Sexual abuse - and beginning to heal

A fortnight ago I started to accept the sexual abuse in my childhood as a reality. I wrote a fortnight ago about my difficulties in dealing with this reality - the sexual abuse. And, the reality is that I am still in a lot of pain, and more and more anger, more and more rage. But, my permanent internal dialogue is definitely over. I am beginning to heal these wounds of sexual abuse, by both, my father and my brother.

  • In a way I notice that I am a bit calmer, without this permanent internal dialogue. I no longer ask myself this question about sexual abuse, I accept it as a fact of my childhood - from maybe seven to nine or ten years old. I have no idea how many times, neither by my father, nor by my brother, but I don't feel the need to know more details. I was abused - that's enough. Not having this permanent dialogue for me is a relief.

  • The intrusive images of the abuse by my father and my brother also no longer invade me. They haven't disappeared, not quite, but they don't invade me. They come to me in my half hour of managing all these emotions, and in moments of visualising my inner child, when for one reason or another my child feels the fear of my father or my brother for the abuse, or the pain of the abuse, the shame, the guilt. Or sometimes when I for one reason or another think about the abuse. But the images do not invade me.

  • My inner child also gradually calms down. I feel that there is less and less fear. My inner child cries less, and trusts that these abuses are in the past. They still cry, there is still some fear, but nothing compared to a fortnight ago or more. I hardly ever find my inner child crying. The crying comes when we hug, and they feel safe and loved. They are still sad, yes, they are still not able to play, yes, but they are getting calmer and calmer.

  • The constipation that I had almost all these months since November - sometimes less, sometimes more severe, and sometimes even thinking of going to the doctor - is over too, and has not returned. Is this a coincidence? I don't think so.

  • And I'm with the pain and the rage, the anger. In a way, perhaps, I cry more, especially in bed after I go to bed and before I get up, and sometimes at night, when I wake up and can't go back to sleep. I think there is more and more anger, and I need to improve my management of this anger. In the half hour of managing my emotions ("the half hour of shit"), I feel this anger, and I say "I'll kill you" or "I hate you", oddly enough in English, and I have fantasies about how to do it with a knife. Sometimes this rage is focused on my father, sometimes - somewhat less - on my brother.

For me all this confirms sexual abuse in one way. And sometimes I find more things that fit perfectly with sexual abuse. A little more than a month ago I already wrote on the subject of not being able to play:

"'A related problem that has been observed in many cases is that survivors may find it difficult to play: Ogden and colleagues noted: 'Almost invariably, clients are unable to play, finding that their capacity to experience pleasure, exuberance and joy in playful interactions or activities is diminished, has disappeared altogether in the wake of the trauma, or is experienced as paradoxically dangerous and threatening.'

How I can relate to this! And how difficult it can be in many situations."

And, about 10 days ago I read in a text about the phases of healing (in Spanish) the following: "While they were children and victims of abuse and later adults struggling to survive, many survivors have not mourned their losses." It really touched me, and I had to cry when I read it. The truth is that until recently I have never in my life been able to cry over a loss - a separation, a friend who left or a friendship that was broken for one reason or another. I have never in my life been able to cry over these losses. I only regained this ability in November, with another loss, and, I think, on this occasion I cried over all the losses of my entire life - a "backlog of undigested sadness", as a friend of mine called it.

With all this, my mind has not returned with its doubts. My mind now accepts that closing my permanent internal dialogue has only been possible by trusting my body, my emotions. This allows me to gradually heal this wound. It is a painful process, but it is progress. To heal... or, beginning to heal.