I got an email for one of my incest abusers. I had flashbacks of how he abused me. I was eight years old when he told me with frustration that he has not had sex in 8 years. I was seven when he told me that his ‘manly’ needs are not met. I was nine years old when my other incest abuser, his wife at the time, told me to understand his ‘manly’ needs and forced me to be comfortable to be touched by him after he attempted and succeeded to invade my physical privacy as I changed my clothes. I did not want to talk to him ever since he forced the bathroom door open to see my twin sister showering when none of us had reached puberty. We were too young and his wife enabled him. If anything, his wife was angry that I ignored her husband. His wife touched me too and did not let me change in my own room.
He said a red nail color would look sexy in me. I was eight. He said that if he was a boy my age he would have a crush on me. He said I am prettier and more attractive than all the girls in my primary school. He told me to clean my genitalia very carefully to prevent over pigmentation. Yes, as a kid, I felt sexualized. Yes, I felt obligated to be comfortable around him. I had no one to save me. I had no parents that would take me. I did not know what to do. No one believed me.
I was seven or nine years old when he asked if I ever seen a grown man’s genitalia. Obviously I said I have not. He said, “you have to see it. It looks different than a boy’s genitalia”.
I did not wake up today wishing that I face another flashbacks but here I am facing some this evening. This is depressing.
Maybe people think I am strong, but I won’t describe myself as such. I am scared, not everyday but I can have intense episodes of fear and tension. This morning, I reflected upon why I am tensed when I interact with some women.
I notice a pattern. These women look like my abuser. Since the pandemic, everything went online. I have my own office, with a diffuser, my favorite playlist and soft LED lights. It’s a pretty little office that I decorated according to my own taste. I spend a lot of time in here. Studying, online volunteering, reflecting, etc.
I like to wear night satin sleep gown in my office, because it is comfortable. My satin night gown is very thin.. I have a sweater in case I feel cold in my office. When I have an episode, like 20 mins ago, I would be crying and cover my skin as much as possible because if I see my skin, I would be reminded of the sexual abuse that I went through.
I am postponing my study session. Until I am okay. I will resume.
I am so traumatized. It is very easy for my anxious mind to create some absurd realities. Fear-based reality. My mind is alert all the time, almost anxious all the time. I grind my teeth in my sleep, so much that my partner worried if I would break my teeth and the noise disturbs his sleep.
I enjoy cognitive therapies. I like identifying my cognitive distortions. One of the most frequent ones is ‘Mind Reading’. I assume those around me think like my Warden. I assume those I deal with think exactly like her. Love is earned and has to be maintained, imperfections can lead to inhumane treatments, etc. The harm Warden caused during my upbringing cannot be underestimated. I am not sure how long this lasts. I am trying my best deal with myself.
Had a flashback earlier today. When I was 7, Warden used to ask for my arm to be pinched. She did this when she gets angry. I recalled some moments in the car where she asked my twin sister to give out her arm so that Warden can pinch it. It’s not really ‘asking’. We never had a choice to not give our arms. So my twin sister gave out her arm to Warden and warden pinched her and that second she burst in tears and screams in pain. I yelled to Warden that what she did is violent and that she is hurting my twin sister. Did she say sorry? No. She yelled at me not to defend my twin sister. She expects me to be calm seeing my twin sister being pinched until she left with bruises.
I tried to sleep off my flashback but I could not make it less intense than what it is. This is why I update my blog. I want the world to understand the impacts of Warden’s abuse to me. I never reported her to the police. Maybe I should, but I have no mental energy to do so. Blog is my best option to date.
As a kid, I heard some things from Warden that I would never forget. One of the things she said to me was that she forced an old man to buy her papers. Verbally insulted a poor homeless old man to buy papers from her. Did she show any remorse? No. Did she regret this? No. In fact she told me that this is how much she needed to sacrifice. Now, I was aware that she completed her masters at this point, with no student debts, no mortgages, no loans to pay so I am not quite sure why she was driving around carrying papers to be recycled.
Her father bought a car, a house and paid her education. She worked for a multinational company a decade prior to the incident. She is able to be violent towards a stranger, an innocent, homeless old man, stole his money while driving a car. What was on her head? If she did sacrifice than should not she at least attempted to find a decent job? She managed to hold a reasonably good position at a company, a desk job, a usual 9 to 5 job. Why not apply to other companies?
Sometimes I wonder if she is wanted by local police officials. Some people may believe that she is not capable of hurting strangers. I witnessed three by my own eyes before I even reached ten years old.
She physically attacked a woman who lied to her husband about the business opportunity. Her husband was rather trusting and he admits this. One afternoon, she pulled her car to the side of the road. She got out of the car, she physically attacked this woman in front of my eyes. I sat in the car and I was scared. It was horrible.
I had dreams, routines, hopes, but somehow my life was a chaos. The echoes of my hopes and dreams were not as persistent as my auditory hallucinations. I did not know who to talk to and at that time, I did not even know that this is one of the symptoms of schizophrenia. Abnormal Psychology is not a subject I learned when I was nine years old. I did not miss any classes, but I missed homeworks. My head was exhausted, and my heart carried a weight that never detaches from me. I became tired of this constant paranoia that attacks me without mercy. It stops when I sleep at night or when I nap. As soon as I gained my consciousness back, it will return to haunt me, to make me suffer for simply existing. Are our fears real? I never slept when the voices threatened me. We would like to think that reality is perceived through our senses when we are awake and fully conscious. These fears were mine. They were my reality; as real as the sound of the wind that echoes through your ears.
One day, I asked my uncle of what he would do if he had thoughts that tell him to do things. He said that it happened to him, but I cannot relate to his experience. The voice in his mind demands him to pull a hair of someone in front of him. Oh how I wish mine sounded like that. Mine threatens me to death. Mine told me to kill myself. Mine told me to jump from the third floor. Mine told me that if I look into the bird’s eye, I would die that day. Four years after the conversation, I learned that what he had was intrusive thoughts. There was something helpful that he shared to me at the time. He said that it is good to pay attention to whatever task I am doing. One thing at a time. Be aware of my diaphragm as it moves when I breathe. He told me to immerse myself to the task I have at hand. As a training process, I initiated more chores, specifically dishes. I washed the dishes with my hands and a sponge. I absorb all information I gathered from my senses. The smell of the lemon dish soap, the foaming sponge, its soft texture, the plate I just used to eat my dinner. I imagined that my toes were like roots that hold me, strong and steady. I found calm for a split second, but I felt it. When your heart is at peace, even for a split second, you would want to repeat it. For a split second, I was in my own little heaven. For a split second, my mind was befriending me. For a split second, my heart was free from the tormenting voices of terrors. I noticed not just one sound but five. My nose not only it detects one smell but three. I saw many colors, many of which came from the bubbles from the dish soap. I felt calm for another split second. Washing the dishes became my favorite chore. I always looked forward into it. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours and hours became days. Days become months and I have been free from these voices for 11 years.