Tuesday, December 18, 2012

18/12/2012

it is just a bit after 12:30 in the morning and I have been sitting here thinking about how one man ruined the lives of six people that I am sure of and probably many more. He is a pedophile and he is my uncle. The lives he ruined were mine and my brothers and sisters and my daughter before he was finally jailed for it. Mind you it seems that part of my reaction was jealousy because I thought for the longest time I was the only one. Please do not ask me to make sense of that reaction because I honestly do not know where it comes from. He always seemed so glad to see me and he would give me a hug everytime he saw me. I do not remember kissing but who knows it might have been there. Part of what bugs me is that I used to actually enjoy that interaction. I remember him coming into my bedroom at night but I kept thinking it was after my daughter was born now I wonder if it was. I felt no shame because it was just the way things were. I think I figured such things happened to all girls. It did not strike me until one day when I found myself drawing a picture of him and a young boy. I am thinking it was probably one of my brothers but I do not know. What I know is that I did not have to think it drew itself which tells me that I think it may have been something that I saw and blocked out.

I keep encouraging other members of my family to write down those thoughts, to put them on paper so that they can look at them and the image and thoughts would lose a lot of their power to harm them mentally. Yet I know that I have not written much over the last six months despite the fact that things like the above keep coming up in my thoughts. Until tonight I thought I had a handle on the memories but sadly I guess not. I know I need therapy, I am going to look and see if I can find any group therapy type things I can go to in the area.

I am antsy, , suddenly it is very hard to keep typing I itch all over, scratching is a form of self punishment if done in excessive amounts, not sure what excessive is but I am sure that I am inflicting pain on myself  to distract me from my thoughts. It is a coping mechanism that I am beginning to recognize because I only seem to get really itchy when I start exploring areas like the sexual abuse. Its as if I think that inflicting pain on myself will distract me from my thoughts and or the path I am thinking of following. Sadly it seems to work because it is all I can do to keep typing even with the thoughts of the various people who have inflicted abuse on me.

In fact I think I am going to have to stop because I do not want to fight with myself right now, I'll get myself all riled up and then I will have a hard time getting to sleep

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