Memory; a simple yet powerfully complicated word. This word has less understanding for me and has brought more anguish to my life than almost any other word in the English language. Memories have brought joy to my life, confusion, pain, anguish, they have brought tears of ecstasy, they have brought me to the edge of suicide. It would be nice if we had the choice of which to keep and which to discard. For too many years I thought I had control of this act, I thought I could keep the ones I wanted and hide the rest. . .One of the points that I neglected to mention in either of my two previous posts is that the person who was the "leader" of this group that met at my grandparents was also one of my local church leaders. He was a man of prominent stature within Salt Lake Cities business community, the Church's business ventures, and Local Church Leadership. Many people have asked me over the years why if my stories were true did not this young child ever tell anyone what was taking place. I was constantly threatened not only by those whom should have loved me the most but also by a man who was my local church leader. Perps know how to manipulate, how to use fear and guilt to accomplish their goal of not getting caught.
I was in a room with "Him" one day. I was sitting or rather reclining on a couch or some other piece of furniture. He was good at what he did, he not only knew how to hurt kids but he knew how to make them forget and do what he wanted them to to. While alone in this room with him he was telling me that everything was my fault, that no one loved me, that God would kill me if I ever told anyone. He would tell me that my brother was next if I didn't do what he said. Remember this was a highly educated very respected man in the local community and he knew what he was doing. I remember sitting there one particular day, only this time with my eyes closed, he thought I was under the influence of the drug he had given me, and who knows maybe I was, but what I do remember was this obstinate kid thinking to himself that no one was going to control him and tell him what to do any more. This man thought he was in control but I was going to make a special place to run to every time he came and while in this place he could do whatever he wanted but he could never really get to me again because I had tricked him. You see he had the fake rich but the real rich had run away to his secret place where no one could touch him. At this early age I had learned a secret, a skill which many abuse victims learn to master, that being how to separate myself within myself. This man and the idiots in his group could do what they wanted but they were not going to win, they were not going to get the real me. No matter what they did the real me was always safe. This solution worked for many years, looking back I believe it is what kept me alive. but what works for the child often does not work for the adult. You see I had never processed any of these memories. It was like I somehow took them and created a special box to put them in where they were locked up tight until the box got so full that neither the hinges nor the box itself could not contain them any longer, yet still I kept cramming more and more in until one day it exploded open with "shit" flying in all directions.
The human mind is a funny thing, a song, a picture, a word, a building, a pair of glasses, and most of all for me certain smells all act as triggering mechanisms. . .
. .When I was seventeen I was working at our family restaurant one night when this k
id about my age came in to order some food. From the moment he walked in the front door his smell had me. I was not even sure what the smell was but it seemed to grab me and take me to a place I did not understand. If I could have jumped over the counter and put my nose right on him and inhaled I would have just to try and remember what the smell was. I knew that I had smelled it before but for the life of me had no idea when or were. After walking in the door he came straight up to me and, looking me in the eyes, said, "do you know what this smell is?" at this point I was completely taken by surprise. How did he know that I was trying to figure out what he smelled like? How did he know what his smell had done to me? I did not know how to respond so I managed to croak out the word, "no!" the bright intellectual approach. He once again looked me straight in the eye and said, "Sex, what you smell is Sex, I have been having sex all night and all day and the smell is all over me. When you have sex over and over this is what it smells like!" His words were burned into my memory for I knew that I had smelled that smell before . . .
How could an experience be so intriguing yet so horrifying? Part of me wanted this kid to stay forever and let me smell him and another part of me wanted to run and vomit. . .
Years later you find yourself walking down the street and a song is playing as you walk past a building. One second you are as happy as can be and the next you are in an absolute near suicidal panic attack and you have no idea why? One day at church an old man comes up to you and says something, you have no idea what he said but you know that you want to run, get away as fast as you can. Once again you have no idea what brought on such a strong reaction? Through them all you have glimpses into the past but only enough to make you think that you are going crazy, for how could any sane person see the things that you see? How could any sane individual see the horrifying pictures in their mind that you see?
