Having been through childhood abuse...physical, sexual, emotional...I can tell you that in a weird way, it fades. What remains is the story of the abuse. You sort of stop telling the story with your pain being the center. You shift the context, not the content. By that I mean, sometimes I teach about abuse and that's like telling the story twice removed because I'm in a different head-space teaching and in front of people. I write about abuse in both fiction and articles so I get feedback but not outright intense scrutiny from it. I've been part of anonymous groups and therapy groups as both a participant and facilitator so I'm able to hear darker tales and assist others with perspective.
I have learned that some of my personal, emotional habits are byproducts of abuse so I'm diligent in my own maintenance and support. I didn't turn to drugs or alcohol when sad, instead I strap in and ride it out. I have called crisis lines in the past to get clear, fresh perspective on myself.
I'm in a space of forgiveness in the spiritual sense that I've come to accept, the abuse was not personal, they would've and did abuse others because they were abusers. Seeing them as adults, I've made boundaries around contact at family affairs but I have looked at them squarely to see defanged demons, little decrepit people who I built up from child's fears. I acknowledge dreams that are abuse related and honestly omit abusive people from my life quickly. Recently a friend mentioned how when angered she'd lashed out at family, then it escalated to she'd hit people, then thrown glasses across dinner tables----as an adult ---over 40! I was like----oooh, someone call the Kyle Head Office, she's got to go. A few weeks later I'd politely deleted her from my life.
In a deep psychological way our initial friendship attraction was probably micro-laced with little signals and eventually my overt discussion of my past to her that suggested I was someone she could abuse. Then like an abuser, she tested the waters---a couple of times in aggressive conversation that left me a little perplexed then in her admission. Now the healing, my healing is when people tell you or show you who they are---what does Kyle do with that information? He ejects people (Life Lesson: Everyone is dispensable. Let everyone in your life know that you can live on without them, improves behavior. But it only works as a boundary if you have the courage to walk away from parent, partner, chicken or (adult) child). Quick, fast and in a hurry. I'm not your therapist---work out your issues with one. I am here to take care of Kyle. Period. I forgive you for your issue but I won't tolerate it in my life.
In a deep psychological way our initial friendship attraction was probably micro-laced with little signals and eventually my overt discussion of my past to her that suggested I was someone she could abuse. Then like an abuser, she tested the waters---a couple of times in aggressive conversation that left me a little perplexed then in her admission. Now the healing, my healing is when people tell you or show you who they are---what does Kyle do with that information? He ejects people (Life Lesson: Everyone is dispensable. Let everyone in your life know that you can live on without them, improves behavior. But it only works as a boundary if you have the courage to walk away from parent, partner, chicken or (adult) child). Quick, fast and in a hurry. I'm not your therapist---work out your issues with one. I am here to take care of Kyle. Period. I forgive you for your issue but I won't tolerate it in my life.
It is an ongoing adjustment, not like an injury, but like being right handed or an odd size in clothing. The abuse is an element of me but not the definition. You forget it in some ways and I actively try to do things, social, emotional, sexual, to push myself through and past the walls I erected to survive. It's a process but the effort, self work dilutes the anger some. I see this as a new body, new cells. Not the form harmed. The abuse is merely an echo this receiver can tune into. I honestly have taken some solace in the wretched lives of abusers, in their self inflicted pain and come to understand they were hurting people who hurt people. I take some pleasure in seeing their smaller, pitiable lives. So far none of the living ones have hit the lottery. Lol
It fades like a picture in water. That memory loss mitigates anger some.
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