dug up. Unfortunately my memories of that period are highly fragmented and I don't remember what kind of documents they were (Mental health records? Criminal history? Past charges on which he was not convicted?) but they proved to the court's satisfaction that he was a dangerously unstable man. When his fire-arm license was issued, they were either not checked, or ignored. Those documents were a big part of my defence and played a huge role in allowing me to walk out of that courtroom with my grandma, instead of in police custody.<br />
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All of this might sound like a happy ending, until one considers the effect that his actions with that gun had on me. Those two nights when he pressed the barrel against my cheek bone were among the most traumatic of my life. It forced me to fight to save my self, and in doing so to commit an act that would haunt me for the rest of my life. It destroyed all that was left of my self-respect, all that was left of my soul. The night he died was also the night he won. I am only now beginning to understand exactly what the events of that night did to me.<br />
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Justice does not magically cure PTSD.<br />
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No conviction could ever clean the blood off my hands.<br />
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He should not have been allowed to own a gun!<br />
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Today, I know that if I were to apply for a fire-arm license, I would probably be declined. I don't blame the licensing authority. I blame my abusers, and those who refused to lift a finger to help me.<br />
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I blame the ignorant fool who issued my foster-father's license.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-10741695736047020942013-01-03T13:47:00.000+02:002013-01-08T11:48:13.224+02:00Love, loneliness and trustHello again to all my readers. I had a good vacation, but it's also good to be back. I wish you all the best for the new year!<br />
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I spent the week-and-a-bit that I was away with my head deliberately stuck in the sand. We cut ourselves off from radio, TV and newspapers, and even ignored out cellphones most of the time. I banned my history and any form of child-abuse as topics of conversation. We immersed ourselves in the beauty of nature and in each other. It was wonderful. I managed to go an entire week without one nightmare.<br />
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Of course, I knew all the time that I'd have to pull my head out of the sand and face up to reality again. PTSD will always catch up with you. Real life is full of triggers. But I learned something: I caught a glimpse of what life can be - a life that is centred around love and hope, not fear and pain. A life without loneliness.<br />
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Sadly, I came back to find that a fellow survivor has become so consumed by his own disconnectedness and loneliness, that even just communicating with other survivors have become too triggering for him to keep up. He made me think back to the boy I was - the scared, lonely boy who believed that there wasn't a single person in the entire world who cared, or would ever care one bit what became of him. I remember the intensity of the pain that loneliness caused. I remember the emptiness of being in a world, populated with millions of people, none of which you can connect to.<br />
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It made me think - loneliness is the one thing most survivors have in common. It's not always as intense as it is for this one survivor, but we all struggle to connect, to open up, to be vulnerable. When you can't be vulnerable, you inevitably drift towards loneliness. The only conclusion I could come to, is that if we want to not live our lives consumed with loneliness, we need to learn to be vulnerable.<br />
<br />
But how do we break the cycle of isolation and loneliness? How do we reach out? How do we find the courage to be vulnerable? The only answer I can come up with, is slowly. It took me almost two years from when I met my girlfriend before I felt comfortably enough to open myself up to a romantic relationship with her. I'm still learning to trust her. I opened up to her one tiny bit at a time. Often, she asked for more and I had to tell her that I wasn't comfortable giving more yet. I know I hurt her in the process. There were days when she despaired, believing that I could never let her in or commit to her. I wish I could have avoided that, but I had to know she could handle one bit before I could give her the next.<br />
<br />
More importantly - I had to know that I could handle her knowing one bit, before I could give her the next.<br />
<br />
The lesson I want to pass on to survivors is this: you don't need to trust anyone and everyone, but you need to give someone an opportunity to earn your trust. You will never know if you can trust a kid to put away her toys if you keep putting it away for her. You will never know if you can trust your partner with the details of your abuse if you're not willing to show her some of your scars and see how she reacts. You have to trust her with a little, to begin with. This is the scary part, because she hasn't had any chance to win your trust yet and so you are doing it blindly. You may get hurt - that is why you can keep the bit you show her as small as you need it to be, but you need to show her something. I believe that it is up to the survivor to break the cycle of mistrust and isolation and to kick off the process that will enable her to earn your trust.<br />
<br />
To loved ones of supporters, I want to say please be patient. Showing you that first bit was terrifying. Handle it with care, for how you handle this will influence how much more he'll be willing to tell you. If he pulls the curtain an inch away from the edge of the window and allows you to catch a small glimpse of the chaos inside, take a peek, don't don't demand that he open the door and let you in immediately. We have been hurt, disrespected, discarded and discounted so much, for so long, that you will really have to prove you are different. No, it's not fair - you deserve the benefit of the doubt, but it's the best we can do. So please, have the grace to take the tiny nugget he has given you, treasure it, keep it safe and treat it with nothing but gentle kindness. If you do that, he may feel comfortable to give you more in future. But if you treat it carelessly, it may be all you'll ever get.<br />
<br />
If both of you work at it with patience and courage, and with a little luck, you may one day spend a week, a month, a lifetime loving, laughing and making new, happy memories. You can banish the loneliness to the distant past and replace it with love. It is possible. I saw it last week. I looked into the eyes of the woman I love, and I knew that she has the power to banish the loneliness that still threatens to break down the door to my life.<br />
