Mensaje para una sobreviviente
There is hope. I don't fully believe it yet because I'm so deep in the pain. And so are you, right now. It's fucking awful, and we feel alone in it. Because we have learned to be alone. Because the only way you and I survived this life is alone. The stakes were too high. So that's it: alone was the way to do it, so we would never be hurt, again, the way we were, within an inch of our lives - perhaps even at the cost of our lives. Remember you are a survivor. A warrior. Maybe you were just like me: a helpless, tiny child, at the mercy of a malevolent force that pretended to be your caretaker. And yet, here you are: alive.
It was awful. It was isolating. If you're a kindred spirit, you know it meant you had to figure out the rest of your life as a lone wolf. A warrior. A pained, hurting, confused person who tried to do it all themselves, with a beautiful, artfully constructed facade that you just HOPED the world would believe: the facade of someone "normal". The facade of someone who wasn't raped, or used, or molested, or duped. The facade of someone who was so well-adjusted, so popular or sexual or sexy or liked, that they would finally be accepted as the camouflage they were wearing to the world -- even when that facade was repeatedly cracked by rage, or pain, or betrayal, or suicidal hurt, or the spreading of the trauma that was inflicted upon them to begin with. Well, the jig is fucking up. If you're reading this, you know that there is no hiding any more.
All I can say is: There is hope. It's so far away, for you and for me. But it's there. And the key - it fucking sucks - lies in opening up to other people. Absolutely: there are awful, unsafe, abusive people in the world -- people like my mother, and people like your father, or mother, or uncle, or sibling, or abuser, whatever form they took in your life. But there ARE, also, safe people in the world. They exist. There are true, benevolent healers -- people with a genuine, divine gift to help you heal your heart, your sexuality, your body, and your searing soul. I know, because I have met some. I am deep in the process of recovery, but I encourage you to open your heart to the possibility that you might, just might, meet people who can begin to help you heal too.
Some resources that I am availing of: Plant medicine for trauma relief (absolutely huge). Somatic/body work. Books like 'Silently Seduced', 'Victims No More', 'The Body Keeps the Score'. Talk therapy. A meditative practice. And, most of all, reaching out to find a community. If you have nobody, write to me: {~email~}. Perhaps, like you, I am a walled-off, protective, deeply scalded soul from years of maternal abuse; so it might take me a little while to reply. But I will. You are a sister or a brother in arms, and I respect you for reading this. May we both survive this. May we both, one day, exceed survival beyond our dreams.
Mensaje de sanidad
I want to heal so bad. I want to trust again. I want to trust community. I want to love. I want to be able to freely, happily, openly cum with a woman and give her and me the sexual ecstasy we DESERVE. Healing means separating from my awful "mother", forever.
She is nothing to me. For what she took is invaluable.
My mother used, groomed, sexually abused, and ultimately sexually humiliated and sexually punished me for years when I was a child and a pre-pubescent, pubescent, and adolescent boy. She is a fucking monster. I was used within an inch of my life. I barely survived it.
I don't even want to admit it to myself, but the number of suicide attempts I have survived makes me a goddamn HERO. I wasn't hospitalized, I wasn't on death's door, but I was close. I tightened ties around my neck that I hung myself from as an eleven- and twelve-year-old, until they almost choked me to death. I drank or abused myself nearly to death way, way, way too many times as a teenager and an adult.
Anyway, the awful shit she did involved first grooming and using me -- seducing me -- throughly -- completely -- emotionally, sensually, sexually. When I was a child, this awful woman who called myself my mother would wrap her legs around me in bed repeatedly. And other parts. And say how a "baby" needs a mother's skin (I was a teenager). How the most "pure love" in the world is that of a mother and her son. It was all a lie. All an awful, terrible perversion of the truth to set the stage for her abuse.
She used to sexually humiliate me. She would take me into the bathroom in our little flat in {~City~} and she wouldl jack my cock off and make me climax. And I would cum on the floor and she woudl scream at me. So angry at me. For what I did, for what she made me did. Pure, unbelievable ,unbearablle rage on her face. I want to cry. And the anger as I came on the bathroom floor. Mad at me, mad at my erection (that she made me have!) So mad at that erection she was intentionally givign me. She hated me. Hating me. Projecting ONLY pure, awful, wrathful, vengeful, horrific hate on me.
Screams. Her phenomenal screams. That would rock the whole house, shake the ceiling. I wonder if she was raped by her dad, or her brother. She must have been. To use a little boy, a little child like that.
The sexual devouring in her eyes.
I'm so ashamed.
I feel awful.
FUCK THAT WITCH.
I DON'T WANT TO DIE. BECAUSE OF HER.
Awful monsters like my "mother" - there was NOTHING ABOUT HER THAT HAD ANYTHING CLOSE TO A MOTHER'S ENERGY - need to be held accountable. STOP THEM FROM HURTING CHILDREN. IT HURT EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE. The sexual rage and the pain. The way I have passed on the trauma by hurting nearly everyone in my life. IT STOPS NOW. THE PATTERN, THE MONSTER. THAT AWFUL RITUAL OF SEXUAL HUMILIATION AND RETALIATION AND VICTIMIZATION AND PAIN. THAT FUCKING. STOPS. NOW. IT STOPS WITH ME!!!!!!!!
