Intro

I was a victim of childhood sexual abuse. As I was growing up, I became the victim of other forms of sexual violence. Long story short, I started this blog to document my thoughts, mental health, feelings, memories, flashbacks, my journey to healing. I am hoping that maybe others will read this and find they are not alone in their healing journey.

I have been writing my whole life and I write in a journal almost daily. I find it therapeutic most of the time. I want to share at least some of it with you. Sometimes, I find that I can draw creative energy from my experiences as bad as they were. The journey to healing is different for everyone. Writing is one tool that I use to help others help me. It also helps me contain my racing thoughts.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and join me on this journey!

Her

Piercing her skin, watching the blood flow. The torment of the pain she feels inside, wanting to poke holes in her body hoping the agony she feels will dissipate into the air out of her blood stream. The brokenness resonates in every fiber of her being, a constant dull ache of her heart. The invisible poison leaves her desperate for a remedy, not a temporary fix, but a life changer: memory eraser, flashback destroyer, much more than just love, her life returned, her childhood back… She wants the bullets she took removed and damage reversed. Her mangled heart is captured with barbed wire -a trap for anyone who tries to love her -a scare tactic that slices through any type of savior. They run away jaded and afraid. Forced into captivity, imprisoned by force. Chained to the bed frame, gagged and bound by fear itself, immobile and naked, left out for the monsters to devour. The monsters had their way with her repeatedly. His endless routine was the worst. He ate her alive without guilt or remorse. Piece by piece he took her apart. He inhaled her completely and left nothing untouched. His drunken mouth set her ablaze. His manhood pounding into her. The burning embers are hot coals sitting in her lungs. The noose around her throat tightens as he takes over her body. Her limbs are numb. With his directives, her movements become robotic. With his piercing blue gaze laser focused, his devilish grin muffles all of her screams. He plucked her petals away. She no longer blooms. The beauty that used to grow from the flower she was has withered and become dust. The lacerations bleed out freely. The blood seeping from her wounds soaking her completely. The stains of guilt and shame painted on her, her wings torn away, he dissects her repeatedly stealing parts he shouldn’t have. Forcing her to reciprocate equal pleasure, pulling her hair and pushing her head as he succumbed. After he had his fun, he dumped her in his toy box until he craved her again. Killing her heart, leaving her starving for a savior, gentle affection, to be whole again and to fill in the emptiness, to be held close with arms that won’t hurt her. His vile thoughts and words cut into her. Blood pooling around her body, she slips away. Her soul crying over her cold body, he killed the little girl she was supposed to be.

Scars

Trigger warning:

I let you get inside my head. Not by choice, I laid in your bed. Allowed you to violate my everything. I didn’t even scream or fight you. Playing in slow motion, every noise you made, and every painful motion I felt. I let you tie me to the bed, every fear alive in my head resulting in my shameful release. I wish the knots left scars. I wish you left bruises on me. I wish I could project it into the world. They could see how broken I am. I check my heart to make sure it’s still beating. When you choked me, I could feel your fingers. It didn’t leave visible scars. I wish your torture left scars or visible bruises. If I had visible validation and proof, I wouldn’t feel so crazy and unpredictable. My tears would not be in vain and useless to me.

Fighting Demons

My emotions are all over the map currently. It’s like my inner child turned on my fight or flight mechanism to full power.  I feel just about the exact same way I did when I was living with my abuser. I feel numb and empty inside-hollow like there’s nothing there. I am a ghost watching my body walk around going through the motions and the monotony of daily life, but I am not in it. It’s like I was cut open and everything was just ripped out of me. I feel like nothing, like literally nothing. I feel stagnant and slightly immobile. I am always in fight or flight/survival mode, but I don’t know how to turn it back down or off. I am that little girl right now. Some days, I am okay. Other days, I am teetering on the edge of whether or not I can even get through the day without losing it. The rest of my days are ones where I lose it and I feel like I am dying internally and my whole world is shattered. I am upset and crying for most of the day and I don’t want to do anything because I am so distraught and all I can manage to do is cry. Triggers are everywhere. I pretend to be okay most days. 