<br />
I'm so glad that I found the courage somewhere, somehow, to let her in.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-89479517230151787692012-12-20T15:05:00.001+02:002012-12-20T15:05:30.481+02:00I'm taking a break...Well, folks - I'm off on a much-needed holiday for the rest of the year. 2012 was one of the most exhausting years of my life and I'm looking forward to spending what is left of it with my two girls, far away from civilisation and hopefully also far away from triggers, and to coming back rejuvenated and filled with renewed energy to fight this fight we call "recovery".<br />
<br />
I will pick up posting again in January.<br />
<br />
I will leave you with this thought - after all the struggles and triumphs that is life, the only thing that really matters is the love of friends and family. Without those relationships, our lives are empty. So hug the ones you love and tell them that you do. Use this festive season to spend time with them and remember why you treasure them.<br />
<br />
Au revoir. See you next year (unless the world ends tomorrow).survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-1061346680152568122012-12-18T12:15:00.000+02:002012-12-18T12:17:52.438+02:00About guilt, shame and innocenceA lot has been written about the guilt and shame that abuse survivors suffer from, especially male survivors of sexual abuse. Often, even after we've come to reject that stigmas that society clouds us with, it is still near impossible to shake feelings of guilt and shame.<br />
<br />
What I've realised in the past few weeks, is that the guilt is a crutch in itself. A dysfunctional crutch, yes, but a crutch no less. It's all about control.<br />
<br />
When a child is abused, there an overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The perpetrator is bigger and stronger, even if only mentally, and he overpowers the victim and forces him to do things that violate his very being. The victim is powerless to resist. Even adult victims of sexual assault reports an overwhelming feeling of helplessness and of loosing control of their bodies. When the victim is a small child and the perpetrator is someone who is already in a position of authority, the power balance is skewed even before the abuse occurs. Afterwards, should the victim speak out, it is often only to discover that no one believes him, or worse - that no one is prepared to help him. This adds another load to the weight of helplessness that the victim is already carrying around.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
It becomes almost essential to recover some resemblance of power.<br />
<br />
In an attempt to recover some power over what had happened, I assumed some responsibility. If I had somehow caused it, that would mean I was not a powerless victim. If I had the power to cause it once, surely I also have the power to cause it not to happen again? Then, if it does happen again, that must mean that I caused it to happen again? That makes me responsible for what happened.<br />
<br />
Over the past few weeks, I've looked into the eyes of the boy I was, and I couldn't not but admit that he was just a child. He was innocent. If my parents didn't love me, it wasn't because I was too flawed to be loved, it was because they were too flawed to love any child they had. Nothing that happened was my responsibility.<br />
<br />
It wasn't my fault.<br />
<br />
I don't think anyone would argue that this realisation is a massive step in the right direction, but it also leaves me in a very scary place. It leaves me living in a world where unspeakable evil happens to innocent children who did not do anything wrong - children whose only crime was being born to the wrong parents. It is a terrifying, bewildering world, where children cannot be protected and nothing can stop evil from happening.<br />
<br />
It frightens me.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure I want to live in this world. Part of me wants my guilt back...survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-29238337230486989782012-12-13T09:26:00.000+02:002012-12-13T09:26:07.129+02:00Thank you for loving me...As we approach the end of the year, I want to dedicate this song to everyone who has loved and supported me through the last year, especially my girlfriend, as well as all the supporters of abuse survivors out there.<br />
<br />
Thank you. I'll let Jon say the rest, because he says it so much better than I ever can.<br />
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<b>"Thank You For Loving Me"</b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-left: 10px; margin-right: 10px;">
It's hard for me to say the things <br />
I want to say sometimes <br />
There's no one here but you and me <br />
And that broken old street light <br />
Lock the doors <br />
We'll leave the world outside <br />
All I've got to give to you <br />
Are these five words tonight<br />
<br />
<i>[Chorus:]</i><br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
For being my eyes <br />
When I couldn't see <br />
For parting my lips <br />
When I couldn't breathe <br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
<br />
I never knew I had a dream <br />
Until that dream was you <br />
When I look into your eyes <br />
The sky's a different blue <br />
Cross my heart <br />
I wear no disguise <br />
If I tried, you'd make believe <br />
That you believed my lies <br />
<br />
<i>[Chorus:]</i><br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
For being my eyes <br />
When I couldn't see <br />
For parting my lips <br />
When I couldn't breathe <br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
<br />
You pick me up when I fall down <br />
You ring the bell before they count me out <br />
If I was drowning you would part the sea <br />
And risk your own life to rescue me <br />
<br />
<i>[Solo]</i><br />
<br />
Lock the doors <br />
We'll leave the world outside <br />
All I've got to give to you <br />
Are these five words tonight<br />
<br />
<i>[Chorus:]</i><br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
For being my eyes <br />
When I couldn't see <br />
You parted my lips <br />
When I couldn't breathe <br />
Thank you for loving me <br />
<br />
When I couldn't fly <br />
Oh, you gave me wings <br />
You parted my lips <br />
When I couldn't breathe<br />
Thank you for loving me</div>
<br />
<br />survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-32011718555235948662012-12-12T08:14:00.000+02:002013-01-07T13:15:04.142+02:00Things I have learned in 20122012 was a year of many lessons. Here are some of the lessons I learned:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Chewing gum cannot be removed from hair. You have to cut it out.</li>
<li>Earthworms can be pets.</li>
<li>It's fun to put pet-earthworms to work in a worm-farm.</li>
<li>I-messages are wonderfully effective.</li>
<li>So is active listening.</li>
<li>So is EMDR.</li>
<li>It is ok to be vulnerable sometimes, even for men. Even for dads.</li>
<li>In life, you have to gamble sometimes. Perhaps you will win, perhaps not. But if you don't try, you lose anyway.<a name='more'></a></li>
