Innocence

For many years of my life I thought that what my father was doing to me, could not be classed as abuse. I was very confused by it. I really did think that I was bad or that there was something wrong with me. Abuse has and probably always is portrayed with a crying child being forced into something they don’t want and having no choices.

I would see these when I was younger and think, I am not like them, yet what I was going through was not really the same. Yes there were adults doing things with me that I knew were wrong. I was partaking in sexual activity with adults, and society told me that this was wrong. It was abuse. lady-and-the-butterfly

However, what would make me quiet was my part in it. My choices to go to my father and the fact that received pleasure from what he was doing. In short, I liked the abuse.

I couldn’t deny it, not even to myself. For so many years this rolled around my head, I must be bad because I liked what he was doing.  It wasn’t until perhaps two years ago when I had talked to someone, and she simply said, congratulations, your body works like it is meant to.

I remember the moment reading those words. I was shaking and I could hardly breathe, was it really true that my enjoyment didn’t mean I was like my father? That there was something wrong with me and I was as sick as them all?

The relief inside was so tremendous, because it had been part of my biggest battle.

Today however, I see someone that appears to be an advocate to stop child abuse and child trafficking, post a comment, that any child who enjoys sexual abuse has been turned away from God and become the antichrist. Whilst I am not religious, this kind of comment a couple of years ago would have been so devastating to me and I am sure others like me.

So today I felt like I should write this post and hope that maybe anyone who was where I was a few years ago, will realise, no matter what they enjoyed, they were not bad.

Forgiveness, The Afterthoughts.

Yesterday I wrote about forgiveness and how to do it, almost after I had posted it and replies came in, it occurred to me that perhaps it isn’t my father or even my mother that I have to forgive. Perhaps it is the little boy himself that needs the forgiveness. 

I’ve hated him for a very long time, to the point if anyone asked me I would say, I would happily push him down the stairs and hope it hurt for the things he did.  But I have to ask myself, if he were a real child stood in front of me, if he was anyone but me, would I do that to him and no of course I wouldn’t  I would never hurt a child.

In a way it is like I am on the side of my mother and father, I help them to abuse him even more because I blame him. I get asked many times if I think I could confront him about the things he has done and I can’t, not that I am afraid of him, but if I confront him, then he will know that he abused me and I don’t want to hurt him. How strange is that? But it’s what I feel and I think, points to I actually have to accept that what my parents did was abuse, because I don’t, and I only call it that for the sake of here. When I was in therapy I could never say it out loud, it felt like I was lying, not about the events, but about the label.

I found myself nodding a lot to the replies I received yesterday; one of them was from someone named Lil, her words were so very true. Especially about my recent issues. I have a very hard time right now sticking to the decision of having my father out of my life. He doesn’t make it easy because he keeps emailing me and messaging me, of course none of them are nasty, in fact most of them are so nice its heartbreaking, because he is teasing me with exactly what Lil mentioned the answer to my craving for a parent.  He’s showing me what I have longed for my entire life, but part of me knows that if I go back, he’ll snatch it right back again.

And here I am, full circle in my thoughts, I don’t accept that what they did was abuse, I don’t accept it because it’s my parents., I can’t let go of the belief and hope for the parental love back. I blame the little boy for what he did and making me who I am today, because if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have been abused and would have the relationship I so clearly want.

I need to forgive that child. I need to forgive myself.

Made to order

Made to order

What do you want?

What do you need?

A child, that’s yours,

Some kind of servant

 

Today I bleed

Because that’s what was ordered

My screams he needs them

Doesn’t matter how

It’s how I should be

 

Maybe so small

Like a little child unaware

Playing my games

Prey on the floor

To be stalked and taken

 

It’s just a game to you

It doesn’t matter

You chose

You pay

We get laid out how they want

 

Candy in the store

The jewel you see

A prize

Yours

Tailored

 

Money it talks

It buys what you need

Even the innocent

Doesn’t really matter

Evil deeds

 

Get it wrong

There are ways to train

A fist, a boot, maybe a demonstration

If you’re lucky

This is how you do it

 

I take down their order

Mix it around

Make it how they want it

Imagination with no bounds

I serve you.

There’s a place

There’s a place

 

There’s a place

It’s not so far away

Just around the corner

The corners of my memories

The things I’m afraid to say

 

The doors are painted white

The mirage of none hell

Inside a vicious torturer

Far worse than any devil

Just my enemy in sight

 

Death comes with the clicking of a lock

Closed down

Kept

And afraid to move

Every escape completely blocked.

 

No whispers from my lips will fall

No echo of their crimes

Faceless villains

Taking what’s theirs

Indulging in sick past times.

 

From my flesh

They stole my soul

The things they made me do

Just a child, a boy I was

No longer left whole.

 

Held down in suffering

Burnt, beaten and betrayed

No sounds to save us from this place

Cries not heard by the deaf

But the dirty and afraid.

 

Cameras clicked at every angle

Snapshots of fake smiles

Behind the vile picture

Tears

Forced labour of our trials.

 

So many men through the day

Some came to us at night

Spending black gold

Their perverted actions

Their right.

 

A nameless boy I was

Laid frightened and alone

To sore to move

To afraid to be still

Raped, taken for their own.

 

My notebook holds all my sins

My teddy in my arms

Holding onto every secret

The guardian of my pain

My written words of harm

 

Go now that you have seen

Look away and close this book

Don’t think of me at all from now

There’s nothing for you to see

I beg you, please don’t look.

 

The shameful images in my heart

Aren’t what you want to now

But rather, a happy child

The lies his life does tell

Your guilt is free to go.

 

I held your hand so many times

Wishing that you’d see

The innocent child waiting for you

Your son.

You never came for me.