Response to BlissChick – part 2

Tags

abuse-o-meter, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Depression, Family, Fear, in-utero, Internalising pain, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Recovery, Relationships, Repression, sex trade, Trust, Truth, Violence

After my rather long comment on BlissChick’s post, I wrote up part 1’s post (which was kinda hard to write)… but she also emailed me some other (rather confronting) questions:

In psychological circles it is said that abusers are not born but MADE. So I wonder (not knowing anything about your home life as a child) what kind of environment your parents created in order to turn your brother into an abuser?

I don’t remember much of my early years, just tiny splotches. But I do remember my brother never liking me. It seemed to start when we were fairly young (he’s only two years older than me).

Perhaps this will sound new age-y, but I have this theory:

My brother was the next little being to inhabit my mother’s womb after the grief, illness, anger, sadness, stress and loss she experienced in giving up her first son. Never having had permission to deal with it openly, I believe much of her pain was simply absorbed.

I’ve had my own experiences with the body internalising pain… I know this is what happens.

So, in-utero my brother imbibed suffering as he grew. Marinated in it, really.

And what must it have been like, for my mother? Being pregnant again after that first time? She once said when we were little, she was always afraid someone would come and take us away… this fear must have affected each of the three kids that followed, right?

Also, my brother was part of a soccer club from a very young age, and in the 70’s/early 80’s, Australian soccer clubs were dominated by masochistic men and boys. He grew up as part of that culture, every weekend for years.

My parents I believe were just… too involved in their own lives and pain. They didn’t see what was happening in front of them. They weren’t equipped to handle it. They’d never been given the appropriate tools themselves.

Do you have to experience such things for yourself in order to recognise what’s going on?

I don’t know if something else happened to my brother or not. If it did, I don’t believe it happened in my parents’ home.

I also wonder why they enabled his abuse of you? That is what they did — they enabled.

These two sentences were very difficult for me to read. I truly believe they were unaware.

When I’d go to my parents and say ‘my brother hit me’, how could they work out how bad it was? That it wasn’t the usual sibling rough-housing (it never happened with them in sight)?

How could I understand what to tell them? What could I measure it against to give them some context?

People will claim they had no idea what was going on under their own roofs, but 99% of the time, they are lying (perhaps not even consciously so). The other 1% you have to ask HOW and WHY they did not know? WHY were they so utterly self-involved that they did not see your pain?

Because it was their job to love and protect you.

A little voice I don’t want to know about whispers in my ear… it was ongoing, though. It wasn’t infrequent. So why didn’t they stop him?

My dad was the youngest child with two older sisters and I don’t believe he’s ever hit a woman. My mum has a younger brother and I don’t believe he hit her either. Why then, was my brother allowed to continue to target and bully me?

I don’t know! It’s a question that pains my heart, and I have no answers. It makes a part of me feel raw and hungry and empty… it makes my lips purse up and I want to just stop thinking for a while.

How could they put up with my complaints of constantly being used as a pummelling bag? Then, it’s not just that he was physically abusive. But verbally too, and viciously cruel at every opportunity.

But, I was off with the pixies a lot. Did I just withdraw? Did I make it harder for them to know the truth? Should they have known anyway?

Thinking about this stuff, it makes me squirm. Does it matter if I ever know, or not? I kinda think right now it doesn’t matter any more… as long as I’m not pretending, and as long as I’m admitting to myself, that it wasn’t okay.

Whenever I see or hear about a woman who has chosen a partner who is or becomes abusive of her, I know (know know deep in my heart) that she came out of her childhood deeply wounded. Women who are raised in healthy households with healthy self esteem do not pick bad partners. They have an innate radar and can sense abusiveness in even the most charming people.

Today I read a post by a blogger I don’t know, via one of my blogger friends. And it really made me think. How do children get to the point where they taunt another person so mercilessly? She makes a good point – it’s because nobody stops them. They get away with it because they can.

And yes, I know my self-esteem was in tatters by the time I left home, aged nineteen. Through my own actions as well as those of others. But I think you’re right – had I been given a stronger sense of self-worth and self-love, I don’t think I would have let my first boyfriend treat me as he did. Nor do I think I would have ended up working in the sex trade.

