Posted by: Marie | August 2, 2012

(681) My little girl vocabulary – Part 2 of 2

Post #681
[Private journal entry written on Saturday, September 3, 2011 at 6:00am – continued from previous post]

By ninth grade, I’d given up on boys and started looking to men. With men, sexual favors did garner loyalty, at least for a period of time. At least, men didn’t publicly humiliate me, they just took what they wanted and then silently disappeared.

And what they wanted included more than just kisses . . . and that’s when I learned about the power of taking off my clothes. The more I took off, the more days worth of attention I could get before they disappeared. And they usually disappeared as soon as I failed to maintain a perfect physical shell . . .

On the Date by Martin Chen

So, yeah . . . I’m very aware of the fact I’ll never be enough . . . and I’m done trying to be. I know I need to just accept the fact that this is the way it is for me . . . no man is going to love me and want to be with me unless I’m perfect . . . and the effort to be seemly perfect is not worth having the love of a man . . . no thank you, not in this lifetime.

As I lay there in bed, imagining this therapy-session scene to play out in my mind, that sense of hopelessness hit strongly again. I allowed it to come, I allowed it to overwhelm me . . .

My adult voice left me and I was left with just my little girl vocabulary . . . I no longer had the words to explain . . . I only had echoes of words I’ve heard from others . . . and echoes of my own little girl silent screams . . .

“Bad . . . bad . . . bad body”

“Shame on you . . . good girls don’t behave like that”

“Cover it up! You’re teasing the boys and you’ll cause them to sin!”

“Quit your belly-aching . . . it’s not that bad”

“Bad! Bad!! BAD!!!!! Bad body . . . I can’t make it behave . . . my body is bad . . . (hitting myself about the shoulders and head) I hate it! I don’t want it! I don’t want my body – it’s very bad and dirty!! Shame! Shame!!!”

I found myself trying to literally push my body off of my soul – like one would try to shed a clothing ensemble she suddenly found repulsive. Sobs ripped from my voice box . . .

“I don’t want this body! Die! Die! Please – die! Go away! I hate you!”

I found myself wanting to lay my head on Edward’s shoulder at this point . . . I wanted to dissolve into the comfort of his gentleness . . . so, I allowed myself to imagine that.

That is when I became aware that I want to die because dying would allow me to be free from my hateful body. My soul would be free to exist without the shame of my body. I would be free of the weight of my body.

Dying would set me free.

Whew . . . wow . . . all of the sudden, a bunch of lose ends were matched up. It clicked for me . . .

I think the core of my shame is locked in my body.

I feel smart and productive and dependable . . . but I don’t feel loveable because my life experiences have taught me that men would only want me for a body that I don’t have. I can’t imagine someone not being disgusted by the shame I carry in my body.

And, the shame comes from sexual abuse – and from being whipped with a belt for reasons I never understood.

And . . . I’ve always had hope that I could find a significant level of healing in relation to the trauma of that abuse. If that trauma is the root of the unlovable-ness I feel, maybe there is hope I could get to the place where I believe someone could love me . . . maybe that could happen if I keep moving forward on this healing journey.

And . . . if I can get to the place where I believe someone could love me for who I am on the inside, maybe I can get to the place where I believe someone could find my body attractive despite its non-conformity to idealized perfection.

It sounds like a long shot, but maybe it is possible.

I began to find some calmness as this light bulb moment dawned upon me . . .

I started breathing more normally . . .

After a while, I sat up and started wiping the snot and tears off my face . . . blowing my nose . . .

My cat sat on my stomach and looked hard into my eyes . . . and started licking the salty tears off my face.

I can’t say I feel good about all of this, but I don’t totally want to die right now. I’m interested in sticking around and seeing how things unfold . . .

And now . . . now I wish I had been sitting in a therapy session with Edward as this revelation came to light and not just imagining I was. I wish I had a way of sharing this intense emotion with him. But, he’s not here, so I can’t. I can only write about it and share the writing. It’s not the same. I wish someone were here with me, witnessing these moments of drama as they happen.

I wonder if there is anyway I can “forget” what I experienced here and then “remember” it later, in his office. Nah . . . I don’t think that is do-able . . . it’s just wishful thinking . . .

I wonder if, while I tell him about it, I could allow myself to remember the emotions . . . allow myself to use my little girl voice and vocabulary . . . allow myself to move as a wounded little girl would move . . .

Would it be insincere of me to do that?

Who says I have to limit myself to communicating only with rational adult words? If I’m expressing childhood emotions, why would it not be okay to act out those emotions with childlike expressions when sharing with Edward? I don’t think it would be insincere . . .

I think Edward would be okay with that . . . but is there anyway I could be that free with my expressing? It doesn’t seem possible right now – the thought of it causes me to start moving into a paralyzed state.

Phew . . . I really hate feeling these feelings. They suck.


Responses

  1. Hi Marie, I’m sure it would be ok with Edward. If you freeze up then you pay attention to the freezing up and maybe find a way to gradually unfreeze. At which point it would be quite sincere.

    The kind of healing you are seeking in this post is possible. I have seen people do it.

    I look forward to hearing how you journey along this path.

    • Thank you for the encouraging words, Evan . . .

      I’m learning that the act of paying attention to the freezing up does allow me to gradually unfreeze . . . and, that everytime I do that, it gets easier and faster.

      About the long-term prognosis of my healing . . . that is something I still struggle with, although I’m making some progress . . . it’s a challenge, for sure!

      – Marie


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