For the past week, I have been reliving moments of his mental torture. It was like playing Russian Roulette. I never knew what kind of day it was going to be or what kind of mood my abuser was going to be in. He was god and took “overprotective” to another level. Although now I know that he was protecting himself more than he ever protected me. I did put together another memory though. Today I journaled for almost two pages. It felt good to get it down on paper, but it didn’t keep me from reliving it. I feel dead and raw on the inside void of anything. He took everything and I am left to clean up the wreckage from my broken parts, the parts that just shattered and can’t be rebuilt, regrown, repaired, replanted, or restored–the ugly useless parts of me. He stole the beautiful irreplaceable parts of me and left me with a painful replacement. 

Ugly Parts

**TRIGGER WARNING** I think in some part of me, I am grieving the empty spaces that never grew into anything or if they did, they were tainted by the toxicity that poisoned the parts of me that could have been good until the inevitable happened. He tore me apart, piece by piece, unraveling my heart strings. Instead of the innocence of being a child, I felt ashamed, guilty, and dirty. I could never do anything right. Ashamed to be me, Cricket, the worst person in the world. Guilty and dirty because of the sexual escapades that he told me about and the sexual acts he performed on me and made me perform on him. I was so uncomfortable and as I got older, it felt wrong. I became self-conscious of my body. I didn’t want him to see me naked anymore. I didn’t want him to do anymore “examinations” on me.

Instead of my father figure being a safe person and home being a safe place, he made me feel afraid, trapped, and imprisoned. I dreaded going home. I was afraid of making him angry. I was always scared that he would hit me, stab me, or shoot me. He did back hand me which gave me a bloody nose. He placed his hands around my neck and choked me. Both of these were in front of his girlfriend. He would frequently grab my arms only to point out something wrong with me. He shoved me into things like shelves, tables, cabinets, etc. The items that were contained in these would fall out and topple over me or break when it hit me or the floor, or I would trip over things as I was fell. I didn’t run to him for comfort or affection. He made me feel special at times, but most of the time I was made to feel as though I was lower than dirt. I didn’t feel safe at home because I could never do anything right. The only things I did right involved physically touching him like rubbing lotion on him or giving him a massage, or spending time with him alone. He taught me how to make his alcoholic drinks so I was making them for him throughout the day. My bedroom was not a safe place for me either. I covered myself from head to toe with my blankets and put myself in the fetal position hoping he didn’t see me. As soon as I saw the shadow under the door, I knew he was coming.

Instead of building relationships, I was building walls. Instead of building trust, I was scared of everyone because the world I lived in was a harmful place. Instead of establishing boundaries and being confident in keeping them, they were crossed, violated, blurred, or not even there. Every part of me that is supposed to be mine is poisoned. I picture me with holes and knives, needles, and ropes trapping me, cutting into me, poisoning my thoughts, chaining me to the ugly broken parts that I see myself as. The good, hopeful, bright parts were suffocated, deprived of love, deprived of worth, not protected at all, and deprived of even growing at all. I am angry, depressed, questioning everything, frustrated, discouraged, anxious, hypervigilant, triggered, broken, guilty, ashamed, and have an all consuming fear of intimacy, being a victim again, and abandonment. I feel this chaotic and out of control on the inside. This is my inner struggle on a daily basis.

Remembering

I am watching Netflix. A group of childhood friends gather on a private island for a party. I realized another trigger. I am triggered by swimming, swimming pools, or anywhere that a person can swim. Swimming pools more so than anywhere else. I didn’t ever learn how to swim. I can “doggy paddle.” I never liked swimming after my abuser made it a frightening experience for me.

He would touch me under my swimsuit. If I refused him, he would either push me or pull me under the water. He carried me around the pool or held me on his lap. I could see and feel him through his swim shorts. He held my hand to his parts while I was sitting on his lap. His grip was strong and I felt like I was being held hostage or held captive by him. He “accidentally” untied my swimsuit and put his hands all over me- my lips, my neck, my shoulders… When he got to my hands, he meshed his fingers with mine. He shoved fingers from his other hand into my mouth and told me to suck on them. He said that I was “Daddy’s good girl” and pushed those fingers inside me and held me on his lap

I have never had a group of close childhood friends that I did things with. No sleep overs, no girls’ trips, no dates, no birthday parties, no playdates with other kids, couldn’t have people over at all, etc. I missed out on most of the things that constitute a childhood. My so-called “friends” were always temporary and on and off again. I was bullied and harassed by the popular kids in my class and the upperclassman. My abuser isolated me and cut off contact with anyone other than himself. He took so much from me.