<li>Love is a risk worth taking.</li>
<li>Nothing could have made my parents love me, even if I was perfect.</li>
<li>In the eyes of society, the reputations of powerful adults are still more important than the well-being of little kids.</li>
<li>No matter what you do, there will always be someone who will criticize you for it.</li>
<li>The average adult has no idea how to help an abused child.</li>
<li>I am not as strong as I thought, and yet - </li>
<li>I am much stronger than I ever imagined.</li>
<li>It takes strength to admit that you are weak.</li>
<li>A child should never be blamed for doing whatever it takes to stay alive. </li>
<li>16 year old boys are still kids. </li>
<li>The simplest way to ensure that you'll make mistakes, is by trying to be perfect.</li>
<li>Listen to your kids - you might just learn from them.</li>
<li>School uniforms are helluva expensive.</li>
<li>A cheese sandwich, made by a 5 year old, tastes better than a gourmet meal in a restaurant.</li>
<li>A little girl's kisses can ease even the worst pain.</li>
<li>Sometimes you can influence people in ways you never imagined, simply by sharing your truth.</li>
<li>You cannot grow inside your own comfort zone.</li>
<li>It's ok to fall. </li>
<li>It's ok to ask someone to help you get up.</li>
<li>Courage is not the absence of fear. It's the willingness to act in spite of fear.</li>
<li>Try not to project your own fears onto your children. Life is scary enough for little kids even without an adult's baggage.</li>
<li>I get to write the book of my own life.</li>
<li>Life truly is beautiful.</li>
</ul>
<br />
What have you learned this year?survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-62889061800516238322012-12-06T07:27:00.000+02:002012-12-06T07:52:05.059+02:00To the boy in the picture...Yesterday, for the first time in perhaps my entire life, I looked at a photo of myself, age 15. It was an incredibly emotional experience. Last night, in an effort to understand the emotions this experience evoked, I wrote this:<br />
<br />
<h2>
To the boy in the picture,</h2>
This morning, for possibly the first time ever, I looked into your eyes.<br />
<br />
What I saw there ripped off a giant scab and left my soul bleeding a river of pain. It shocked, saddened and angered me.<br />
<br />
Relax, don't be afraid!<br />
<br />
This time, I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at all the people who had looked into those eyes before me and saw nothing wrong. I am furious at the the people who saw the hurt in your eyes and turned their backs, deciding that it would be too much effort to determine the cause of your suffering and do something about it.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Mother<br />
Teachers<br />
Social workers<br />
Cops<br />
Friends<br />
Friends' parents<br />
The fucking clerk in the fucking corner store!!<br />
<br />
But no one saw.<br />
No one ever asked.<br />
No one gave a shit.<br />
Not one.<br />
<br />
Looking into your eyes, my soul remembers your pain. It is a raw ache that have been buried, numbed with drugs and denied for the sake of survival for so long that I had forgotten its intensity. Now, the memory of it overpowers my senses. My heart can feel nothing other than your overwhelming loneliness. My eyes can't focus and your deafening scream of agony drowns out every other sound.<br />
<br />
The scream that has been silenced for too long. The scream you had carved into your body because you could no longer keep it inside.<br />
<br />
I feel only your terror.<br />
<br />
I can't breathe.<br />
<br />
Scream, young ---! Scream until you cannot scream any more!! Perhaps it will finally bring relief.<br />
<br />
Today, I cried a tiny portion of the tears you never got to cry. I felt a tiny portion of the hurt you could never admit to feeling. I understood for the first time in many years how you could attack a man who had a gun, with only a knife. It wasn't courage, stupidity or desperation. I remember how you had hoped that the bullet would penetrate deep into your brain and shatter the horrors that represented the only life you had ever known.<br />
<br />
It was a suicide attempt as much as it was murder.<br />
<br />
Suicide by psychopath...<br />
<br />
Where did the instinct that saved you come from?survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-61834281254986650522012-12-04T15:10:00.001+02:002012-12-06T07:54:28.565+02:00I think I finally know what parenting is aboutI had an epiphany today, about what the priorities of a parent should be.<br />
<br />
For the last week or so, I've been on a quest to hunt down photos of myself from the period in which I was abused (age 4-16). My first port of call was my family members, but none of them have any photos from that period in their possession. I finally managed to ascertain that my old school still have copies of year books that should contain photos of me. I will go look at them tomorrow.<br />
<br />
While I was dealing with this, an old friend asked me to send her a recent photo of my daughter. I started up my laptop last night, but I couldn't get past the long list of folders containing hundreds of photos of my daughter. The contrast was too much to bear. Sitting there, staring at the screen with tears running down my face, I saw the photos as a metaphor for a parent's love.<br />
<br />
No one ever cared enough to want to preserve memories of my childhood.<br />
<br />
No one ever loved me like I love my daughter.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Three years ago, I was feeling totally and completely overwhelmed at the thought of being a single parent. I had no idea what to do, so I joined a parenting forum. Some of the first advice I received there was to simply follow my instincts, and to love my daughter.<br />
<br />
In the little over three years since then, I've learned a lot - about parenting styles, about child development and about psychology. I've tried a lot of things, discarded some and kept others. From what I've read about parenting, from my pre-existing interest in psychology and from my experience as an abuse survivor, I've even formed (and changed) a few of my own opinions .<br />
<br />
And then I look at a list of folders and it brings me straight back to the beginning, and I realise again that sometimes we get so caught up in the science and the research that we forget about the single most important thing a parent can do for a child - to love her, whole-heatedly, unconditionally, and unwaveringly. Just that - love. We can read as much as we want, we can spend our lives studying the science of psychology and childhood development, and we will still screw up. One - we are human. Two - the science is incomplete, and always will be. That is the nature of science - scientists are continually learning, finding out more, refining our theories.<br />
<br />
After everything, the most important thing I have figured out is that it will all be OK in the end, as long as we remember love.<br />
<br />
Perhaps, one day, my daughter will be sitting on a psychiatrist's couch, telling the good doctor about all the things I did wrong. And you know what? It would be OK as long as her conversation includes the words - <i>at least he loved me - I never doubted that. He did his best</i>.<br />
