What Kids Think

What does a two-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHH

What does a three-year old think when somebody rapes them?AHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a four-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a five-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a six-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a seven-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does an eight-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a nine-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a ten-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does an eleven-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a twelve-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a thirteen-year old think when somebody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHH

What does a fourteen-year old think when nobody rapes them? AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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My Genital Mutilation

So when I was a kid one of the things that I survived through was genital mutilation. Very painful very bloody. Not exactly castration but similar. I had always thought it was a permanent thing, this constant pain that I just blocked from my mind and split away from my body. It got fixed about a year ago and that’s really a cool thing.

So last night I’m watching a documentary on the National Geographic channel called I believe Inside Koran. It discussed guess what the Koran and how it can be sliced and diced to justify just about any human behavior good bad or indifferent. Fascinating. It was in the middle of processing just what the Koran says about the relationship between the sexes, the marriage contract, women’s rights.

From out of nowhere there’s a picture of a little girl half-laying down, a view from the top of her head. “She’s cutting me she’s cutting me owwwwwww it hurts it hurts it hurts”. You guessed it. There in front of me is a little girl who is undergoing genital mutilation. I don’t know much about kids she was maybe 5 years old or so.

It was over in a few seconds. As soon as I registered it I started screaming. Wifey in another room is saying change the channel, sounds like she’s speaking in another language. But somehow I get to the remote and get it onto something else.

When it first happened I didn’t know what to do. I was vomiting and was feeling that physical pain again.

Here comes the good part. Somewhere deep inside me as I’m throwing up is saying You Can Choose dear. You can decide to attach to this mess of shit or not. You can just let it go and all the pain will vanish. Just fix it in your head and send it packing. You can bring it back to talk with C about it, but this is just another trigger, just let it go.

And so I did. I have something of a hangover today, like shadows are tapping at my brain, and I fear the memories will come flashing through. But I have the feeling that I can just keep it up, just keep pushing them away as they appear, and I will be fine. At least until I see C tomorrow at any rate.

You can use your life to gain strength. You can choose. It takes pain and practice and depression and tears and fright. But isn’t that how you’re living at least in part now? So. Today, choose. Let it go.

How meditation is freeing from control

OK, so in my last post I suppose that I did not do a very good job of explaining why meditation and qi gong are so freeing. Or how what seems like might be inviting chaos actually eliminates it with practice.

I have a sense that meditation can be a very scary idea. I mean, you’re just sitting there and god knows what awful things can pop into your head, right? And there you’ll be, sitting like an idiot with anxiety that is shooting the roof, all triggery and flashbacky and god knows what other.

What I think many people try to do to control their thoughts is to suppress them when they come up. Like pushing them down deep inside themselves. Oftentimes this effort includes some sort of behavior, like drinking or drugging or manipulating their food intake. Or they panic. We exert these behaviors to get away from our thoughts because it’s hard to do all that suppressing. So we do what we do to make that process easier.

But here’s the cold hard reality. It doesn’t work. By restricting or poisoning ourselves we hurt our bodies and that’s about it. Think about it. If these behavior worked, if suppression worked, wouldn’t the nightmares in our heads go away? The sad truth is that no they don’t. We may feel a temporary relief from them, but because we aren’t addressing them they just come back. Over and over and over again. So we end up chasing our own tail, repeating self-harming tactics as we give our scary thoughts more strength because we’re still afraid.

And so. Can we see where all the shit we do to not feel to not remember just won’t work unless we deal with them head-on? You know the shit we do doesn’t work or we wouldn’t continue to be so afraid.

Thoughts are just that, thoughts. They come and go all the time. The ones that stick around are the ones we pay attention to. They’re kinda like cats. Lolling about most of the time, wake up to clamor for attention, then go back to snoozing. If your cat receives no attention from you she’ll eventually go away.

This is why meditation is so great. It teaches you to let the nightmares come into your head, lets you see oh there’s that pile of hot mess — and then just let it go. You don’t feed the beast. My regular readers know that I perceive myself to be a black hole where fuckall badness gets into me and sucks down right onto my head. For me, meditation allows me to sit at the bottom of my black hole and see what horrors are out there. But if I just let them be, refocus my mind onto something else like moving my energy around or focusing on the smell of my incense, they stay out there in orbit. They don’t come crashing in on me because I just don’t give them that power.