Happy New Year!

Here’s a toast to you! You made it through the year. 2024 is a new beginning. Did you make any resolutions for the new year? Did you accomplish the ones you made for the last year? Last year in August marked two years of marriage, the longest I have been married. I am the happiest I have be in any other relationship. As I look back on this past year, I did not accomplish my resolutions. To be honest, I don’t even remember all of them. I can’t really recall too many things of significance.

My husband and I flew out to Orlando, Florida for a wedding. It was beautiful. I had never been to Florida or seen the ocean in real life. I have always been afraid, yet fascinated by the ocean. When I saw the ocean for the first as we made our way to our hotel, I f*cking lost it. I was scared and intimidated, but it also felt unreal. Our hotel was an ocean front property. Our room had a balcony that looked out over the ocean. I was outside taking it all in almost everyday. It was like watching God in all in his glory. I was feeling my anxiety level rise and fall with the waves. My husband and I walked on the ocean shore letting the tide roll over our feet. I was beyond anxious and scared out of my mind. I was afraid that I would get pulled into the ocean by the tide. My husband took my hand and held me close to him as we walked. He was very aware that I was scared to death. I am glad that he convinced to walk with him down by the ocean with our feet in the sand.

After I lost my job at the beginning(ish) of 2023, I was devastated. I was upset and depressed. I felt like I was not good enough. I wasn’t fast enough, pretty enough, learning fast enough, physically strong enough, not skilled/experienced enough… I was not good enough at any of the jobs I had. The last job I had was what I thought I was going to do for the rest of my life. When I got let go, I was feeling so defeated and like the world was working against me. It wasn’t just about losing my job. It was a combination of things that had been building up. The job was just the trigger that started my downward spiral. Literally everything came up in a train wreck of feeling vulnerable, exposed, unsafe, and chaotic.

I started feeling very depressed and sad. I would go back to bed after my husband was off to work. I would cry all day until my eyes hurt. I remained there until my husband returned home. I didn’t have any energy to do anything or talk to anyone. I had to force myself to get up in the morning. It was getting so bad to the point of no return. I made an appointment with my doctor and we made changes to my medication. Another decision I made was that I needed to return to therapy.

I started searching for a local therapist that met my specific needs. I thought I found one and I sent her a message. Still to this day, I have never received a response. I kept searching and I FINALLY found my current therapist. I sent her a message and she actually responded! She was booked out for months. Impatiently, I waited until she had an opening in her schedule. I am very happy that I decided to wait for her availability. We clicked right away from the initial first “get to know you” session. I’ve never had this type of experience in therapy until I started with my current therapist. I am still learning how to “function” within our sessions. We are still slowly getting to know each other. I am realizing that she is the type of person I would want to be friends with under different circumstances of course. My therapy goal overall is that I want to learn to live life instead of just surviving it.

2023 was a crazy year for sure. It was a year full of making memories and cherishing the ones that still add meaning to our lives. Personally, it was very eye opening and emotional for me. I rediscovered past trauma and remembered new ones that resurfaced. I realized several things about myself, others and the world in general. Towards the end of 2023, I started doing something weird that I didn’t realize I was doing. I was taking inventory of everything that was stolen from me by my perpetrators, my emotions, significant people that let me down, and my inner child. As I started therapy, I realized how much my mental and emotional health have suffered through everything.

For this upcoming year, I don’t know what it has in store for me. Recently, I decided that I needed to be focus on my mental and emotional health. Not to sound selfish, I am going to work on these important parts of my health above all else. I didn’t realize until recently the importance of emotional safety. Feeling safe means both physical and emotional safety. A lot of the time, I feel physically safe, but not emotionally. This year I plan to finish putting everything out there into the world and out of my mind. This is something I have needed to make a priority for several years so here goes…

Beyond Anxious & Triggered

I had a tough afternoon. I am beyond anxious and I got triggered. I am not entirely sure what caused it. I just know that I get really scared and it gets worse as I am reliving the evil acts performed against me. I wish I could bottle it up and give it to my therapist or I could put her in my place for just a little bit. My breath gets shallower and more labored. She could feel what I feel and see what I see. God, I could share everything with my therapist, but I am so scared to share everything with her. I am afraid that she won’t believe me or she will judge me. I think I am afraid of trusting her. Believe me, I really want to trust her. I don’t know if this came from the adult me or child me, who wants this?

