Blessed is the Child
The wet snow lashed against his exposed skin like tiny razors,his thoughts were far away, to help with the pain. The bone in his left arm had torn through the skin,it hurt to breath, his whole body ached.The cold helped numb the pain. I got to keep moving he told himself, just a little farther.
He stumbled and fell,he would rest a few minutes then move on.His thoughts of her flooded back, she is gonna kill me if I don’t get away,this was the worst beating yet.She had hit him again and again,when he ran for the door she grabbed his hair and threw him down the cellar stairs.He wasn’t sure how long he had been down there,it was dark when he came too. He could hear her walking above and her screaming and muttering through the floor boards.The pain was so bad he vomitted, then his thoughts were on getting as far away as possible,never to come back. He fumbled around the cellar, knowing where everything was placed, even in the dark.An old coat and wool sweater, a pair of his fathers gum boots.He could barely put on these things without crying out ,it hurt bad.
The question I have.....was the child more braver because he left, or was the child who stayed and sold her soul to the devil?
ReplyDeleteDid either child have a choice?
Growing up in a town that knows so little about abuse and the affects from it was hard. The town was shocked when a child was murdered by school bullies, and started a witch hunt when an abusive mother killed her baby when social services knew she was dangerous.......the town is becoming aware.....but they are sadly misguided and worse yet, their programs that are designed to help people often only makes matters worse or still pretends they are blind.
I have called and contacted Haven House three times.
I have had a therapist through mental health.... he ignores what I have to say and worse yet...now he won't even see me.
I saw a shrink for 15 minutes who told me I was normal, and he wasn't even interested in the tests that another doctor said I should have.
I was placed on PWD and told by doing this, I would get the help I needed. Sadly being on PWD will not get me the help I so desperately need.
My doctor told me to pick life or death, and because I don't know life without my issues I tried to take my life....after all when a dog is sick, you shoot it.
Went to the crisis centre for help, to ask them how to stop the voices from screaming in my head. The barbie doll that was trying to help told me that I need to put the past in the past and just get on with my life. I wish it was that simple. After seeing her I did try to take my life. Funny thing to...not only did the ER Nurse punch me but the doctor told me how to do it right the next time around.
The program that is supposed to help teenagers with sexual abuse and eating disorders never protected my child from her stalker and now she is in his hands....and there is nothing I can do. When she was old enough to help her, those that should have, didn't.
The worse kicker of all...I had to file a police report to try to get help from victim services so I can pay for a therapist. Victim services wants proof that I was sexually abused and beaten as a child. Not only is it next to impossible to find proof, I am being re-victimized because I had to ask those who knew and did nothing. You think they changed their minds after all this time? The system I know is designed to prevent con artists, but all I want is help so the voices in my head will stop screaming.
I have a mental illness that was created because of abuse. I can blame my family, but even then they are not solely responsible. Part of is The Canadian Governments fault for not helping their soldiers who suffer from PTSD. A child who is ten years old shouldn't have to run from her father who's thinking she's the enemy. If wasn't for a tree catching the bullet that was meant for me...I would be dead. I went to school with bruises, and cuts on my wrists. I wasn't social and often I drifted off in my mind right in front of people....the signs were all there. To really make this so not right....my mother's preacher knew, the police knew something was wrong, my family knew, and my doctor at the time gave me a lecture about masturbating to hard...she never thought I was being sexually abused even though the signs were all there.
The mental illness I have people laugh at because there is so much speculation that if it is a real disorder or not. The professionals in this town have no training in what ails me, and there is only one in Vancouver that has had some dealing with it. The professionals here would rather I just went away instead of trying to help me. There is no wonder people like me snap.
The worse part of all this is my inner parts who were badly physically, mentally and sexually abused say they don't matter and what happened to them doesn't matter. I try lying to them and to myself and say that it matters. But in truth, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because society is still blind.
ReplyDeleteHow do you fight when even the professionals tell you to go kill yourself? How do you make it matter and make what happened to you be swept under the rug and make you feel responsible for the crimes that were committed against you as a child?
When I was a child, I knew what waited for me on the streets, and so I stayed with the abuse. The child hoped that her family would wake up and become better, because above all she didn't want to be taken from them. She kept everyones secrets, and fragmented to become what everyone wanted. She sold her soul and mentally died because she didn't have a choice. She still doesn't.