As we practice it gets easier and easier to do this. Imagine sitting there breathing playing around with your qi, and suddenly you’re aware that a horrible memory has popped into your head. You have the power to say “Eww god I do not want to go there” — and you don’t. You focus your attention on the tools at your disposal to not get sucked in by the frightening whatever. And the thought, getting no attention, floats away. It’s gone.

So you are actually dealing with these scary thoughts by putting them in their right place, which is out there not bothering you. They come in, they go away. They come in, they go away. In, away. In, away.

You can always pay attention to your whatever thoughts whenever you want to. You can feed the beast but you can do it on your time, when you want to. Like in therapy or in creative endeavors or writing. They will never go away completely. But you have in you the power to not have them take over your life. You can shut them down. You can just leave them be.

I used to think that I HAD to give my full attention to my nightmares for a number of reasons. One, what happened to me was my identity. I was a victim and I did not see that by re-traumatizing myself constantly I would have no self-identification. Two, I had to re-injure myself repetitively to know I was alive. Three, to prove that what happened to me did indeed happen. Four, I didn’t know any other way to live. Five, I identified so strongly with my perpetrators that I couldn’t imagine them not in my life. That weird attachment thing is really just gross but there it was for me. Six, it seemed to me that as long as I kept the old shit alive nothing new or more horrific could happen to me. Seven, I was addicted to a crisis life. Eight, I really thought that by keeping an eye on my nightmares I was controlling them.

None of this was true. It’s about living the best, happiest life I can. And that means putting down the weapons. Meditating and doing qi work are the best ways I’ve found to really deal with my nightmares. I have the power to just walk away. And so do you. I hope this makes more sense. Meditation is control.

@TheLesbianMafia thinks CSA is funny

Wow, talk about not getting it. Talk about billinh yourself as “politically Savvy” and thinking jokes about child sexual abuse are okay to tweet to your 22,000 followers, who have of course RT’d you.

These chicks last weekend told a joke about not taking candy from strangers unless they offer you a ride. Obvious association to child sexual abuse, right? When it came across my tweetstream on that day I sent them a response to the effect that I’m sure you mean no harm but CSA is never funny. A few hours later an RT on the joke came across my stream from a complete stranger. I blew up, telling @TheLesbianMafia that people are RTing them, that they should know better than to promote tolerance of these horrid crimes by joking about it. I asked them to delete the message and told them for shame you have a responsibility to not continue to proliferate a culture in which making light of CSA is acceptable. I said you know better. Which, if they are “politically savvy”, they should know better. For shame. I sent the link to my blog detailing the impact of their actions on me. Every couple of days I’ve been saying you can apologize any time now….

Today I received a note from Unfollowr telling me that they had unfollowed me. No apology no fuck you, no nothing. Apparently they stand by their commitment to make light of child sexual abuse and think nothing of letting their followers spread their toxic beliefs.

I suppose I was not really surprised that they unfollowed me. Some people are unable to take responsibility for their actions. I expect this kind of toxic thing from pedophiles, from men. From people who are into perpetuating rape culture in this society. But I did not expect this from them.

I suppose it’s not fair to adjudge “politically savvy” people to a higher standard than for the population at large. But not from my own people. Not from people who position themselves in the ways they do. Now that I know they’re not going to take responsibility for their actions I am going to block them. I don’t need people in my life who joke about the loss of my childhood, about child sexual abuse. But it still pisses me off that now I have to work that tiny bit more to undo the damage they’ve caused by propping up the notion that it’s funny, that it’s not real, that child sexual abuse is somehow something to be laughed away. But this is not over. Bitches.

My Life Is Not A Joke

Recently I had a panic attack on Twitter. Not so much. It took an hour for me to calm myself enough to just sob. I am crying still.

Here’s what happened. Saturday afternoon I was twetting away with some friends. A huge lesbian activist group, the Lesbian Mafia, tweeted a “joke”: don’t take candy from strangers unless they offer to give you a ride.

Obvious reference to advice given to children about abuse, right? No doubt about it, a joke about CSA. I was shocked. I immediately tweeted them that I’m sure they mean no harm blah blah but CSA is never funny. No response.