Dang it! Maybe I wouldn’t be this f@*ked up. Every time I meet with my therapist, I feel like I turn in to child me. I get nervous, I sometimes stutter, and I feel small.

I feel like I will say something stupid or cross about boundary and ruin everything and cause myself to blur the lines due to me being naive and my limited understanding what the boundaries are. Why can’t I just be f@*king normal?

I feel broken and I am bleeding out. Everyone is walking by. I am trapped in a world I can’t escape from-a world where everything hurts me. Nobody f@*king hears me or sees me. I am invisible. I am good at putting a brave face on. I fake it until I am alone. I seriously feel like I will die at the hands of my perpetrators and they will just slit my throat and watch me bleed before my light burns out.

Inner Child

I just want to go numb again so I can stop hurting and turn off the waterfall that flows so freely. I feel abandoned and rejected. I am painted with black shadows sewn on to my frame. The shadows are a constant reminder of what the world did to me. It made me a f*@king shell of a person, an encasement for a frightened little girl– a ghost haunting my everything. She is scared of the world that nobody protected her from. What the f*@k is she supposed to do now? She doesn’t know what the hell she is doing. The cruel world is big, scary, and overwhelming to her fragile existence.

She became a play thing, an object of gratification and cruelty. Cruel images shown to naive and innocent eyes. These eyes have been burned and branded with sights she cannot unsee. Embedded in her thoughts are threats, insults and impure recollections of her. Etched in her memories are everything she felt, heard, and every heinous act that was forced upon her sheltered mind. These eyes have cried herself to sleep at night. Others are asleep soundly in the safety of their beds. She lies awake cowering under her blankets hoping somehow she is invisible and won’t be seen. She waits for the inevitable.

Her heart is broken and bleeding and all but dead. Her heart beats with such fear that most people have never known. Her heart has been stabbed so many times that it is too shattered to numb the pain anymore. She would rather cut her heart out of her chest than feel anything at all.

Thanksgiving

This week was Thanksgiving. This is the time of year when I count my blessings and remember things that I am thankful for. I am so thankful for my wonderful husband. He helps keep my emotions in check when I am at family gatherings. I am so exhausted and tired after I get done spending time with family. I get “peopled” out. Throughout the whole thing, I am stressed and trying to hold myself together and not have a melt down.

One of the things I do every year is take a Thanksgiving photo and send it to family and friends. Another that I have been doing for a few years now around Thanksgiving is telling people that I am thankful for them and I give them reasons why. Instead of just publicly posting a thankful message on social media, I prefer to tell people specifically why I am thankful for them. I feel like it does more for a person to tell them. When others post of social media about being grateful, sometimes it sounds superficial and forced. Anyway, I am thankful for all of my readers and subscribers for joining me on my journey. THANK YOU!

Taboo

I have a traumatic past. I grew up in an abusive home during my childhood. I was part of a family that experienced domestic violence, emotional and psychological abuse along with some physical. I was a victim of sexual abuse perpetrated by my stepdad. This is a lot to handle and take in while growing up.

I am suspicious of people, especially men. I do trust my husband and I wish I could tell him everything about my childhood. He doesn’t really know how to respond and that’s not unusual. It makes my family uncomfortable at the very mention of my abuser’s name. Nobody brings it up. It’s like the elephant in the room. I am not even sure which family members know. Every time I visit my extended family, I feel distant and disconnected.

I don’t want my husband thinking that any of the sexual things that my abuser did to me was something that I liked or wanted. I feel a sense of shame and guilt. I don’t want him to know that sometimes I see my abuser or one of the perpetrators during intimacy instead of him. I feel violated all over again because I get lost in the flashback/memory.

I don’t any of my family members the same why that I used to. I almost feel like I have been exiled from my extended family for something that happened to me. It’s almost like I am being punished for being a victim and exposing the truth. When I was in high school and had already told my “secret,” I would talk to many people about it. Now, I am very careful who I share it with.