Kimberly’s blog posting today left me with a flurry of mixed emotions. Sadness is not a part of it. Regrets neither. Rage – unfortunately, no longer, either. I say unfortunately, because rage has a great self-protecting quality to it. It basically says: My truth is more important to me than yours. And from everything I was able to pick up along the way from healthier individuals than myself, this seems to be a natural place to be in for any emotionally sane person.

There is not the faintest trace of a doubt in me any more that Kimberly’s “decree of divorce” speaks a truth that is very close to my own experiences and past reality. I also say unfortunately, because I’m really not sure any more, whether I’m built to prevail. Needing to confront the darkest notion I could possibly think of, namely that of having been born to the reality of an emotional orphan, seems too big a truth to confront for me. Nonetheless, with every single sentence I’ve read on Kimberly’s blog today, I am realizing that her truth is my truth as well. Maybe the circumstances and exact experiences were not the same. But then it is becoming more and more evident to me that the outcomes of abuse are seemingly similar across the board, at least when looking at what child abuse has done to her. It’s done very similar things to me, the most horrible of which are these: To have been alone with this for a lifetime and put in a position, where even saying “Ouch! This hurts!” would have been a wrongdoing on my part. Ongoing verbal and emotional abuse along with physical punishment, neglect (the silent treatment) and a long list of other means of deprivation meticulously trained me to hate on myself for every little shortcoming, every single moment of forgetfulness, every little measure of vulnerability. I guess, I’m saying that the full effect of this gargantuan scope of violence has only now begun to settle in on me…

Contrary to what one might infer from these reflections on my part, I’m still very grateful to have found Kim’s blog and story – and in her and along with that probably the first person on earth so far, who really understands. Abuse – sexual, emotional, verbal, physical – is violence. Violence is bad enough as it is. But violence from an individual a child places all their love and trust and hopes in? That is psychocide. It’s a full blown attack on the very nature of a human being. Abuse is crime of the worst degree…I find Kimberly’s resolve to seek legal action from such violence to be a natural response. And a response that speaks of the growth that a former victim and survivor accomplished for themselves. I have repeatedly pondered this myself and had gone as far as scouting lawyers willing to take my case. This was in 2009 as far as I remember. But they turned me down reasoning that it might be hard bordering on impossible and implausible to prove the causal link between my disorders and the abuse as having originated them. Seeing as I already faced overwhelming adversity at the time coming from the precarious situation I have arrived at as well as additional mayhem that makes this particular time a bizarre and almost comic like hell ride, I didn’t press on. The other detrimental aspect, however, weighs more heavily: The very few witnesses I could name are becoming unavailable. One friend of my elementary school days died two years ago. My aunt, who might be the only person who ever came close to understanding the link between abuse endured and my personal battle, has now become a nursing case. And … depends on … those I hold responsible. My sister never got it and what’s more, has her own vested interests in not taking a stance on my behalf. There were times I felt enormous amounts of rage over this crazy situation and towards all of bio family. Take the rage away and they feel completely insignificant to me today. The only genuine feelings I can think of are that of being annoyed and embarrassed of them. Embarrassment from realizing that I actually come from a highly dysfunctional family. At moments like this, it feels as if they have never done anything but taint the light of my soul. Soiled it. And possibly destroyed it, I’m not sure just yet. Of course, there weren’t only bad things. But they seem to fade against the backdrop of the horrible experiences endured. After all, in all of the world only the results matter. And so far and despite my fierce resolve to get by in the world, the intermediate results are grim.

I had already been there myself, in the place of drawing a firm line and excluding the perpetrators from my life. They never deserved me to begin with, plain and simple. But then – I betrayed myself again from finding myself in a situation that had become hopeless – again? Jeez… – bordering on life threatening and all around impossible to maneouver with the “onboard equipment” and means in place. In this regard, Kimberly’s blog is a reminder for me. A reminder to continue the journey from where I had strayed a short while ago. At the same time… I cringe with pain I had hoped to get around. And I don’t know what’s going to become of me. I am very afraid that I might be beyond repair, but what’s worse: I find myself shut off from access to the help I know exists for people like me, but is exempt from my health care plan. I have become a quasi expert in navigating impossible situations. But I’m clueless as to this predicament.

I see the blessings bestowed on me (dear people helped me to realize those). But at times like this, how can I not feel as if all this was some cruel joke by a higher power or something? At moments like this, my life feels like a curse to me. And for the life of me, I can’t seem to identify any practical use for growing beyond the challenges placed in front of me. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? Fuck that. Does it really? What about my natural vulnerability, when is there a time to experience that quality in me? When will there be a moment, when I’m o.k. to let the guards down without needing to fear the final blow on me – in whatever shape it might come?

There is a growing suspection in me of coming out nothing but broken on the other end. Broken and aware of it. Sorry for being negative. I’m just being honest. And Lord – or who- or whatever – knows, I hope to get past this place of collossal despair. Reason tells me, I have before. But that was when I had some remaining hope of reconciling. No more so. I had sensed it. Now I’m certain.

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