Scars: a reflection of sorts

I was young when I first started to cut myself. At first I just did it to control the pain. It was easier to comprehend... the self-inflicted pain versus the violence done to me by others. I've been hurt so many times. I started it all by "life spots." Small pin pricks to my fingertips. Blood welling out and mixing it with paint. The bloodier the spot; the more pain. And so forth. And so forth. Soon journals were filled with "life spots" and "boxes." I use to draw the boxes when I was upset. The more the boxes took over the page. The more upset and "trapped" i felt.

Sometimes I feel better after cutting but most of the time I rip myself to shreds for cutting. when I know I shouldn't. But still I do it. If I wanted to die (and I don't) I'd OD. But cutting makes the pain go away. I always just cut and did the life spots. I never knew it was anything. I read a book once called "Women Who Hurt Themselves" by Dusty Miller. I then started looking at sites on the web, and I quickly realized that I was not alone.

I was 11 the first time I cut my finger. I was just sitting alone in my room and using an Xacto knife. I slid it across my finger and watched the blood well out. Afterwards I felt somewhat better and that's when it started. Soon I was cutting whenever I felt stressed. I never cut enough to need stitches; scars may only be darkened lines but at least they are easy to hide. I've been able to stop it. But when I go under emotional pain then I feel the need to cut again. Sometimes its just the need for punishment. A punishment for when I was young.... when I wanted love so bad that I even accepted my uncle's brand of it.

One counselor told me that my cutting was just a way to seek attention. And the fact that I did it would just lead my friends and loved ones from leaving me and my "disgusting habits." I dropped him soon after that. A GOOD therapist tries to help... not tear you down more. I'm looking for a new therapist once again. And I haven't cut in a few months. But don't get me wrong.... i have the Want to cut in me every day. Sometimes though, I just don't.

There are scars on me... faded white lines on my arms and other places. Scars on my soul from the blades and the words and the deeds. I continue to look at them, wondering why I cause myself the extra torment of cutting. But it has not been enough to cause me to stop. Some have likened cutting to being an alcoholic... needing and craving the pain from cutting. And sometimes, I wonder if it is a disease like that.. or maybe just a learned response to the horrors we face in life.

I have been lucky to have found people who share my life that do not judge me or my actions. But try to understand why I do things. Who offer me someone to talk or vent to when I am upset and ready to cut. I continue to have periods of times when I can get through tough times without cutting and I hope someday, that those times will be more frequent than the times I do cut.

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Can I forgive the men who hurt me?
Many people have suggested that I forgive my abusers. Let them off the
hook for what they did to me and get on with my life. Whenever, someone new tells me that, I want to get angry and often do just that.
How do they know what it is like to be me and to deal with my memories? How can I forgive my father for hurting me physically and mentally or
forgive my unky for taking my innocence away from me at age 6? Don’t
other people understand that for me, forgiving them is like saying that
what happened doesn’t really mean anything to me. Doesn’t really effect
me. Doesn’t cause me nightmares or make me wake up sucking my thumb.

I am not sure I can ever forgive the people that have hurt me in my life
and I wonder how fair it is for people to tell me that I must in order
to heal. I left therapists for saying things like that. Like when I
first tried to get help for my cutting. I was in a day program in PA,
and my counselor at the time said that my cutting was no problem at
all. That if I continued to cut then everyone who loved me would just
leave and I would be alone. That wasn’t supportive and his reverse
psychology stance did not work either. I still cut the whole time I was
in that program. It’s only been the last few years that I have been
able to curb my need to hurt myself. And that has come from me, not
from what a therapist has said. But, I will admit that there are days
when I certainly still feel the need to open skin and watch blood flow
freely.

Forgiveness may have worked for some. But I do not see how it can work
for me. I was speaking with someone recently who mentioned that know
that my unky has been born-again, again… god will forgive him for his
past deeds and he will be welcomed in heaven. And that I should be
thankful that he has been brought to Jesus. I should be “thankful”
that a man who raped me when I was 7 and watched while his friends
took me, his dog took me and cheered for me to please him more
has found god and will be welcome in heaven? I think not.

The very idea that I forgive the SOB makes me beyond angry. I cannot
even fathom forgiving him. My Goddess is not stressing that I forgive
the SOB, only the so-called Christians who have emailed me have suggested this. And it makes me wonder, my Goddess says, that I should
harm no one by deed or work unless I want it to come back on me
threefold. So I know in the end, he will get what is coming to him.
But in the Christian and Catholic faiths, he is saved as long as he
comes back to Jesus and confesses his sin. I have to say that there are
many in prison for deeds such as this or worse that have been
born-again, and the idea that all of them will be in heaven, makes me
want to go shower in bleach. All I know for certain is that I cannot
and will not forgive him or anyone else that hurts me. I didn’t forgive
easily, and even when I do, I never forget. I hold myself at the same
standards. Which is perhaps one of the reasons I still blame myself for
much of what happened.