Imagine my shock a few hours later to see this “joke” RT’d by someone I didn’t know. I blew up, sending three tweetst to the dykes. And then I had a massive panic attack, right there for all the world to see.

Jokes about CSA are never okay. It cannot be tolerated. Every time such words go by and are not pointed out it further causes acceptance of the most vile criminal acts that exist.

I felt that I was being made light of personally. I was being personally attacked. My childhood was being diminished. Again, as it was when I was a kid and nobody believed me. MY pain was being denied me.

It’s bad enough when a pedophile makes this kind of “joke”. It’s bad enough when men do it. I can accept that. But from my own people? Lesbian Activists? I flew apart.

My life is not a joke. I was abused/assaulted/raped/prostituted over 40 times before I reached my teen years. It is not funny. These things happened to me and there is NO occasion in which ANYONE can make light of it. I do not care who you are.

Tolerance of child sexual abuse is what perpetuates child sexual abuse. It is a life-altering, crushingly painful thing that shatters the minds of children and keeps them shattered their entire lives unless they are fortunate enough to be able to go through years and years and years of horrendous medication and psychotherapy.

These women know better. They fully understand the damage that is caused by acceptance and “joking” about domestic violence and prostitution and the inequality of women in this culture.

Do not make light of my painful experience, bitch. Do no continue to perpetuate rape culture against children. You have alof of followers and you need to understand your responsibility therefrom.

What happened to me is in the Library of Congress by now. I couldn’t breathe I was in sudden shock. No warning. Plummeting in public but I couldn’t stop typing. I can’t breathe I can’t breathe fuck fuck blah blah.

I was completely hysterical. I was sobbing so hard I couldn’t even read the screen. Completely demeaned. In the snap of a finger. I emailed my therapist, I really don’t know why. I mean what was there to do but ride it out? But inwaa so unsafe it seemed that anything could happen and I had to reach out…just in case.

Look at me. Look me right in the eye and tell me your fucking joke. And I will tear you to fucking bits. Bitch.

Diplomatically, Go To Hell

Dear T –we were stunned into silence last session when you told us that you were bumping into us in the virtual world and how that made you so “uncomfortable”. That seeing our name for even a split second bothered you apparently immensely. That you wanted us to move or go private on our blog so you would not have to be reminded that we exist unless we were on your clock.

Wow. You don’t want to be reminded that we even exist unless you’re getting paid for it? We would never expect you to work foe us for free. We are a psychologist ourselves, remember. But because we care about our clients we DO think of them from time to time and we don’t expect them to pay us for our general concern.

You lied to us. You told us over and over again that you care about us that you want for us to heal blah blah blah. It has all been just so much shite then, hasn’t it? If you can’t bear the thought of being reminded that we exist–that’s not giving one shite.

We feel immensely betrayed and violated by you. You have been just another human, there to betray our trust. There may be the possibility for trust for people who live in Pixie Dust Land, where children aren’t sexually and physically abused. But for us it’s apparently not possible to have any space where we can do so and not get punched in the gut.

Thanks to our faith in you, we are feeling this. You turned on that capacity in us and here we sit in the interminable 46th minute completely done over. We don’t know how we can possibly see you again. That filthy look and feel and smell of violation is on us now and Sad is bleeding all over everybody so much that we cannot see.

Go to Hell. Nobody gets to do that to us anymore. See you there.

Anhiliation in 45 Minutes

Apparently we are bumping into T inadvertantly in the blogosphere. She has some report thingy that keys in on some tags we’ve done. She doesn’t read she says but she sees some of our titles.

God forbid that the woman would have her privacy violated for a few milliseconds when we’re not paying for her attention in her office. We have one week to move our blog.

Fucking shit. God forbid the woman might just slip up and think about us give a shit when we’re not sitting in front of her.

She lied to us. She doesn’t give a fuck. Just like all the rest. Who are we to think that we’re worthy of anybody giving fuck one.

Then, with the few minutes that we had left, she brought out in us the Sad splinter that we just did not want to ever come out. But pandora’s box is open and now everybody knows where it lives. Sad is bleeding all over everything and we have no way to deal with it. We feel hugely violated in this because we have been violated. It’s happened enough to us we know it when we see it.

Bitch. We will never trust another living soul again. Fuckall.