Or, allowing myself, as you say, to pick bad partners. One after the other. To this day, I still can’t sense abusiveness in others. But those who are weird and wounded like me, sure, I can pick them a mile off…

Then again, my sister didn’t go through any of this. What was it in me that meant this was my path? My sister saw how our brother treated me and although he was mean to her, he never hit her. Just teased her all the time about her weight, resulting in a wounded self-esteem. But then, that’s bad enough, isn’t it?

Eventually wounded women who struggle and fight and put themselves back together again have even better radar. So do not fear. The work you do now most assuredly will lead you to a loving relationship some day.

I really, truly hope you’re right. I do. I get it when you say this is going to take a while. So far, it’s taken all of my life. If ever I can repair that abuse-o-meter radar, I know it’ll be good!

Of course, until then I know I need to keep moving. Like my therapist said, I can’t let the habits of my PTSD and depression, continue to lead the way.

So I have to try and reach out, to trust. And accept I guess, I might still get it wrong for some time to come.

~Svasti

Advertisements

Response to BlissChick – part 1

Tags

Abuse, Anger, Anxiety, Assault, Confusion, Depression, Family, Fear, Rant, Relationships, Surrender, Trust

In case you missed it, my world was well and truly rocked by BlissChick’s incredible post on depression, and some of her subsequent posts…

So here’s sort of an abridged version of her post (in italics), and my replies…

…People on anti-depressants are, from my own experience of them, still sad. Why? …Because they are putting a band aid on a broken limb…

I’ve never considered medication seriously, and the question has only been put to me once.

I understand there may be short term relief, but like you, I think it’s not something that ever fixes anything. So, I’m not interested in that path. Sure, it means things might be a little rougher for me, but I’m willing to tough it out.

…our souls are made of stories… They must be integrated into your essence or they will always be there. No amount of positive thinking will get rid of them. No amount of medication, eating “right,” supplements, herbals, or exercise… you will react because of them; you will be their slave…

I can see the truth this statement. Oh yes.

When I started writing my blog, I thought I was just writing about being assaulted. But what I learned along the way is, I’m actually writing about everything in my life that led up to that one fateful night.

Fateful, because it was a turning point, even if I didn’t start doing anything about it for almost three years.

…( (Honesty + Witness) + (Compassion + Patience) ) x Commitment

The hardest part of this formula is the first variable: Honesty about our stories.

We do everything we can to avoid this. We try to gloss over our stories… The first question to ask yourself is this: Who are you trying to protect by not being honest and why are you going to such lengths to protect them?

I was protecting both my parents, trying so hard to be who they needed me to be …a parent or both parents are exactly who most people are trying to protect…

I’ve really, really shied away from looking at my parents as neglectful. The physical abuse came from my brother, but it was ignored. And my parents were, and remain busy with their own emotional issues. It’s been that way for pretty much my whole life.

I haven’t wanted to admit these things so openly. I’ve wanted to accept them as they are and do what I can to compensate, because it’s cleaner, simpler. Because I know they won’t change. And because there’s nothing to be gained from blaming them for how they are.

…Regardless of someone else’s past, they were cruel to you. YOU were the child. YOU had the right to be the child. Your parents were not and are not your responsibility…

The crucial part, the part I’ve protected the most, has been to avoid admitting my parents were kind of shitty at their parenting job. I still have trouble with that.

I feel like, as a grown up, I should just take responsibility for myself and be done with it.

But perhaps that’s the point – how can the adult truly take responsibility when their inner child is having trouble being heard?

…Trying to understand your abuser is a classic psychological survival method… Your mind has to try to understand why this person is treating you this way, so you start to feel badly for them…

I recognise this. I do. My brother. My mother. My father. I never understood. I still don’t. And I feel bad I can’t be part of the “let’s all be close and loving” fantasy family relationship. I can’t be the “friend” my mother wants, either, especially considering she’s still self-centred and not interested in whatever I might be going through…

Every time my dad loudly has a conversation in front of me with my brother-in-law, about the importance of family (the same one on repeat), I want to be sick. Because he says those things and I KNOW he’s really chastising me indirectly for not being in touch a lot.

But heck, here I am on the brink of bankruptcy and where are they? NOWHERE.

When I was assaulted and hurting and hiding for years… THEY DID NOTHING.