<br />
Does that mean I will stop reading and learning? Hell no. I wouldn't want to give her unnecessary things to tell that psychologist. But I think I'll stop beating myself up about every tiny little mistake. Parenting is not about getting everything right. It really doesn't matter whether spanking is abusive, or whether anything you do will damage your attachment link to your child or your child's self esteem. It's not about artificial or natural consequences. It's not about whether your should encourage your child to do better or ease the pressure. It's about whether or not your child can see your arms as a safe place to fall when the world appears to be against her. It's about whether or not your child knows that regardless of anything else, you will always be there for her - daddy will always catch her if she should fall.<br />
<br />
It's about doing your best, and about love - the one thing I never had.<br />
<br />
It's about giving yourself to your children, heart and soul, to the best of your abilities...survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-23518939024678023682012-11-28T14:21:00.000+02:002012-11-28T14:21:00.127+02:00Temporary problem? I feel like I should apologise in advance, because this is going to be a bit of a rant.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.</b></div>
<br />
I am so tired of hearing this! Every time someone talks about feeling suicidal or having suicidal ideation, this inane little saying gets dusted off and paraded around the conversation. Enough with it!<br />
<br />
Do you seriously think someone would contemplate suicide if they understood that their problem was temporary? Do you?<br />
<br />
Suicide is the ultimate act of desperation, the final fall-back when no other solution seems to present itself, including waiting for the problem to blow over or solve itself. Suicide is a way out of pain that shows no hint of ever having an end. The problem looks and feels permanent. That is why the only solution that remains is a permanent one.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
Now, sober thinking tells us that no problem is ever permanent, and that suicide is, in fact, a permanent solution to a temporary problem. But suicide doesn't happen during sober thinking. It happens in the depths of despair, when overwhelming pain negates the ability to think clearly. When one is in the depths of despair, telling that person that his problem is temporary serves only to minimize it. It invalidates his pain, adding loneliness, isolation and feeling misunderstood to an already overwhelming burden.<br />
<br />
Someone who is feeling suicidal does not need inane sayings - he needs empathy, compassion and understanding.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-3848966395715136772012-11-28T00:32:00.000+02:002012-12-06T07:54:44.150+02:00Essay, written by a 17 year old survivorIn a quest to re-connect with my younger self, I have been looking for clues of who I was age 4-16. I looked for photos, but none seem to exist. Then I remember a piece of writing, an essay I wrote for a school assignment at 17, but never handed it because it was simply too raw.<br />
<br />
The class was English creative writing. We were to write an essay entitled "me". This is what I wrote:<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<center>
<table class="bordered_block"><tbody>
<tr><td>I don't know what to do<br />
I don't know what to feel<br />
I don't know who I am<br />
<br />
Sometimes I look in the mirror and I don't know who the person looking back at me is. It isn't me, and I find myself hating him, whoever he is. I'm living his sick life instead of my good life. I have a great life, filled with love and laughter and happiness, but I'm stuck living this arsehole in the mirror's crappy, lonely, frightening life. I can't find myself, I don't know where I am, or why, and I get scared looking for me. Sometimes I find me, and then I am even more afraid because "me" is so bad. Mean. I hurt people. I make people cry. Why? Why can't I be nice? Why am I always angry? Is it normal to hate someone for loving you, and hate them for not loving you at the same time? No, it's not the same time. Sometimes I feel that someone loves me, and I want to just feel the warmth of it but I'm too scared to, because I know it won't last and I will be alone again and it will be worse than ever before because I will know what it feels like to not be alone. I'd rather not know. I'd rather just be alone. Why would anyone want to love me anyway? Why do people love? Can you decide to love someone? I don't think I love anyone. Maybe I am just not capable of loving, and that is why I cannot be loved. Maybe if I was able to love, then someone would love me. Maybe the real me can love, but this stranger in the mirror gets in the way. This guy, who I hate so much, I want to hurt him and kill him, but then it's me bleeding, and not him, and I feel like I exist again, but only for a little while.<br />
<br />
Am I crazy? Or did he really kill my soul?<br />
<br />
Maybe that's it. Maybe I have no soul. My soul died the day he beat me until I couldn't get up. Or the day he made me.... And now I have no soul and that is why I don't recognise my own face. Because the face in the mirror is just an empty body, it's no one really. I am no one. Do I even exist?<br />
<br />
Can one exist without a soul?<br />
<br />
Maybe I only exist in my own head.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</center>
<br />
One one side I am staggered by my insight into my own psyche, even though I did not perceive it as "insight" back then. On the other hand, the raw pain and confusion, flowing from the pen of a 17-year old boy, is heart-breaking. What happened to him?survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-33340167615847380272012-11-27T13:02:00.000+02:002012-11-27T13:02:48.518+02:00Is my child vulnerable?Most parents worry about whether or not their children are vulnerable to be molested. Those that don't, should.<br />
<br />
The short, simple answer to this question is "yes". Your child is vulnerable. All children are. However, some children are more vulnerable than others. So which children are more vulnerable?<br />
<br />
<h2>
Who gets targeted?</h2>
The children who are targeted are often the outsiders. The are the unpopular kids, always hanging around the fringes of their peer groups. They have low self-esteem, they lack confidence and they are isolated from their peers. They have weak social skills. They are lonely and desperate for attention, affection and acceptance.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
It is their desperation and their isolation that makes them vulnerable. To a sexual predator, a lonely, isolated child is a child who will respond well to grooming. The predator will seek out this child, and give him what he craves - attention, validation, acceptance, love. He will make the child, who is used to feeling like an outcast, feel special. He will become this child's "friend", or even his substitute parent, with all the ramifications that bring. Soon, the child will be ready to follow his lead in anything.<br />
