F.A.
I feel your pain. I have cried buckets of tears for that innocent, beautiful boy, who did not deserve the terrible things that happened, nor who deserved to be left behind. I too felt as if I had changed and become sullied, dirtied, soiled, and tainted. I became so guilt ridden, and so sure that I was nasty and that no one would ever want me, and that my life had been stolen, my hopes crushed. I truly was never the same.

I have learned that the shattered and broken husk of a boy who remained grew into a wounded animal. The remains took on the outer appearance of life as the wounds inside festered on. It was years before I learned something else.

That the child who split from me waited there still. That the nothingness inside me clammored to be whole yet. That my journey as a man, was to go back and rescue my child.

I used therapy, imagery, and dreams and love...I used poetry, and tears, and incense and rituals. I walked through the looking glass and rescued that tragic boy...he and I walk hand in hand today.

G

F.A. and Bodyguard

I relate to both of your posts a great deal. It's as though the boy I was died at 12. Then he came back to life when I was about 45, and I was double. I was the man and the boy who came back to life. The boy remembered horrible things. The boy was deeply sullied. The boy didn't know how to live as a man. He was still a boy. The man had to drag around that boy or carry him. The boy was unhappy and full of the knowledge of the unsavory world.

Talk therapy didn't help that kind of problem a whole lot. EMDR helped the obvious symptoms but left a large number of memory gaps. The last EMDR session was on the terror of my experience at age 12. It was so terrible that I had to escape. I switched. I was aware of switching. Wow!

Puffer

F.A.

I just read this post, It was as if you were writing down my own feelings. Im so sorry you carry this pain with you. I know it all to well. Its speaks to where I am right now. I find comfort that one day we will all be made whole again.

All the best to you,

-JAY-

F.A and Bodyguard

I feel your pain and understand your loss of self. I too thought the child was dead except over the years I had glimpses of the abuse and nightmares of what had happened. I continued to bury the memories and now I know the child. The child never truly died, it lurked in the hallows of my being, waiting for the time it could resurrect and make itself known to me and the world. The child like yours was trapped in a perpetual state of childhood and did not understand what had been done to him was wrong and hurtful. He believed his life would always be one of love through reliving the what had been done to him. For years from the memories, torment in my living in the world around me I left and the child had its turn to live, but he was not strong enough to keep hidden forever, I did return and would leave, how, why and where I went I do not know nor do I know where the child went during those times--all I have is glimpses and fears of what may have happened. I would awaken in strange and unknown places, see writings which I did not understand--it brought fear to me but the child felt free and loved through his deeds--deeds he did not understand. He was locked in a child's mind looking for acceptance and to feel special, as the abuser led him to believe he was in the dark and dingy cellar, where the child learned love was abuse and sex.

One day I and the child will be whole. We are working toward this today. So I believe the child may not have died but rather lurks within your inner being. I feel so sorry for your pain, heal and realize there is life for you as a whole--we all are striving for that day.

Good morning, F.A. Thank you for posting. I can relate completely. I hope you're getting therapy. If not, find a therapist and start. Please. You'll begin the road to healing.

But I just want to add a few things. I can remember wondering if I was dead. I can remember wondering if nobody mattered. If the world and all the people in it were just a dream. Like if it was all just a hoax. No people. No souls. No houses. No trees. Nothing.

It's weird to think how I became a different kid. I look at photos of myself from before that time, and he's just a happy go-lucky kid. And then after that time, I look scared and anxious. I used to hate those photos. I wanted to bash the head in of that scared like asshole, that stupid motherfucker. There's a picture of me from middle school or early high school. I'm sitting at a bench in my folks' backyard, eating a sandwich. And in the photo, even though I'm sitting on a low bench, I'm sort of sitting there, crouched over my sandwich, elbows on knees. And for some reason my feet are flexed, you know, like you do when you're standing on tip-toe. For some reason, I find that photo so humiliating. And it's because I associate that posture with being afraid. It makes me sad that I hate that scared kid. It breaks my heart that I was sad. I would never hurt a kid like that. What kind of sick bastard would target a scared kid?

I don't know. Good luck, F.A.

Bob

F.A. and others,

I can also relate to this post. I can relate to having a sense of shame that made me stuff the spontaneous and natural child deep down inside of me, thinking that anything that stemmed from the inside of such a child was bad. I can relate to feeling things were not real. I can relate to the feeling that life itself was not real. The sense of detachment from events, people, and the world around me has been so strong that I don't think I have really faced life at all. I know that when things get really ugly I am so detached that it's like I'm viewing things from outside of myself, like they are not actually happening to me.

Casmir