I have been grappling with a handful of memories that are particularly troubling. The nature of my childhood in general is troubling but when I look to specific memories, I'm pained and confused. There were times that I was treated as a boy; as if abusing a girl was not enough. I was not enough as a female.
Is there something masculine about me? I already carry loads of guilt around feeling as if something in me or about me attracted the abuse. And now, for some reason, I feel doubly guilty.
As I relive these moments, I can feel they physical sensations. I suppose that might sound weird to some but this has always happened to me. I hate it. It is like watching a movie while acting in it at the same time. Many times, I can remember watching myself being hurt from the corner of the room where the wall meets the ceiling. I could float up and beyond the pain. It was happening to someone else; many times a boy so that could not possibly be me. But it was. It is. And now that I am grown, I face the task of reuiniting the memories with the body.
Did he prefer males? I know for certain that he preferred pain. He delighted in my pain and he delighted in making me who he wanted me to be. In that these memories still dominate my mind, I am still exactly who he wanted me to be. Fucked up.
I don't like carrying a diagnosis; I do not like the labels. But I do believe that he knew what he was doing. He created chaos in our home, in my life, and in my mind.
Hanging On No More
19 hours ago