<br />
The second most important factor is how the child is supervised. An unsupervised child is a child that is available to be approached by a predator. Sexual predators often place themselves in positions where they become the supervisors - babysitters, sport coaches, teachers, religious leaders, leaders of youth groups and clubs, all have proven to attract disproportionate numbers of child sexual predators.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Repeat abuse</h3>
Statistically, a history of sexual abuse leaves a child more vulnerable to be abused again. To me, as a survivor, this is easy to understand. A child who has been abused, has had his self-esteem shattered. Childish innocence have been replaced with guilt and shame. He will be unable to relate to his peers in an age-appropriate manner. He will be lonely and isolated. He will become an easier target for every consecutive predator.<br />
<br />
<h3>
The gay child</h3>
One thing that strikes me as too consistent to be co-incidence, is the number of male survivors who identify themselves as gay. I do not believe that sexual abuse can "turn" a boy gay. I do not think that it is a co-incidence that a disproportionate number of gay boys fall into the "extremely vulnerable" category - ostracised, isolated, rejected. Low self-esteem and lack of confidence.<br />
<br />
I am strongly of the believe that men don't "become" gay because of sexual abuse - quite the reverse. Gay boys are sexually abused because their homosexuality in a homophobic society makes them vulnerable. With this in mind, I believe that every person who promotes homophobia in any way, shape or form, is personally responsible for leaving innocent children vulnerable to sexual abuse. They are complicit in the sexual abuse of gay boys.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
Is my confident, outgoing child safe?</h2>
<div>
No. A confident, outgoing child is less at risk, but no child is safe. Your child could just as easily be at the wrong place, at the wrong time as any other child. Sexual predators are often opportunistic. They may molest a child simply because they have easy access to him. So always be aware for the signs that someone might be grooming your child, or that your child has been abused. Always apply the <a href="http://ramblingsofanabusesurvivor.blogspot.com/2012/10/lessons-learnt-from-sandusky-trial.html">lessons leant from the Sandusky trial</a>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<h2>
So what do you do, as a parent?</h2>
<div>
First and foremost, build your child's self-esteem and teach him social skills. You child may be naturally shy or introverted, but good social skills will help him make friends in spite of this. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be available to your child. Even if you are forced by circumstances to spend long hours away form your child, be sure to spend as much one-on-one time as possible with your child, and be emotionally available. The more attention-deprived a child is, the more likely he is to respond positively to attention from a predator. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be very careful about who you trust to look after your child. If any adult shows a tendency to single your child out for special attention, be extremely cautious. Remember that sexual predators are usually kind and loving people who easily gain other's trust through good acting and/or clever manipulation. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be supportive of your child, even if he seems "different". Not all children will fit the mould. Not all children <u>should</u> fit the mould. So be extra-vigilant if yours doesn't, and make sure that you attend to any social problems with his peer group.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Be aware. Be vigilant. Educate yourself - knowledge is power!</div>
survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-38679671211298008852012-11-23T08:03:00.000+02:002012-12-06T07:55:03.575+02:00GratitudeIt was Thanksgiving in the US, so I thought it would be appropriate to post a happy post. Even considering everything I've been through in my life, I have a lot to be grateful for. And as my late wife always used to say - it is not humanly possibly to be thankful and depressed at the same time. So here goes:<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><ul>
<li>I am thankful that I am still alive. After being beaten until I lost conciousness, three suicide attempts and four drug overdoses, that certainly isn't something I can ever take for granted. </li>
<li>I am thankful that there was always someone who believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. </li>
<li>I am thankful that my grandmother had the courage to fight for custody of two extremely troubled teenage boys when she was already well past her child-rearing days.</li>
<li>I am thankful for the opportunity to get help when I was still relatively young, and to turn my life around.</li>
<li>I am thankful for the 20 years that my darling wife was part of my life.</li>
<li>I am thankful for 17 years, 6 months and 4 days clean and sober.</li>
<li>I am thankful for the ability to live a full life, without the need for medication to keep the PTSD under control.</li>
<li>I am thankful that I learned to be more gentle, both my myself and other people in my life.</li>
<li>I am thankful that I learned to be vulnerable when necessary, even though it scares me.</li>
<li>I am thankful for my daughter. </li>
<li>I am thankful for the few close friends who have been there for me through a lot of hardship.</li>
<li>I am thankful for my twin, who is always there to save me from myself.</li>
<li>I am thankful that I didn't give up the fight.</li>
<li>I am thankful for having a wonderful woman in my life again, who fills my future with hope. </li>
<li>I am thankful for the opportunity to write this blog and make a difference in someone else's life.</li>
<li>I am thankful for God's forgiveness.</li>
<li>I am thankful for my health.</li>
<li>I am thankful for a wonderful therapist.</li>
<li>I am thankful for this journey of recovery.</li>
<li>I am thankful that I have rediscovered the joys of the open road under my feet.</li>
<li>I am thankful that someone at Adidas developed such amazing running shoes!</li>
<li>I am thankful that this list is significantly longer than I thought it would be when I started...</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
I hope all my American readers had a wonderful Thanksgiving!<br />
<br />
To those who are in too much pain to find something to be grateful for, I wish you peace and recovery and that by this time next year, you will also be making a gratitude list.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-64836190512518829362012-11-20T07:31:00.001+02:002012-12-06T07:55:23.153+02:00Why tell my story?Today is exactly one year since I started writing down my story. And what a year it has been!<br />
<br />