What did they do when I complained again and again and again about my brother hitting me? MADE HIM APOLOGISE EACH TIME BUT NEVER STOPPED IT.

There’s more, much more. YES, they were neglectful and unsupportive parents. YES THEY WERE!!

And YES! I DO feel badly for them. I know they both had unhappy childhoods. I know my mother’s father was an alcoholic and her mother was controlling and manipulative. And that my father’s mother was the most self-centred person I’ve ever met. And my father’s father was adopted and emotionally vacant.

I expect less from them as a result. And yet, if ever I am blessed with children, I know I’d do whatever I can to make sure they feel loved and adored.

…You must be heard and seen… As an adult going through your stories and trying to order them and integrate them, a witness is the person who will give you that “real” feeling…

My witness, of course, has been Marcy. But I have also been graced with others…

Unfortunately I don’t have a ‘Marcy’ in my life. Instead, I write. And write, and write, so I can breathe.

But, those stories are slowly coming out on my blog. Which makes my blog readers my witnesses, I guess (hope you folks don’t mind!).

So witness this: I feel crappy about writing this stuff, like I’m betraying my family. Making a mountain out of a mole hill. It feels wrong and childish to sit here and write about things that have hurt my feelings over so many years and that, truth be told, still hurts my feelings.

And I’m not even half-way done yet! Not even close… however, I don’t know if it’s all for public consumption. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

Read part 2…

~Svasti

BlissChick’s story

Tags

Anxiety, BlissChick, Confusion, Depression, Family, Recovery, Relationships, Stress, Truth, Unemployed

I am tired. And stressed to the eyeballs. I still don’t have a job, and very soon I’m about to be very, very broke unless the universe interferes. I’m working hard in so many ways, and I’m being assailed and tested constantly right now, on the planes of mental health, spiritual life, family and friends and… kinda everything. My belief in myself. The core of who I think I am.

Anyway, I just wanted to say that despite all of that, I’ve just read a marvellous post by BlissChick: Can I Get a Witness: Overcoming Depression through Story.

Go and read it now!!

There’s some highly truthful truths within that post, stuff I’ve thought about timidly under the covers with the flashlight on, but never ever out in the open.

Christine (BlissChick) and her partner Marcy (Ordinary Enchantment) really have got somethin’ goin’ on. Together, they’re a force to be reckoned with (not to mention their wonderful and wise pets). I hope some day I get as lucky as these gals, in meeting that person, where we just fit into each other’s lives. And support each other with strength and love when we need it most.

I read BlissChick’s post and I bawled, big heavy wet and salty tears. I’m gonna have to re-read it before I can coherently process the things that’ve touched my heart and soul so deeply at 1.30am in the morning.

But I want to say a big thank you to BlissChick for her post, honestly, and from the bottom of my heart.

~Svasti xo

Panic at the food hall

Tags

Broken engagement, Ex-fiancé, Heartbreak, Living alone, Lonliness, Love, Relationships, Supermarkets, The Corso, Trust

I’ll never forget that trip to the supermarket when for the first time in years, I was no longer shopping for two.

I’d just moved in to a unit on the other side of town, a short stroll from the beautiful tourist beaches of Manly. And I was shopping for food and supplies.

Little did I know, aged twenty-seven, this was the first solo shop in a long line of more of the same.

Felt like I’d almost forgotten what I wanted. Cringing as I looked at those things we’d buy together – stuff my ex-fiancé liked/needed.

Suddenly, I was free of planning meals that were always a compromise. He, a meat eater who wasn’t big on vegetables, and I, a strict vegetarian at the time.

I didn’t want to plan meals any more, so I just bought whatever! Such sorrowful freedom, I made a point of each difference as I noticed.

Most stuff I’d left behind – spices, sauces, soap, toilet paper. All of that had to be purchased again.

Really, it felt so weird. Shopping alone, no one to argue with about the home brand and if it was really worth the extra ten cents to buy something else.

Nothing says you’re alone quite like the contents of your shopping trolley.

In that brightly light Safeway (or Woolworths?) on the Corso, it felt like I was rolling my trolley on broken eggshells, crushed rocks and seashells.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

No, wait. That was my heart crumbling.

Okay, I left him. Well, that’s how it looked from one point of view. But emotionally, things had been putrefying for a while. Felt very much like he’d left me six months earlier. Did I even have a choice, in the end?

The night before my move, boxes were all packed, removal truck was booked… and he breaks down and says Don’t go. Don’t go, I’ll change. We’ll make it work. Sleep in our bed tonight and not the front room.

Is that just the pain of separation talking? Not wanting to lose something that’s already almost slipped away? Sentimentality? Fear of change? Or did he really mean it?

Look, I said, I’m tired. I’ve tried for so long to make this work with us. And you kept saying things would get better, but that never happened. So I have to go right now. But if you want to try, then here’s the deal. I’m still moving out. But we’ll try to get things back on track. We’ll date. I’m afraid if I stay here right now, things won’t change. They haven’t before. Why should this time be any different?

He didn’t like that, not at all.

No, if you move out then it’s over!

His way or the highway. The story of my life – men wanting me to bend this way or that. Do things like this and it’ll be great, they’d say or imply, or both.

So, my choices were – stay in what had become a loveless and passionless engagement, with no concrete plans to actually get married any more. Or leave.

Stay, where I’d repeatedly tried to discuss and work out our issues. Or leave, and see what happens.

Stay, and watch him constantly say I understand, only to never work with me to resolve problems. Or leave, and create real change.

He hadn’t given me much to hope for.

Saying I love you in those circumstances is a hollow phrase. A threat, an attempt to justify or manipulate. It’s not really saying I love you. Its saying – how can you leave me?

Well, I did. Had to, for my own peace of mind and mental health.

Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Or that I wasn’t supremely lonely in that supermarket.

~Svasti

The first time

Tags

Anger, Confusion, Debutant, First time, History, Lost, Marvin Gaye, Relationships, Sexual Healing, Stripper, Stripping

When she finally said yes, it wasn’t much of a decision to make.

After all, she was most of the way there already.

Angry, confused and reckless. Just eighteen, and not quite moved out of home yet.

It’s not like she spent a lot of time thinking things through.

She just said okay, I’ll do it. Then, she had to think about how, exactly. Covertly and perversely, selecting music from her parents’ limited and old-fashioned music library. Kinda lame really.

Then, the final steps were so mundane.

Surroundings were familiar. So were the people. The location. The activity. The beer.

Except that, someone stole her favourite t-shirt. Although everyone knew the culprit, she never did get it back. It’s probably the most prominent memory of that day.

But really, it really wasn’t so hard to do. Not physically or emotionally. Most of that was… numb, anyway. Not that she knew it right then.

She didn’t have to imagine herself elsewhere, either. Everyone in the pub was a familiar face, wanting her to do well. She wasn’t even nervous, really. There was no shame. No fear. Just… why not?

The day she crossed over from working as a topless barmaid to a stripper.

Dancing to Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing. Ironically.

Cue music. Move seductively, wearing white high heels purchased for her debutant ball just a couple of years ago. Eyeball the very familiar punters. Slowly remove prissy lingerie.

Til it was done.

But how did she get there? She couldn’t have told you then. Perhaps she can now…

~Svasti

Monday night conversations

Tags

Blowing in the wind, Boat, Brahmin priest, Disembodied voice, Friends, Ganesha, Hindu wedding, Metaphors, Non-dual, Presents, Relationships, Storm, Union, Vedic ceremony, Yoga

I rang one of my bestest friends – S – last night… she’s my spiritual (if not blood) sister. There in the mail box was a surprise present from her with a little orange Ganesha stamp on the front and instructions not to open it just yet…

Rambling on about myself… I asked and how’s things with you?

In response she starts telling me how just the other week, she almost broke up with her man – they’ve been together for years now. Like, almost as long as I’ve known her. A while. Longer than any of my relationships have ever lasted (there I go, embarrassing myself again).

This is on top of a very shitful year for her. In which her man had knee replacement surgery (on both knees)… she went from full-time employment to living-on-a-prayer-freelancing. And then she was in Thailand with the rest of us (not earning any money), then went back home (to the other side of the world) for four months… again not earning much money – to look after her mum/mom… who currently has cancer and its all touch and go.

So, she wasn’t feeling that great. And yet she still remembered to send me a present. I love her to bits!! And not just coz of the present.