~Goddess Bless
A short piece about why the closet door being open can be scary.
I put forth a warning this time because it seems that I should try to think about what others feel sometimes, when they read my work. I will try to remember this in the future postings. Sorry.

It's only been in the last few years that i have been able to sleep with the closet door open. I use to need to have it shut. It's because when I was young my step uncle (unky) would hide in my closet and watch me. Sometimes coming out to scare me... mostly just to watch me. When I think about what unky did, how he changed my life, it sickens me. I know that when I was younger, I had no idea what he did was wrong, I just was not suppose to tell anyone. But he said he loved me... and he would always take care of me, his little princess.

I loved him... his love never really hurt till i was 7. i craved the love he offered. I wished, later when i was older, that he would just kill me. Like when he tried to teach me to swim... he would hold me above the water and touch me and if i tried to push him away, he would hold me under the water. This would continue till i would freely submit. To this day, I don't like to get my face wet. Its that feeling of drowning all over again. I remember hands and fingers and what they could do. And I do know that, there were times as I got older that I liked what he did sometimes.... I knew it was wrong, but he made me feel good. So, I suppose the evil was in me as well.

Sometimes I wonder about what all of that does to the kind of person I am today. I know I am a care-giver. I put aside my own wants and needs, to take care of others. And I find that I have a submissive nature to myself, it colors the erotica that I write. But most of my jaunts into that lifestyle have never turned out the way I thought they would. Discipline is so triggering to me. And having been held down and abused when I was young, and raped while in college... why is it exciting to me made helpless? Sometimes, it just shocks me when I read certain things... watch movies.... i know i am not normal. Besides all those things.... i sometimes know that when i am talking about myself and I should capitalize the letter " I," i don't because i don't seem that important. I know I could be a better wife... and I know i could try to be more tolerable to christianity and all their little quirks.

I haven't forgotten that god put my unky in my life or that he sometimes abused me in his name. Nor do i forgot how religious he was... he was born again.... he will be going to their heaven because he found jesus and so forth. it doesnt matter that he is a beast. That angers me beyond belief. I am not ashamed to admit that I HATE " God," that I hold christianity somewhat if not completely responsible for many of the horrors I faced when I was young. What child deserves to loose their innocence at age 6? Someone please shed some light on that because I so don't understand. And don't preach to me about how your god didn't do any of this. Because i am so past listening to that. Don't preach to me about how good and righteous your god is. I hate your god.

I suppose some part of me, hates me as well.
~blessed be

a piece about what happened when my abuser introduces his dogs into the act.

********WARNING: may be triggering to some***************
Some would make you believe that their God created all the life on earth
and he did it in just 7 days. I am not, however, in the same belief
now. I may have believed that at one point, and thusly was kept quiet
for fear that I might anger him more. I had dinner last night with my
husband and members of his church. I did it to please him, since he has
wanted me to join them for several months. It was not as painful as I
had thought previously. I did however, discover that when I am around
them, I feel the need to standout and stand up. Instead of the nice
quiet person that I know I am, I dress in my Goddess shirt and I usually
feel better.

I know I appear to me rambling on, for that I am sorry. What I wanted
to write about is what happened first. I have a fear of really big
dogs. My abuser kept them when I was young. They were mostly a mix of
German shepherd and Rottweiler, big black dogs that bark loudly. I was
afraid of them; “unky” made me that way. They were as trained to keep
my inline as I had become trained to fear them. Last night I went with
my sister to the house where she was taking care of a friend’s diabetic
cat and they have big dogs like from my childhood. At first I was
scared… and then I begun to scratch them along the spine as most dogs
like humans to do. I thought to myself, “yes, I still remember how to
pleasure dogs.” It had bad repercussions because as we were beginning
to leave the dogs barked, scaring my sister and me. In the car, I tried
not to have a full-blown panic attack.

My fear of dogs runs deep. I am sure most kids have been chased at one
time or another in their lives, but most probably haven’t been raped by
one. MY unky trained these dogs; they had the same perverse actions as
he did. And no matter where I was on the land he owned, they were close
by. It’s a wonder that I survived at all. It became a sport sometimes
to see what would happen. I lived with the fear of being attacked at
anytime. I have had nightmares about my training, to please them, which
would please unky and keep me safe.

Don’t get me wrong, I do like dogs. I have had dogs as pets and we have
one in the house now, but perhaps it’s just a certain breed that can
trigger me now to relive all the memories. It gives me one more reason
to hate god. I am sure some will say that it makes no sense to them
that I hold a grudge such as this but while growing up I was constantly
reminded that “god” only loves “good little girls who do not cry and
whom please their elders.” And I so wanted to be good. I wanted to be
saved form everyone and everything that tormented me and what I got was
the training to be submissive and to learn to kneel properly and wait to
be mounted, or worse.

Is there anything worse than living with the knowledge that you survived this?
~blessed be

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