Coping (badly) with childhood sexual abuse

Sexual abuse? Sexual abuse! Fuck! I feel abused, violated. I feel disgust, fear, pain and anger. I feel... I don't know what. I feel that I inhabit a body used by others - by my father, my brother. I feel their invasion into my body, this body of a seven, eight, nine year old kid, but I also feel my "cooperation", my "participation" in my own abuse. I sucked the cock. An active act. With disgust, yes, with fear, yes, but I sucked it.

I feel the mouth of me as a child taking the cock, the cock slowly growing in my mouth. I feel the cum in my mouth, on my face. And I feel disgust. I feel fear. I feel shame too, even though I know - with my head - that it wasn't my fault, that I had no choice. Sucking cock. Fuck!

I have written several times about my permament internal dialogue about my childhood sexual abuse, a dialogue that I have been dealing with for at least a decade, and which first became unbearable 5½ years ago. I have tried several times to resolve this dialogue, I have tried for years to live with uncertainty, with a narrative of "I don't know, probably no", "I don't know, probably yes", or getting closer to a resounding yes. But, the truth is, I have never managed to close this dialogue. I have tried with my head. And, I think, this has been my problem.

It is unlikely that I will ever have verifiable information so that I can resolve this dialogue with my head. Unlikely that my brother or my father are going to tell me yes, that I have been abused, and also unlikely that I will believe them a no. The truth is that it is unlikely that it is possible to resolve this dialogue towards a no - unfortunately. My head may tell me no, but I feel otherwise. I feel abused and violated. I feel used.

Not only do I have these images - images of sexual abuse that are part of my permanent internal dialogue. I also have what my inner child tells me or what my inner child feels: the fear of my father and my brother, the fear of the basement or the room I shared with my brother, the fear of having their body touched, the fear that I might not love them if I knew what happened to them. My inner child cries a lot, there is a lot of pain and a lot of fear. And, when I ask them about my father, my brother, they cry harder, and images of abuse come to my mind - I don't know if it's my mind or my inner child's mind. How can my inner child tell me what happened to them? They don't talk to me. They cry a lot, but also sometimes, especially when I complement them on their red dress, they smile shyly. But They don't know how to play. They are very sad. Very hurt. And, they feel dirty. Dirty because of the abuse they don't talk about - they just cry.

I think the only way for me to resolve this ongoing internal dialogue is to trust what I feel, and to trust my inner child. Their fear and pain are not lies. And what I feel - my adult self - is not a lie either. I feel abused and violated. I feel used. I feel pain. For now mostly pain. But also fear, disgust, shame. And, little by little, anger. More and more anger.

Again I feel the urge to kill my father slowly and very painfully. To make him suffer. And also my brother. Make him suffer. To make him die slowly and painfully. I can't make them live through what I have lived and am living through. But, make them suffer. I know these are fantasies. Fantasies that come with anger. Fantasies that I will not put into practice. But, now, as I am coming to terms with sexual abuse as a reality (an emotional reality), it makes me feel good to imagine their slow and painful death.