The Maelstrom
Even now, though I've known for years that what was done to me was sexual abuse, that I am not making it up at all, it just seems odd that it should be applied to me.
What my parents did to me, though I have been thinking about it, and reliving it, everyday since it happened and I know that if I were to ask any clinician in the world they would say with authority, without any doubt: 'You, have been sexually abused.' It is not a figment of my imagination-something that I created and harbored and unleashed to gain sympathy, it happened. I remember too well. I can feel it, smell it, it is as real now, and as horrendous as it was then.
But, even still, knowing all this I have created in my head these caveats:
1. I am a man-men, or young men in my case-are not sexually abused by their father, and still less by their mother.
2. Even if I was sexually abused what was done to me wasn't that bad, or at least not bad enough that I should bring it up.
3. I must have made it all up, and so I am delusional and selfish for creating this.
4. My parents were not poor, sexual abuse happens to impoverished people, not in working class families.
5. Someone would have noticed and saved me.
None of these things are true. It did happen. I know it. I remember it all. But, one thought begets another and another and so when I remember what happened to me, when I am tossed back all those years to my childhood and I wash ashore at their feet those caveats start again. I am caught in a maelstrom that swirls downward, and I relive, I doubt, I relive again, I doubt again. Worse than the actual abuse I think, is this spiraling existence.
4 Comments
Recommended Comments
Create an account or sign in to comment
You need to be a member in order to leave a comment
Create an account
Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!
Register a new accountSign in
Already have an account? Sign in here.
Sign In Now