When she was telling me all this stuff, all I could think of was this half-baked metaphor that’d occurred to me a few weeks back, when, falling to pieces and on the way to see my therapist, I felt very much adrift…

I started relating this goofy little story to her:

So yeah, feeling adrift and just… blowing in the wind (but not like the song). Wait, make that a storm. A really gnarly storm. One with lightning and rain, and then… actually, it was this epic storm of the ages. So there’s all these currents pulling and pushing and… now I wasn’t just adrift but being buffeted from side to side. Every movement could unbalance me… in my little boat…

Then that voice, that might not be my voice (sure doesn’t sound like mine and it always says much wiser things than I can ever think of) and yet, it’s a voice only I can hear (I think)… clearly pronounces a few punchy, pithy words:

You’re not just the boat. You’re the ocean too. The storm as well.

How very… non-dual of you… oh, disembodied voice!

The boat’s just on the surface. But it couldn’t be on the surface if it wasn’t for the ocean being there too. Think about that for a second…

Surface conditions are only one set of circumstances. And they don’t affect the depths of the ocean, not really. You’re on the ocean… you’re part of the ocean…

And the storm is, well… not always a storm. Its air and… life.

Expect life to be uneven (as a wise someone I know will say), and you’ll never be taken by surprise if the boat upends for a while.

This wind and storm are the same as that filling the boat’s sails and propelling it forward. Without the wind, the storms… the boat would lie there stagnantly.

Ha! Now, I just gotta figure out how to integrate this pretty little story into the day to day…

And my friend? Well, we talked about a bunch of other stuff too. Of course. There was a little conversation about the steps they’re taking, couples counselling etc… Then, remembering the gorgeous words used in a Hindu/Vedic wedding ceremony we attended a couple of years back.

On a very quick trip to Sydney, I’d suddenly found myself invited to our mutual friend’s wedding along with S. Held at the glorious abode of our favourite Brahmin priest in way out western Sydney.

There’s a whole bunch of stuff that’s fairly standard to a Vedic wedding – invoking Ganesha, the garlanding of bride and groom, the bride wearing red, seven steps taken together as a newly married couple… but I’m yet to find the words he used anywhere else online.

There was all this glorious stuff about… revering the god/goddess within each other, promising adoration, fealty and many other beautiful things for ‘a thousand summers’…

We both left that ceremony in a gooey state of bliss. So I gently reminded her of that time and… listened to her voice perk up.

It’s a practice after all… to remember each day the things we love about our significant other… just as important as yogasana. Well, its yoga too isn’t it? Given the word yoga actually means ‘union’?

~Svasti

In a whirl…

Tags

Batman & Robin, Confusion, Dating, Lady Luck, Men, Mexican stand-off, Murphy's Law, Relationships, Writer's block

My brain feels like a schmooshy mixture of brain, goo, mist and haze. Add a dash of confusion and its all whirly.

I’m still battling this cold/ear infection/burst ear drum. Also, there’s that bunch of stories wanting to be told. They’re confusing me at the moment however, and its blocking up the pipes again. Sigh. They want to be longer and more mindlessly detailed than I want them to be. And they refuse to be edited. So, I currently have a number of unfinished pieces of writing and we’re having a bit of a Mexican stand-off.

Which is not so bad really, except for the desire I have to create, express, to publish more bloggy oddness.

But right now my focus is a little skewed because I’m waiting to hear if I managed to get a job I really want (whilst trying not to get too attached to the idea of having it).

And… I *think* a boy might like me… which is REALLY confusing…

My life is a series of question marks at the moment. Cartoon ones, like those that used to appear over the heads of the villians in the Batman & Robin TV series. Will I get the job I want? Or like Catatonic Kid, is my relationship with Murphy really that ironic? I do wonder about that. Actually, I wonder if Murphy and Lady Luck have battles over who I really belong to. It seems a bit that way sometimes.

Then there’s this boy. Well, I suppose at my age I shouldn’t be calling grown men “boys” any longer, but its a habit that’s stuck.

He’s someone I used to work with, and I’m unclear if he likes me or not. I mean, in my experience, unless you’ve become good friends with people you’ve worked with, they don’t generally try to stay in touch once you’ve left the place of your mutual employment. And you certainly don’t go out of your way to invite them to your birthday drinks, giving them plenty of notice of the date etc. But we’re not that close, and he’s done just that.

Towards the end of my trip in Thailand, I logged on to check my emails. Like alot of people I work with, he’s a friend on my GTalk (we’re geeks!) and he started chatting to me. Since I’ve been back we’ve had a couple of other online chats as well. Then last week he invited me to the birthday drinks he was organising for himself. I mean, they’re straight after work on a Friday, near a place I no longer work at.

In the course of that chat, I discovered by the way that he and his girlfriend had broken up. They’d been together for almost as long as I’ve known him. The conversation was a little flirty I guess. And the idea percolated away there – wow, what if he likes me? But am I just imagining things?

Tonight is the night. But its not a date or anything – there will be heaps of people I know there. And maybe he’s just being friendly?

I suppose I can only go with my gut feel – even though he was with someone else, there was always a bit of a spark between us. I think anyway! Actually, I sort of need someone to spell it out for me if they like me, otherwise I really don’t get it. As a rule, I tend to think men don’t have any interest in me. So I don’t know.

But he did send me another message just today, checking to make sure I’m coming tonight. So I am nervous.

I do like him. I think he’s cute. And he’s really sweet natured too. He was one of the “safe men” I used to enjoy hanging out with and having a harmless flirt with during the time I was working out how to relate to men again. I suppose I don’t know him well enough to work out if there could be anything more than that. One of the posts that I wrote not long after getting back was about how I can’t be in a relationship at the moment.

For one thing, I simply have no sense when it comes to men, and working out what’s best for me. Secondly, as I mentioned in that earlier post, I find that men tend to flock around me once I’ve returned from retreat – energy sucking men that is. Not that I think this boy is an energy sucker at all.

But whenever I decide these sorts of things, it seems that fate has its own way with me. Its not like I really need more time to myself I guess. But I really haven’t processed all the stuff that goes with getting close to someone again. So… even the thought that someone might like me, and that I might have to face some of this stuff is a little scary.

Right now my life is still in limbo. My sister still isn’t talking to me properly. I don’t have a home of my own and I don’t have a job. There haven’t been any men in my life for the longest time. It would be nice if things started turning out for the better…

And if someone has a good cure for Writer’s Block, please feel free to pass it on!

~Svasti

Partial application of truth

Tags

Love, Relationships, Suffering, Truth

~ Written January 2008

Oh, la la…

Interesting, isn’t it? Unravelling the stories we create around ourselves, in order to sustain this idea of Self?

I… just this morning I pounced on a new thought, about my shit. About how people in general, deal with their shit.

Us humans, we like to keep things compartmentalised. We assume that sorting out the mysteries and mythologies we like to hold true, can be done piecemeal, each in isolation.

Take something you know to be really true. For me (and I’m not suggesting this is true for anyone else), this is a truth I live by:

Buddhist and Hindu teachings tell us that we all create our own suffering. We maintain a certain set of ideas/ideals around something we think occurred. We do this to stabilise who we think we are. That contributes to forming an idea of ‘self’, which is in fact, a separation from Self.

This is a statement that – when I apply it to myself – contributes towards my spiritual and philosophical development. It’s a good thing.

Except that apparently I haven’t been applying this universally/equally, to all parts of my life. I’ve just realised I was conveniently applying this to parts of my life that it was easy/simple to relate to. Things I wanted to break down, could easily break down.

And that was great. Except… I’ve been haunted of late, by a rather esteemed astrologer’s words – that in order for me to meet my “Mr Right, I need to sort myself out – that I’m “still afflicted”.

Still afflicted… I’ve thought about this quite a lot. And done plenty of contemplation. Plenty of processing. I’d thought it was simply about bringing up issues surrounding my assault. So I’ve been working that stuff. I even had a convenient and recent ‘man issue’ which brought a lot of that crap to the surface again for examination.

Also in recent times, I started a piece of writing about some of the travails of my youth. Which – by the way – was fraught with early sexual activity, mental and physical abuse, date rape etc. Not a pretty tale. As someone who’s recently started writing again, I’d decided to respond to a topical blog requesting submissions. And I noticed, whilst writing, a latent yet still powerful anger in my words. In both the feeling and the memories of that time in my life.