I started off very motivated. I wrote in blog-format, completing at least one post a day, some days more than one. I dissected all the horrors of my childhood in the minutest detail, recalling sights, sounds and smells, going back to old journals to verify dates, reliving everything as I sought to inject the appropriate emotions into my writing.<br />
<br />
It all proved to be too much. By January of this year, I was sinking into a deep depression. Continuing to write through the pain, I eventually crashed back onto the bathroom floor with a paring knife, my tears mixing with the blood dripping from my arm.<br />
<br />
The next day, frightened into action by my self-inflicted wound, I made two decisions:<br />
1. I needed to stop the recall, to stop writing.<br />
2. I needed to go back to therapy.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>I walked away from my story and back into therapy.<br />
<br />
My journey since February has been a roller-coaster ride. I have started processing parts of my childhood that I had never been able to process before. In the process, I have had to whether a renewed onslaught of nightmares and the occasional flashbacks. When, after a few months, my depression started to lift, I finished writing down my story. I have also been able to start building a new relationship, to create this blog and move my story here, and to reach out to fellow survivors on the Internet for the first time in my life.<br />
<br />
I am no longer sure why I started to write down my story. Perhaps I wanted to help others understand that they are not alone. Perhaps I wanted to educate an ignorant society about the truth of sexual abuse, and sexual abuse of boys. Perhaps I was trying to finally vanquish my own daemon of loneliness, by throwing my life open and inviting a web full of strangers to look at my deepest secrets. Perhaps I simply needed to remember in order to understand.<br />
<br />
I think, perhaps, all of these reasons have been true at some point.<br />
<br />
Since creating this blog, however, I have discovered a new reason to keep writing. I have received feedback from multiple people that what I have written on here, both in my story and my blog, have given them hope or understanding, or even helped them whether a storm in their own lives.<br />
<br />
As hard as it has been to remember and record everything, I believe it has been worthwhile. It has been the catalyst for renewed healing in my own life and it has also allowed me to reach out to others. To every single person who reads this blog, thank you - you give this blog a purpose. There certainly is no better reason to keep writing than the knowledge that in my own small way, I could make a difference to a handful of people's lives.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-38360526512290561972012-11-19T08:34:00.001+02:002012-11-19T08:35:13.073+02:00Controlling the urge to cut<div>
I am not a trained professional. I cannot write a definitive guide on how to control the urge to self-injure. I suspect that even if I was a trained professional, I would still be hard-pressed to come up with such a guide. What I can do, is share what worked for me. If you are someone who struggles with this, I hope this helps. However, I would still urge you to get professional help.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h2>
1. Solving the root cause</h2>
I want to start by saying that the holy-grail of conquering the urge to cut, lies in resolving the underlying issues that cause the urge. Cutting is a coping method. It satisfies a need. As long as this need exists, you will have a hard time controlling the urge to cut. Read more about his from my post <a href="http://ramblingsofanabusesurvivor.blogspot.com/2012/10/self-injury-whats-that-all-about.html">Self-injury: what's that all about?</a>. Obviously addressing that need takes a lot of time and work. You will need ways to cope in the short term.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<h2>
2. Short-term measures</h2>
There are lots of lists on the internet that will give you things to do instead of cutting - things like pressing ice-cubes against your skin to create the physical sensation, drawing onto your skin with a red marker, punching pillows, etc. I have found a good list of short-term coping techniques, categorised by the need they fulfil, at <a href="http://www.helpguide.org/mental/self_injury.htm#find">www.helpguide.org</a>.<br />
<br />
I felt numb a lot of the time. So numb, that there were times when I doubted my own existence. The pain of cutting created a clear sensation, and confirmed that I was real. I started wearing a rubber band around my wrist and when I felt like I was fading away into non-existence, I would snap it against my skin until it hurt. It created a physical sensation that was strong enough to bring me back.<br />
<br />
Another strategy that I used often, was to call someone. Often, calling my therapist or a friend and telling them about what had triggered me instead of cutting, was enough.<br />
<br />
<h2>
3. The postponement trick</h2>
If all else fails, there is always the postponement trick. The idea is to postpone the act of cutting. Instead of trying to fight the urge to cut, set a time when you can do so. It should be far enough in the future to allow you time to gather your thoughts, but not so far that you become despondent and give up on waiting.<br />
<br />
I'll do it in 15 minutes, or after I've finished what I'm busy with, or...<br />
<br />
When the time came when I had planned to do it, more often than not, the urge had passed.<br />
<br />
<h2>
4. Medication</h2>
Anti-depressants helped to easy my need to self-injure. If you are seeing a therapist, you might want to speak to him/her about this. If you are not seeing a therapist, you GP might also be able to assist you. Whatever you do - don't try to self-medicate with alcohol or street drugs. Going this route will only add to your problems.<br />
<br />
<h2>
5. Take care of yourself, physically</h2>
The other thing that was very helpful for me, was learning to take care of myself on a physical level, and to take pride in my appearance. When I was in sober-living, I learned to eat well, to shave regularly, to keep my hair clean and tidy, etc. I cycled to work, making my body fit and well toned. I bought nice, short-sleeved shirts that made me feel good when I wore them, but that would also show any cuts on my forearms (my favourite place to cut and the main reason why I mostly wore long sleeves in those days). I got tattoos. The tattoos were especially effective in changing the way I felt about my body. It made me feel like my body was my own, and no longer belonged to my abusers. It made me not want to scar myself any more.<br />
<br />
These are just some of the techniques that worked for me. If you are struggling with the urge to cut, these techniques might also work for you, or you might have to find others. Whatever short-term coping methods you find, I would strongly urge anyone who find themselves wanting to injure themselves to get profession help, with the aim of eventually accomplishing number 1 - solving the root cause. That is really the only long-term solution.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-55293684453743818302012-11-15T23:21:00.000+02:002012-11-15T23:21:00.249+02:00Where is the public outcry?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #990000;"><b>*** May Trigger ***
</b></span></div>
I love watching my daughter sleep.<br />
<br />
There is nothing more peaceful than my little girl, curled up under her flowery duvet, red curls spread all over the pillow, breathing softly. I find myself counting her dark eyelashes, etched against her pale skin. I itch to move the one soft curl that always insists on falling over her face, but I never do, for fear of waking her. Where does she go at night? Does she fly away to far off lands in her dreams, populated by fairy queens and unicorns, witches and wizards with pointy hats, riding broom sticks? Does she ever dream of me?<br />
<br />
Does she know that I watch her sleep, drinking in her peace?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>One in four girls are sexually abused before they reach the age of 18.</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>One in six boys are sexually abused before they reach the age of 18.</b></div>
<br />
The vast majority of these children will never get help, either because they never tell, or because they tell and no one believes them. Of those who are believed, too many will hear, it's over now. Just forget it and move on with your life. Only a small minority will get real help.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
So far, my little girl in one of the three in four, one of the lucky ones. This far. She has twelve years to go to 18. A lot can happen in twelve years.<br />
<br />
Some nights, as I watch her sleep, my heart breaks for the other children, those who aren't as lucky as she is. The ones who can't sleep so peacefully. The ones who are turning fitfully in their sleep, trying to hide away under the blankets. The ones who are lying awake, waiting for footsteps to come to their door, trying to get away from the hands of the monsters who are systematically dismantling their innocence.<br />
<br />
Who ones who have monsters in their lives that are far more frighting that the ones under the bed, because they don't go away when the lights come on.<br />
<br />
Nights like these, I want to stand on a rooftop somewhere, and scream as loud as I can - Can't anyone see? Can humanity not see the soul destruction that is happening every day, in every city, town and village across the world?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Between 3 and 5 children are killed by their own parents every day, in the U.S. alone. </b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Homicide is one of the leading causes of death in children under the age of four.</b></div>
<br />
Next time you drive down your street, look carefully at all the houses. Chances are, in one or more of those houses, a child is being abused.<br />
<br />
Next time your child's friend's are at your house, look carefully in their eyes. Chances are, one of them spend their nights praying that no one will come to their room. One of them know what semen tastes like, what it feels like to have someone else's body parts inside yours.<br />
<br />
What kind of world is this? How can such evil exist, without any public outcry? Why are people not gathering in the streets, baying for the blood of these monsters? Where are the crowds waving placards and chanting "save our children"? Where is the revolution?<br />
<br />
How can it be so easy just to turn to the next page in the newspaper, and forget about the latest case of child abuse, or click a tongue and say thank goodness, we have good people in our neighbourhood. Then move on to more important matters - the company's stocks are down one percent...survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-48328025763488797482012-11-12T23:27:00.000+02:002012-12-06T07:55:39.730+02:00Visiting my father's grave, redefining "me"My father, my abuser, died last year.<br />
<br />
His sister called me and asked me to the funeral. I didn't go. I have never felt anything but fear and hatred for him. I had no desire to spend the day surrounded by people who had loved him, who thought he was a good man.<br />
<br />
This weekend, I went to visit his grave for the first time.<br />
<br />
I expected to be angry. I expected to be overcome with a desire to vandalise his head-stone. To piss on his grave, so to speak. Instead, I stood quietly, devoid of any raging emotion. I read his name on the head-stone, and I felt that it was a stranger's name. The surname is the same as mine, but that was where the connection ended. The inscription didn't even mention me. It said only "beloved brother..."<br />
<br />
Fitting, I suppose, since he disowned me years ago.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
But I couldn't help wondering, where was the anger? Where was the explosive rage that I had always treasured so much? How could it be that the most extreme emotion seeing his grave had triggered in me, was contempt?<br />
<br />
And then a thought occurred to me - What if I have been clinging to the remains of the anger, long after it had burnt itself out, simply because I was afraid to let it go?<br />
<br />
I have been defining myself as an abuse survivor for so long. How would I know who I am if I let go of that label? How could I hang on to the label of "survivor", without the anger? Who would I be if I stopped hating my abuser? Could it be that the answer to my loneliness is to find a new identity, that I wouldn't want to hide?<br />
<br />
Last night, I sat down with my journal, and started writing a new list of labels with which I can define myself. Here is what I have so far:<br />
<ul>
<li>Single father. (Then I scratched out "father" and wrote "daddy". I like daddy better. I hope that one day when she has grown up, she will say that I earned it.)</li>
<li>Programmer / geek.</li>
<li>Nature lover.</li>
<li>Marathon runner.</li>
<li>Writer / blogger.</li>
<li>Christian?</li>
<li>Twin.</li>
<li>Man.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I will keep working on that list. Perhaps, one day, it will be long enough for me to feel safe to drop "abuse survivor". Perhaps, then, I won't feel the need to hang on to the anger any more.survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-79838576980512456422012-11-12T11:45:00.002+02:002012-11-12T12:18:14.266+02:00Thoughts on suicideI've been suicidal.<br />
<br />
Who am I kidding? I've made multiple attempts.<br />
<br />
There was a time when I simply could not see how I would ever be able to live my life. It was too hard. The pain and guilt was too much to cope with. I had also convinced myself that I was a burden to those who cared about me, and that I would be doing them a favour by removing myself from their lives. I did not deserve to stay alive, to continue to wreck havoc in their lives.<br />
<br />
I hated myself that much.<br />
<br />
But in the end, it was ok. I found a way to deal with life. I even found happiness. There was a way out of the dark hole of depression and self-loathing after all.
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I have not yet arrived at the end of that road. I still struggle with guilt and self-loathing. Sometimes I still feel like the pain is too much, I can't handle it. But now, I have a child. Single parents can't kill themselves. I have an obligation towards my child to stay alive. She has already lost one parent. If I deliberately take her only remaining parent from her, I am no better than my mother who walked out of my life when I was 11. If I take my own life now, it would be as if my abusers have reached out from their graves, and hurt my daughter too.<br />
<br />
I CANNOT allow that.<br />
<br />
So I have to stay alive. I have no choice.<br />
<br />
Now, when the thoughts of suicide intrude into my mind (they are never invited, they just come) I reach out. I call my therapist. I post on-line. I talk to my one friend to who I can say "I wish I could just die" without causing him to freak out. I spend time with my daughter.<br />
<br />
One of my most powerful weapons against suicidal ideation is a small tattoo on my right wrist. It covers the scar from where I cut my wrist as a teenager. It is a design that, to me, is a very powerful symbol of the fight to stay alive. It is a reminder of where I've been, how I got out of that dark place, and why it is always worth trying again, even when I can't see any chance of success. The fact is, I've managed to get out of that dark hole before... It isn't big, but it has motivated me to keep going many times...<br />
<br />
<h2>
These are my thoughts on suicide:</h2>
<ul>
<li>Suicide is not a coward's way out. It is the last resort of those who have lost all hope of finding another way out.</li>
<li>Suicide is not an easy way to get out of facing your problems. It is an act of desperation that is carried out when the problems seem too big to face.</li>
<li>Suicide is not selfish. It is an act that is carried out when the pain has become so much that there is no more room to consider others.</li>
<li>Suicide is rarely about one specific thing that has happened in the person's life. People commit suicide when pain that has been building up for a long time become to much. When you are so depressed that you can no longer see any possibility that the pain will get better, suicide is a way to make the pain stop.</li>
</ul>
<br />
If you, or someone you know is thinking about suicide, please reach out and get help. Call a local helpline. Talk to someone. If you have no one to talk to, go to your local ER and ask for help. They will be able to help you.<br />
<br />
Don't bottle these feelings up inside, it will only get worse if you do.
survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119538984017348497.post-83152800487669246002012-11-05T11:59:00.001+02:002012-11-05T12:02:28.260+02:00Please listen when a child asks for help!If there is one thing that upsets me, both as a father as an abuse survivor, it is the ease with which too many people discount abuse.<br />
<br />
People cite several reasons for not believing accusations of abuse, and I would like to address some of them:<br />
<br />
<h2>
"He has always been a difficult child. This is just another way to make his parents life hard".</h2>
Abused children are often difficult children. Abused children don't know how to relate to people in a healthy way. They have issues with authority. They lack self-respect, and therefore aren't able to respect others. They know the language of violence better than any other. They tend to act out in a misguided attempt to get attention, to be seen and heard, or because they aren't able to act in any other way.<br />
<br />
Is he accusing his parents because he is a difficult child, or is he a difficult child because his accusations are true?<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<h2>
There are so many holes in his story, how can he expect anyone to believe it?</h2>
Abused children dissociate. Even when they don't, their memories might be unclear, leaving the child apparently unsure of his story. Repressed memories might continue to surface, causing it to appear as if the story keeps changing. Interpretations of events might change. Children are often groomed to the point where they believe everything is normal and OK and as they explore their experiences, they start to realise that their previous perceptions were wrong. This might also cause the story to appear to change.<br />
<br />
When a child, or an adult survivor who is only starting to heal speak about his experiences of abuse, it is more likely than not that his story will appear to be full of holes, and to change all the time. That does not mean it isn't true.<br />
<br />
<h2>
I can't do anything without proof. What if the accused is innocent and his life is ruined by the accusations?</h2>
What if he's not innocent? What is more important - helping an abused child or protecting a potential perpetrator who hasn't been proven guilty yet, and will have a change to prove his innocence in court?<br />
<br />
<h2>
He is a decent person, he would never do that to a child.</h2>
We only have to look at Sandusky, Jimmy Savile, the Clergy and the U.S. Boy Scouts to see that an outwardly "decent" person can still be a sexual predator. In fact, most predators are likeable - this is what enables them to get close to children.<br />
<br />
<h2>
He's is still young. He'll forget it if we just act as if nothing happened.</h2>
There isn't much to say to this argument other than that it couldn't be further from the truth. Even if the child appears to forget, it will always be there, under the surface, waiting to be awakened later in life, with devastating consequences.<br />
<br />
<h2>
I'm scared to call child services. What if they remove the children?</h2>
What if the children should be removed? Child services departments all over the world consider removing the child from the parental home to be a last resort. They will do a thorough investigation and try several other options first, before they remove the children. Even after the children have been removed, they will often put a lot of time and effort into finding a solution that will allow them to reunite the family.<br />
<br />
If, in the end, the children are placed with family members or in foster care, you can be sure that staying with the parents was not in the children's best interest. In fact, if that happens, it would mean that your actions have saved the children from a considerable amount of addition suffering.<br />
<br />
<h2>
What if they find out that it was me who called, and retaliate?</h2>
I am not aware of any child services department in the world who will disclose your name to family you are reporting. If you have doubts, ask to stay anonymous.<br />
<br />
<h2>
It's not my business to intervene</h2>
As an adult, it is your business to intervene on behalf on any child who needs help and cannot help himself. Saying it's not your concern is simply another way of saying you don't want to take the responsibility to help defenceless children.<br />
<br />
I struggled for years to get someone to listen and believe me when I accused my perpetrators of abusing me. There were some of the reasons cited by those who refused to help me.<br />
<br />
I leave you with a few simple facts. The vast majority of children who murder their parents -<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Have suffered sustained abuse for many years.</li>
<li>Have tried to get help multiple times</li>
<li>Believed that their parents would eventually kill them</li>
<li>Saw no other way to escape from the abuse, alive.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Do you want to be complicit to pushing a child to such an act of desperation? If the answer is no, then this is my plea - give a child the benefit of the doubt, and do something to help. </div>
survivorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08607133142447784385noreply@blogger.com2