James Brown singing “Cold Sweat”
The Little Girl woke up last night frightened by the memories of her father in her dreams. There were parts of The Little Girl’s identity that became askew when what she thought throughout the night and into the day (the nightmare continued into the dreams I dreamed in a afternoon nap) there were parts of her that were not even hers in those nightmares and daymares. The nightmares and daymares were about states of heightened fear for life and destruction of my growing identity as a young child and teenager. The memories are real. They are just horrifying for me to live out in different states of sleep–I felt unprotected and completely vulnerable in my sleep.
So….I felt unprotected and completely vulnerable in my sleep.
I definitely know The Little Girl was involved. I do not know how else to say it. The memories prolonged early childhood and into the teenage years. And, as I write, I feel slightly confused. I can account for the frightened state of The Little Girl and but there was also an unknown part that was present in my nightmares and daymares. Maybe I will call her The Unknown…for now. Those two parts mirrored one another, but was also in two separate identities at different ages. Both parts were horrified at my father’s behavior towards me. The Little Girl and The Unknown couldn’t protect me from what lived out even in my dreams.
So. I think what happened is a way for me to speak up and out about what happened.
I feel like I need to preface the perspective I must take while doing my parts work in regards to the nightmares and daymares I had last night and today. There is The Writer who has this need to speak up and out about what happened. There are other parts of me, some I know about and others I don’t, that need to speak out about what happened in my life. I cannot apologize to the wrongs of someone else, but I will speak up about something I feel needs to come out and be released so it cannot harm me or the others.
Sorry, this is going to be like a dumping ground, so pull on your boots and buckle up and either phase out or choose to read along…
And, here goes.
Okay…not yet. I need to be non-judgmental and honor whoever speaks up and out.
I was maybe twelve or thirteen when the sexual abuse got pretty bad. Like as if there were some parts of sexual abuse that wasn’t? (I guess some was worse than others.) During one of my times home, as I spent the better part of my tween years at my abuser’s home, I remember a horrible situation that occurred. My sister M…a year younger than me…had jumped on my bed, and as a result she and I fell down. My dad walked in and was furious. All I can remember was his fists beating me down, the hate he spewed, my pleas I made to my sister and my family who watched to speak up for me, and a voice that uttered, “does this make you feel better? It doesn’t hurt me.“ [That part of me who spoke up is who I think writes today so I call her The Writer] I remember coming in and out of conscious when fist blows eased and the pain flooded in and out. I remember waking up the next day by my mom calling out to me. I had no words. All I could think was, “how was I supposed to go to school looking like this.” I scrunged around my room trying to find clothes to wear, and what I saw was the crotches from my clothes all cut out…my underwear, my jeans, and so on. Now, really, how was I supposed to go to school. I was broken down. I was defeated. I felt less than human. I felt dead inside. I felt like the person who sexually abused me Oscar was telling me absolute truth about how my dad hated me.
That was what I dreamed throughout the night last night and partially during my nap. The content of what I relived in my dreams didn’t end here…they took me back to being in my closet trying to hideaway from my father as a senior in high school.
This took place at the place where my grandmother lived and died. What happened was my father went up to our home in Michigan to pack our home’s contents so we’d officially move to Florida and while there he found stuff that showed I was being sexually abused by his friend Oscar. My father found the diary that had accounted all the details. He found cassette recordings of the abuse taking place. He had clothes that were stained from Oscar I had saved to provide evidence to what had been taking place. I had done all of those things to prove I was telling the truth, and that when it came to known my father was supposed to swoop into action and save me. He didn’t. He was beyond scary furious yelling at me about whether or not was this true…how could I…and so much many more obscenities about the whore I was and how I deserved it. I remember hiding in my closet holding my Bible praying for all of it to stop. It never did.
And, then I awake…from this nightmare, only to tell myself these were just memories and it was in the past. I went to go pee, and then the flashbacks came back in full force.
My dad made The phone to his friend and asked point blank if he did what I wrote and caught on cassette tape. Oscar denied. I felt let down by Oscar. I honestly did. If anyone, he told the truth. He told me my dad hated me. He told me many things that were truth about how my dad showed me he hated me.
My nightmare ended.
I was shaken. I kept telling myself, “did you really dream about waking up and didn’t? Why am I so tired. How could I have let this happen.”
As you know, I am a mom. I woke up and got my son his breakfast ready and went about my day. I got really sleepy so I took a nap while my son watched some cartoons. That is when my daymares came. I dreamed about being stuck in the closet full of fear, feeling vulnerable and very unprotected. I remember tossing and turning too. Nothing stopped the memories. I couldn’t even stop the memories as I rose up from my nap and tried to put my best foot forward.
So. I decided to write it out.
I came here.
I gave them voice.
I’m honoring those parts of me who had to live through the horror of my trauma and have never really healed just yet. You got me through living it, and, now, I am bringing you out of the shadows and letting your story speak up and out.
Mommy wants to say that I hear you. I know it is the truth. And, even though I cannot take away the pain or the memory of having lived out what you had to, but what I can do is comfort you and love you…each part of you…tell you that you are loved and wanted and all the bit needed. If I could do one things, I would bring you to the feet of Jesus and allow Him to heal your pain. You are right to believe any other parent would have stood up for their daughter and made her hurt go away.