hey you

congrats on having survived 30 odd years of shallow breathing.

*insert eye ball roll*



here we go: the unravel.

Yesterday was a little more of a head fuck than I had prepared for: but thats life aint it!

And as I drifted off into a sedated sleep last night, with my last thoughts being something along the lines of : ‘fucken ay, I survived and thank fuck its over …’ – which is kinda a mantra of mine …

So imagine my surprise *insert eyeball roll* when a nasty little flashback minced around in my dreams and woke me the fuck up, sweating and shaken.

It all came together in that rather uncomfortable moment.

For those that have read my story, this next part is not news, but please Bear with Me – this is the abbreviated version:

I was sexually assaulted by a maternal uncle from approximately the ages of 3 to 7, and psychologically assaulted by the same sick cunt for my entire life up until my mid 30s and both my grandparents had passed away, and I no longer had to have anything do with the cunt.

For those that understand the intricacies of the home based sexual / psychological assault of infants and children, you will know that there is more to the ‘assault’ than the ‘event’ itself. In fact, the event can be a relief, as fucken sick as that sounds; because the torture is the waiting.

Over the last few years I’ve recounted more things and memories than I care too really; and each time I have a duo type thing happen. The first is the horror that comes with realising how inadequate the world is to look after something as vulnerable as a child. The second, is the amazement of the resilience that a child actually has, even when all odds are stacked against them. I’m not referring to the ability to survive falling out of a tree, or the ability to self soothe a stubbed toe. I’m referring to the ability to adjust ones senses and perceptions of the world around them, so that they are able to predict impending harm; minimise harm and process harm done … over and over and over again.

The concept of ‘safety’ is really an opinion of privilege and is extremely variable.

Home and family ‘should’ be a place of ‘safety’; where you are able to have your needs met, your food provided, your clothing provided … your educational needs met, your healthcare needs met … the basic requirements – met. The ‘feel good’ things, in my opinion, are a bonus. By those, I mean, sports participation, reading activities, fucken friends over, shit like that.

Living in fear, should not, in my opinion, be part of the home package. Maybe fear of an ass whooping cos you pinched the neighbours strawberries, or broke their window … that kinda fear is good … healthy even.

The type of fear that has you pissing your pants, is not healthy.

Now drag that dread of impending harm … assault … death … on for 7 years … 11 years … 21 years … 32 years … 44 years. And ask yourself … what does that look like?

Well apparently, it looks like I did this morning, when I realised that all of yesterdays bullshit, was not just about the carpets and the invasion of privacy … of waiting, of stress, of managing shit …

I could smell it. It all felt familiar. And it always does, I just hadn’t quite recognised it. That the feeling of impending dread; of not knowing what is going to happen in my home next; of not being able to find a safe place, a place to rest … is the inescapable feeling that has enshrouded Me all my life.

And as I unpack it, piece by piece, and look for a safe, possibly unreal place, to be … I’m tired. Really tired.

Tired of the ugly in the world. The ugly that takes from children; that sucks the light right out of them.

And at the same time, I’m again, astonished at the ability of children, of Me: to survive the unspeakable; the unthinkable; the intolerable.