A lusty anger, related to men. How I felt/feel about them in general (although not all men ofcourse!). How I perceive myself in relation to men in general (I think most don’t find me attractive). Quite a lot of anger. Feeling vulnerable. Feeling put down. Feeling abused. Feeling… for all the world, a little helpless in the face of men who I perceive to be manipulative, deceitful and/or malicious.

And then I remembered this universal truth I subscribe to in so many other areas of my life (see the fourth paragraph above). So. If I am responsible for, and create my own suffering, then how can any of this be true? How can someone hurt me, make me feel vulnerable, put down or abused?

This uncovered another layer of the onion to be delicately peeled away. Good lord.

I… have been holding on to a vestige of a story that I’ve used for such a long time to define who I am.

That story is… that from a very young age, I’ve been abused by men in one form or another. Whilst the actions may have happened, it is not those situations or those men that have held me in this place. It’s me.

I created this idea of the ‘victim’ me. The persecuted me. And, it’s where I retreat to, even up til this day. As a young girl, without doubt I went through some horrendous experiences. That they happened is not in doubt, nor does it make what happened okay. But actually, there were not as many horrendous experiences as my memories of those times as I would have myself believe. It’s easy to exaggerate. In my memory, overwhelmingly, my early experiences of men and sex were all bad. But this is not really true.

My first ‘bad male’ experience was my brother, from the time I hit puberty til the time I left home. Yes, he hit me. Hard and frequently. Yes, he verbally abused me and put me down every single day for many years (mental/emotional abuse). He is the main reason I moved interstate at the age of 21. But its how I chose to relate to that experience (abused, ugly and pathetic, victim) that has defined me. And I didn’t have to relate that way.

My second ‘bad male’ experience was my first boyfriend. Okay, bonus points for being the first boyfriend and all. And yes, he stripped me of my virginity whilst I was drunk, and it was emotional and romantic devastation coupled with abandonment. But it’s how I chose to relate to that experience (underage rape, emotional abuse, victim) that has defined me.

And… despite being generally unpopular and not having boys at school being interested in me, I still had boyfriends. But I had no boy problems for a few years. I even had a couple of really nice boyfriends – ones that I threw away, possibly for being too nice to me and not meeting my idea of how men treat me. Even at that time, I’d already allowed those two experiences to define me, to suggest I didn’t deserve a really nice boyfriend. So I dumped them both.

My third ‘bad male’ experience was around the age of 16/17, throwing myself at the brother of a boy I’d had a crush on since I was 12. And things were good for a while, until he dumped me for an ex of his. And, it’s how I chose to relate to that experience (sorry, unattractive, loser, rejected) that has defined me.

The fourth ‘bad male’ experience was date rape – of sorts. Well, it was and it wasn’t. I think I was 19 or 20. I had a huge crush on this hot guy, and I couldn’t believe he wanted to go out with me! But he did, and he handed me a ‘pill’ of some kind to take at the beginning of the night. I was so infatuated, I took it without question. I had no idea what it was although I now suspect it was Rohypnol. The fact that I then ended up drugged off my face, that I had no way to resist the unprotected sex that came next… well, I conveniently sidelined the fact that I’d colluded in my own helplessness. He could have done anything to me, and that I ended up in hospital with an STD and blood poisoning was probably a blessing compared to other potential fates. And, it’s how I chose to relate to that experience (as a victim of date rape, forever scarred) that has defined me.

I could go on with ‘bad male’ experiences, but I won’t. They would fill several more pages, and would only serve to prove my lifelong pattern of self-neglect and self-abuse and placing blame on ‘bad men’. And of allowing others to be abusive in one form or another towards me and making that mean something about me and about my relationship to men.

The point here is – I’ve identified with the idea that I only deserve ‘bad males’ in my life as boyfriends. And, that men who treat me badly are in fact ‘bad men’. Men who may seem normal, responsible, nice even – on the surface… but underneath they’re looking to control, to coerce, to hurt. They are not looking to be friends, and treat women they date as friends, with honour. But they are not necessarily bad men.

In truth, I’ve created and allowed this pattern. All men, all people, behave how they wish – and that has nothing to do with anyone else. Yet, I’ve allowed this pattern to flourish. And that has created a certain reality when it comes to men, in which I’ve lived my life. Huh.

