Some numskull sent me a comment (which I did not approve) that has inspired me to post a sort of ‘clarification article.’
The nincompoop, who says her name is “Caryn” called me several derogatory names, made some pretty ugly comments to me, mentioned my father’s death (as if she has any clue about my father), and then brought up the bible. I always chuckle at the bible thumpers who condemn, ridicule, impose upon and demean others, and then mention God and the bible in the very same breath.
Anyway, “Caryn’s” opinion is of no concern to me, but I thought I would clear something up…
Caryn thinks I am “obsessed” with child sex abuse and that it’s the entire focal point of my life.
So, just in case someone else who reads my blog has been given the impression that I am too consumed with child sexual abuse issues, I thought I would share what my life is like.
Maybe it’s my fault for giving the wrong impression? I just never thought that people would actually believe that I sit around all day and night obsessing about abuse. So, here is my life:
I wake each day being thankful for the roof over my head, the food on my plate, my limbs, and my very life. I then give love and affection to my three beautiful animals.
My morning is usually spent taking care of my husband of 23 years, cooking for him, etc. and then it’s off for a brisk walk with my dog.
I am fortunate enough to live in one of the most beautiful places in the United States. I breathe fresh air, walk near deer, rabbits, and even an occasional elk. Every spring, a bear wanders through the neighborhood. I swell with gratitude at the incredible mountains that I see every day of my life, and thank God for the gift.
When I return home from my walk, I spend about 45 minutes to an hour on my Blog. After that, it is time to start work at my paying job. I work from home so this enables me to keep up on trials on Court TV. I wish I could have been an attorney, I love law and the legal system intrigues me.
My afternoons consist of more walks, beautiful hikes, a bike ride, or maybe down to the lake to watch my dog swim like a champion. I might hit the local thrift store, or help my neighbor give her cat intravenous fluids. In the winter, I go for a snowshoe or snowboard. Sometimes I pick up a stray dog running dangerously on the highway and call its owner or take it to the local humane society.
I love taking photos and sometimes read books on The Essenes. Once in a while I will read a book on child abuse; like I found Mackenzie Phillip’s book High on Arrival at the thrift store for a dollar last week.
Sometimes I write letters to senators, or the local paper to try and stop war, or to protect the environment. Other days I go to a concert in the park, a festival, or visit the local animal shelter and give love to the homeless creatures who were abandoned or abused by human beings.
I enjoy just being peaceful in the yard with gardening or watching the birds. I love good films and watch an occasional baseball game, or even American Idol. Sometimes I just put on my favorite music and sing out loud.
My evenings consist of catching up on any comments on my Blog, making dinner, or enjoying an occasional beer at the local brew pub with friends. I often have great dinner parties because I am a pretty good cook and hostess to our amazing friends. After dinner we play board games or listen to someone play guitar. We laugh, we sing, we make cookies, and we talk about everything under the sun. We rarely mention child sexual abuse.
I wonder if Miss Nincompoop, Caryn, would like to know what I did prior to healing from child sexual abuse? You see, Caryn thinks my memories of having been sexually abused by my father are a figment of my imagination.
In 1994, I became very sick and dysfunctional. Some of the best medical doctors, psychiatrists, psychologists, and $30,000 worth of medical bills could not help or cure me. The doctors didn’t even know what was wrong with me for at least a year. When doctors finally diagnosed me with Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome (or CFS), they told me there was no treatment and no cure. One specialist told me, “The good news about this disease, is that you aren’t going to die. The bad news is, you aren’t going to die.”
You see, CFIDS is one of the most painful, debilitating, and frightening diseases that a person can have. He was right; about two years into the disease, I did indeed want to die.
So you see, my life was not always so beautiful. The CFIDS plagued me with countless physical symptoms that affected every part of my body, including my heart, lungs, neurological system, and bladder. I was also bed ridden for months, and suffered clinical depression, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, PTSD symptoms, an excessive hatred of women, nightmares, insomnia, and eating disorders that were virtually unbearable.
Back then, I could not walk down the street, much less hike a mountain. I could not ride a bike, or snowboard, or go to a party without extreme anxiety attacks or fatigue that sent me to bed for three days at a time. For fifteen years I was riddled with pain, fear, suffering, and sheer madness over not being able to live like others were. Life went on without me and I wanted to die. If it had not been for my therapist, who taught me how to go inside myself and get to the root cause of my suffering, I would have been divorced, on drugs, in a mental hospital, or dead.
The only thing that set me free was finally allowing myself to face the fact that I was a victim of incest by my police-officer father, death threats, rape, physical assaults, and that my mother did not protect me, or even love me. When I began to remember the incest, and began to finally come out of denial, I also began to heal. My symptoms were disappearing and I wanted to live again. I wanted to experience life, get a job, go running, and climb a mountain. I wanted to be with people, laugh and play. I had more work to do, I certainly did not heal over night, but the physical suffering and mental anguish was eventually wiped away with the therapy.
I suppose that in her infinite ignorance, Caryn would say that, because I had a belief that my memories were true, that I somehow miraculously healed from my living hell. If this were true, the medical industry would simply go out of business. Everyone with mental and physical disease could just invent whatever they like, believe it’s true and then rid themselves of all their suffering! That’s a nice thought, but it’s also impossible.
To date, I have about five symptoms left. That is five out of seventy-five. Pretty good progress I’d say. The remaining few symptoms are directly connected to having been sexually abused by a female family member, and being threatened to keep the secret. It took me years to finally grasp this truth. Thank God I did, because the truth will eventually set me free. But healing from same-sex child sexual abuse has been more complicated than healing from the incest with my father. The symptoms that remain are dissipating, but a little more work needs to be done. Healing from child sexual abuse is work, it is not easy. That is why so many people avoid healing. They do not want to go through the pain of dealing with it, and instead choose to have comfortable pain, familiar pain. Unknown pain always seems harder, when in reality, short-term pain is better than a life-time of remaining comfortably numb with things like relationship problems, stress, physical illness, emotional imbalances, etc.
Caryn has brought up the bible in her comments to me, so I thought I would let her know that, in God’s infinite mercy and love for me, God has healed my life and my soul. I have forgiven my abusers, I forgave them years ago. I now choose to try and help other victims and survivors in a way that I see as just putting my little grain of sand out into the world. Sometimes I need to stress how victims feel and suffer in order to make a point. This does not mean that I am still suffering, or harboring rage, or that I have not forgiven my abusers.Forgiveness is not synonymous with forgetting, pushing it down inside or pretending nothing happened.
If my Blog helps some people, fabulous! If it angers others, then maybe they need to look at why they are so hate-filled for me. Maybe Caryn ought to take a breath and look in the mirror to see what exactly it is about me or my Blog that has caused her to be a very ugly person.
Some of my photography: