Dangerous territory

I want to write this morning because I have had a difficult week, and yet I may have had some sort of breakthrough.  This is written for those who may be experiencing or have experienced similar paths to mine.  My mother is fully aware of the story, and she is deeply sorry.  My father has died, and I imagine is deeply sorry.

The last post rather ironically is ‘celebration’, celebrating all that I have in life.  And I have A LOT.  I’m blessed in so many different ways.  And yet, I so often feel disconnected from that.  My default place is sadness or a kind of urghh.. feeling.  That urghh feeling is SO prevalent in many of my posts.  Even possibly in the celebration one.

This was the subject of my last coaching session.  Helen said that her body and intuition were telling her that I was experiencing this disconnection because I was raped as a teenager.  When she said that my first place to go, was ‘haven’t I dealt with that?’ ‘isn’t that just a story from my past?’ ‘haven’t I forgiven those involved, understanding that it was nobodies fault really’……. SO I THOUGHT….  I guess I must have created a disconnection, a deep disconnection to myself and my life at the time, a kind of padding that prevented me from actually experiencing the trauma of those times, probably a survival mechanism.  I know that the first thought was when I was raped for the third time, this is my body, not me.  He can’t hurt me.  The first two times I was so young and naive I really didn’t know what was happening to me.  The third time I was still young and naive but I knew what was happening.

I was invited to go back with my teenager and a few ‘guardians’ to help me confront the demons of the past.  Who was I going to choose?  Who was really responsible for me being where I was?   Of course, absent parenting, was a massive contribution.  I reluctantly selected my mother.  I deeply love my mother.  I understand exactly why she was in the position she was in.  So what did I want to say to her…  WAKE UP…  see me.  Be there for me, see who I am, support me, guide me, help me.   Be my mother.   So I started this work with the aid of Helen, and somewhere in my heart it cracked and the emotion poured out, because I was SO alone as a teenager.  No one had the eye on that ball.

And because I am like a terrier, I couldn’t stop there.  I had to take it on to the others responsible.  My father. And the three young men involved.  Using an imaginary writing process, I had an entire crew of supporters or guardians to go into the past and challenge, change the story.  Of course memories of things like that, images haven’t left me.  They don’t have any particular emotional sting to them, they are just images, perhaps I cringe at the thought of them.  Is that shame?  And yet if I saw those images and watch that film of my own children or any other children/teenagers experiencing those kinds of things I would be deeply upset, and enraged.  So what does that tell you.  Stuff that doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger…. or perhaps it just makes you harder.

It was a really difficult emotional leap, to go from the ‘old’ story and feelings.  In the old story, nobody got to be wrong, my parents were screwed up because of their lives and their pasts, I was unfortunately caught up in that and desperately seeking love and wayward, and the boys were just doing what boys will do if they get a chance.  The new story involved other people taking responsibility.  Taking responsibility for a teenage girl, lost, vulnerable, lacking, and surviving in the way she could.

So I rewrote the stories, it was nigh on impossible even in my imagination for my dad to take responsibility.  He was so good at deflecting responsibility.  And then even with the witnesses in the room, the voices of dissonance came in….  ’Is that what you are making a fuss about?’ ‘that wasn’t really rape’ ‘where were the knives?’ ‘things far worse have happened to me’ ‘you were clearly up for it’.  Re-writing the stories, the interviews created a well of sadness.  It was a very tough day.  But with the bit between my teeth I carried on.  Later that day I tried to connect with my best friend.  He wasn’t available, and even though he knew something of what was going on, he still wasn’t available.

That was really the tipping point.  Because, it WAS NOT OK, that he wasn’t there for me.   Suddenly I was in touch with a rage, how could my best friend not be there for me, while I was suffering like this.  AND THEN I made the connection. RAGE:  IT WAS NOT OK, that my parents were not available for me as I was growing up.  IT WAS NOT OK, that I was ‘drinking in the pub at 13, and someone violated me on the floor of the pub toilet.   IT WAS NOT OK, that I was taken to the top floor of a multi-storey car park, not because I was going to be romantically shown a view from the top, but as I found out if I didn’t do what he wanted I was in danger.  IT WAS NOT OK, that someone took advantage of my vulnerability, with absolutely no interest or care about me.  Apart from anything else I was still a child.  IT WAS NOT OK.

I feel so much more connected to myself, and to my life, as a result of this process.  Its not finished I am sure.  And there is more..  The utter lonliness I felt during this process.. but that is enough for now.  I wanted to share it, because I hope in some small way it may help someone else.