Your religion teaches you that your thoughts are as condemning as your actions and so you do everything within your power to push these thoughts away, you sing hymns, you pray, you read your scriptures anything you can think of that will bring God in and make them go away. You are taught that your mind is like a stage and that you are in control of the performance that is being acted out on the stage at all times. You are taught that it is your responsibility to make sure that only good wholesome plays are acted out on your stage of life. If this is true then why are so many horrifying plays finding their way to your stage? Where are these pictures coming from? You have done a great job at holding these memories at bay for a long time and now they want out. The problem is that you think that you are evil each time they surface so you push them even deeper were no one but you can see them, the only problem is that memories will not be held at bay forever, sooner or later they will find a way out and when you have tried to hold them back for so long they often come out like the flood waters of a broken dam. Everyone needs a safe place, someone in whom they can confide where there is no judgment, no looks of horror as they discover your secrets. The only problem is that abuse survivors find it difficult if not impossible to trust, therefore they (we) are constantly on the search for this person with whom we can share our secrets, yet we seldom find them because we are so unwilling to trust. We often tell part of a story to test how the individual will react and when we don't get the response that we want we freeze up and hide even deeper. I have learned that the secret to dealing with the crap is to finally come to understand that one is not broken, as mentioned in a previous post these Bastards did not have the power to break me. I merely needed to learn how to find and follow the peace. . .
The human mind is a funny thing, a song, a picture, a word, a building, a pair of glasses, and most of all for me certain smells all act as triggering mechanisms. . .
. .When I was seventeen I was working at our family restaurant one night when this k
id about my age came in to order some food. From the moment he walked in the front door his smell had me. I was not even sure what the smell was but it seemed to grab me and take me to a place I did not understand. If I could have jumped over the counter and put my nose right on him and inhaled I would have just to try and remember what the smell was. I knew that I had smelled it before but for the life of me had no idea when or were. After walking in the door he came straight up to me and, looking me in the eyes, said, "do you know what this smell is?" at this point I was completely taken by surprise. How did he know that I was trying to figure out what he smelled like? How did he know what his smell had done to me? I did not know how to respond so I managed to croak out the word, "no!" the bright intellectual approach. He once again looked me straight in the eye and said, "Sex, what you smell is Sex, I have been having sex all night and all day and the smell is all over me. When you have sex over and over this is what it smells like!" His words were burned into my memory for I knew that I had smelled that smell before . . .How could an experience be so intriguing yet so horrifying? Part of me wanted this kid to stay forever and let me smell him and another part of me wanted to run and vomit. . .
Years later you find yourself walking down the street and a song is playing as you walk past a building. One second you are as happy as can be and the next you are in an absolute near suicidal panic attack and you have no idea why? One day at church an old man comes up to you and says something, you have no idea what he said but you know that you want to run, get away as fast as you can. Once again you have no idea what brought on such a strong reaction? Through them all you have glimpses into the past but only enough to make you think that you are going crazy, for how could any sane person see the things that you see? How could any sane individual see the horrifying pictures in their mind that you see?
Your religion teaches you that your thoughts are as condemning as your actions and so you do everything within your power to push these thoughts away, you sing hymns, you pray, you read your scriptures anything you can think of that will bring God in and make them go away. You are taught that your mind is like a stage and that you are in control of the performance that is being acted out on the stage at all times. You are taught that it is your responsibility to make sure that only good wholesome plays are acted out on your stage of life. If this is true then why are so many horrifying plays finding their way to your stage? Where are these pictures coming from? You have done a great job at holding these memories at bay for a long time and now they want out. The problem is that you think that you are evil each time they surface so you push them even deeper were no one but you can see them, the only problem is that memories will not be held at bay forever, sooner or later they will find a way out and when you have tried to hold them back for so long they often come out like the flood waters of a broken dam. Everyone needs a safe place, someone in whom they can confide where there is no judgment, no looks of horror as they discover your secrets. The only problem is that abuse survivors find it difficult if not impossible to trust, therefore they (we) are constantly on the search for this person with whom we can share our secrets, yet we seldom find them because we are so unwilling to trust. We often tell part of a story to test how the individual will react and when we don't get the response that we want we freeze up and hide even deeper. I have learned that the secret to dealing with the crap is to finally come to understand that one is not broken, as mentioned in a previous post these Bastards did not have the power to break me. I merely needed to learn how to find and follow the peace. . .
