part 57

I do not like it when I wake up feeling just as anxious as I did the night before. That is how I feel this morning. I had bad dreams and did not sleep well.

I have been reading “The Courage to Heal” again. I think if that book applies in any way to your life, you have a special place waiting for you in heaven. And I don’t even really believe there is a “heaven.” It is that rough.

Anyway, the things I have been reading about are related to ritualistic abuse. Ritualistic as when a child or person is abused by a group as part of ritualistic practices. Probably the most recognized of this type of group in our society is the satanic cult. It has been portrayed in mainstream media enough that I do not feel the need to go into detail about what satanic cults are, and the freakish atrocities associated with satanic rituals.

I don’t really believe satan is real, either…but that is an entirely different philosophical discussion, and the things that have been on my mind are really the mechanics of ritualistic abuse.

I was not abused in a strictly ritualistic-group way. I wasn’t involved in any cults, satanic or otherwise. Groups of people did not gather and chant and perform horrendous acts all in the name of ritualizing some bigger group or power.

I believe it does happen, though – even though it has not happened to me. What a concept! Just because I have not experienced some specific horrible thing, it doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened to anyone else.

“The Courage to Heal” references a guest on the Oprah show in the 1990’s. He was a survivor of the holocaust of the second world war, and he described his experiences on the show. Oprah made mention of how unbelievable the things he went through were, of how the very concept of one human being participating in that kind of sadistic and disgusting abuse of another human being is beyond the comprehension of most people in our world.

The man, Elie Wiesel, responded to Oprah’s comment by saying that “the enemy counted on the disbelief of the world.”

This resonated very deeply with me.

It seems that in almost all of the cases of sexual abuse – in all of the different kinds of sexual abuse – that the perpetrator’s reliance on other people’s inability or reluctance or refusal to believe that one human being could do things like that to another human being, especially a child, is how they get away with it.

It all ties back in to the theory that the only way these types of abuses can be stopped is by exposing the people who participated, and by hearing the account of victims while keeping in mind that all of the crazy things they describe can most certainly be true.

One the reasons sexual abuse is so easy to get away with is that the perpetrator can be very confident in the “disbelief of the world.”

In addition to the typical public reaction of accounts of ritualistic abuse, the experiences of the survivors are remarkably similar to my own. Ritualistic abuse employs the application of brain washing and programming victims to act and respond, or to fail to act or to fail to respond, in a predetermined manner that is favorable to the abusers.

I believe all abuse affects the mind of the victim in ways that are twisted and difficult to overcome, but the ritualistic abuse seems to be on a different level in that there are more than one person perpetuating the brainwashing and programming – thereby making it much more effective - and that the instances of abuse occur repeatedly over an extended period of time – thereby more deeply embedding the validity of the experiences to the victim.

My dad employed many of the brainwashing techniques associated with ritualistic abuse, and the fact that there were multiple people involved in abusing me probably added to my experiences resulting in similar effects on my mind and body and soul as those involved in ritualistic abuse by an organized group as a whole.

Another thing I was reading about in “The Courage to Heal” is that many times telling people what your abuser did to you can be a very uplifting and relieving experience. It also mentioned that some people who tell feel much worse afterward. I am intrigued by that notion because I have been a nervous wreck about telling anyone anything at all about what my dad or anyone else did to me.

That’s what my bad dreams were about – that my relationships of the past were being damaged now as a result of my telling what happened to me.

One explanation for the overwhelming feeling of guilt and anxiety about telling is that the method of keeping the victim silent involved repeated affirmation that telling would hurt people they love. This is what my dad did to me. I remember very distinctly the guilt and shame of just thinking about telling people what happened to me and how much it would hurt my mom and sister and brother and, of course, my dad.

I do feel the guilt and anxiety and shame that comes with telling what happened to me.

I fear I am bettering myself at the expense of other people’s lives and worlds and families. Then I remember that I am not responsible for these other people’s lives and worlds and families. I remember that taking care of myself and doing what I need to do does not need to be hindered by my concern over the ways my abusers have victimized everyone in their lives and worlds and families.

Of course I am capable of compassion, and even of empathy. I know what it feels like to have a predator for a father. I know what I have had to go through to come to the point that I could even acknowledge that my own father is a predator capable or hurting so many people – and hurting ME, his daughter he said he loved and needed so much.

But I wonder if it would have been better to have just kept my mouth shut.

Then I realize that I honestly would not have been able to even begin to comprehend what it would be to not tell.

Why am I telling? There are a lot of reasons. Seriously, though, I don’t know that I am capable of keeping all of that shit to myself.

These things happened. They are real. There is no such thing as letting a sleeping dog lie, because that dog has never been asleep. It has always been awake in me, hurting me, damaging me, holding me back – but it is what I have.

Why am I telling? What the fuck else am I  gonna do?