It’s going to take some time I think, but I plan to re-write my history. To look upon all of these incidents in my life, and re-script the prose I’ve used to describe these experiences, how I felt/feel, and what things look like now.

Because it really doesn’t have to be like that. And whilst it seems I had to be punched in the face before I came to this conclusion… I no longer want to relate to men like this any more.

~ Svasti

Love – the joy and loathing

Tags

Loathing, Love, Relationships, Trust, Truth

~ Written September 2004

I’m still not sure why it is that access to blindingly obvious realisations arrive from some unnoticed corner of the mind? It’s possible to instantly be transported from confusion to clarity on a point that one previously had no perspective on. How fast do thoughts travel anyway?

So one anonymous morning, such a moment spontaneously arose as I travelled to work.

This particular thought was like realising I was at the apex of a mountain without having done the work required to get there – it was a big one. Suddenly I had an overview of the terrain that makes up my emotional life, a vantage point I’d never seen before. Or perhaps I had simply ignored it until now?

So…. to the thought itself. The topic is that of love. My relationship to love, the stories I have told myself, the way in which I have used it to protect myself from further pain instead of revelling in its joy.

Even though my basic nature tends to self-reflection, it still remains very simple to deceive myself on points of weakness. I guess it really is the truth as far I know at the time. Until ofcourse, I know differently! But I am hungry to know the truth of my nature/human nature in all its glory and terribleness.

That morning, cursing other bad drivers whilst driving too fast myself, a trickle found its way to the surface. And it began to flow freely as I parked my car and waited for the bus.

It started with my observation that love is a very scary thing to me. A terrible and powerful thing. Wow. That’s a weird thing to think!

Yet, as wonderful as love is, it can cause so much pain. It seems my relationship to love tells me I should keep it at bay, to a degree. OMFG!!

An earlier revelation of mine pointed me to the beginnings of this idea, as far as I know anyway. I think this started for me as a small child under the age of 10. My father loved all three of us kids dearly, and would tell us so very often.

But he also had this little game he’d play frequently where he’d have me stand in front of him and ask – “How much do you love your Dad?” Such a harmless way of talking to a child, is it not? Unless ofcourse, that child is super-sensitive as I was.

For some reason I found this experience incredibly overwhelming and embarrassing. Like I had been put on the spot and asked to articulate something I didn’t understand. Does any child truly know what love is in a way they can articulate? Put a quantity value on? Perhaps, but I did not. And because I didn’t know, I never felt like I gave a good answer. And because I didn’t have a good answer, I really wished he’d stop asking me. I’d say whatever I thought he wanted to hear so the game would be over.

So my inner ‘story’ about love became something like – I need to keep some distance to feel safe. To make sure I’m not uncomfortable. Or perhaps – if you let love too close, it hurts. Even when you don’t, it still hurts.

So as much as I desire the closeness of sharing with another person, it also terrifies me. Because that closeness grants both people a certain power over each other.

And how on earth can I ever expect to have a no-holds-barred, passionate and loving relationship with this idea circulating in my mind??

Then I took a look at what I was thinking from another perspective. That perhaps I don’t really know what love is at all. Perhaps none of us do. Not in the pure sense, without attaching our own interpretations – which otherwise shape our lives and which we assume to be true, simply because these interpretations have been with us longer than we can remember. Love should never be perceived of as a threat or something that terrifies.

Love in and of itself is not pain. It is not wrathful. If anything, it’s the birthright of all beings. But it’s the meaning we give it that creates repercussions, both positive and negative. Not love itself.

Nothing is permanent, not unless you want it to be. But I don’t think that my fear of love is resolved simply because I can now see it for what it is. I don’t even think that I can see everything about it just yet.

Not too many people outside of my yoga school have seen ‘the real me’. Most people just don’t ‘get’ me. They are content with the smoke screens, the pretty words and the laughing, the outgoing nature I present. That presentation is meant to entertain and deflect attention, so it’s possible for me to function in a world where I nearly always feel as though I don’t belong.

And here it is – part of the real me that I’m revealing so I can be truthful with myself. I think that if other people were also truthful, they might find they have their own strange ideas around how they relate to love. The joy of it, the loathing. The way they relate to loving and being loved.

All – just stories we tell ourselves. Fancies, ideas, that disintegrate under examination in the light of day.

~ Svasti