Blind Trust

Trigger warning- contains mentions of sexual abuse with description.

I was 6 years old the first time I truly lost trust in someone. No it wasn’t Santa Claus or the tooth fairy. Nor was it the Easter bunny or My ma and pa. It wasn’t my siblings. It wasn’t any of the usual suspects. The person I lost faith and trust in, was actually myself.

I know that’s pretty heavy for a 6 year old but I did. I didn’t trust myself. I hated Myself. I truly did. I believed that I was a bad person and that everyone in my family was upset and disappointed with me. All because I thought I had told a horrible lie. But of course i hadnt. Yet nobody knew what to do or say. Because how do you tell a 6 year old it wasn’t bad dream and that there were bad people in the world? And even worse. How do you tell them, that sometimes, those bad people, are the ones who we’re closest to them?

He was my brothers best friend since kindergaten. They did everything together and lived in each others pockets. Where one was, so was the other. He lived down the street with his mum and siblings who we were all close with. I believed him to be my older brother and he was family. He even named my younger sister when she was born.

One day he was babysitting me. As he usually did. We were cuddled up on the couch. I was a very affectionate child. Key word being was. 

I remember the way he took my hand and put it in his pants. I remember holding my breath and feeling the panic in my chest. the feeling that something was wrong. I remember him telling me it was our little secret and not to tell anybody. I remember in such vivid description, so many things I shouldn’t. But after that first god only knows how many seconds or minutes, I remember nothing more. The worse part is I dont know if theres anything else to remember. The only one who does is him.

That night while sitting at the dinner table, I looked around at everyone eating. My parents, my 2 brothers and my 2 sisters all just having dinner. He’d gone home to his house for dinner. I knew I should say something but everyone was so busy there hadn’t been any time. So right than and there in the middle I dinner I blurted out ” ***** put my hand down his pants.” Everyone went still. And after that, I once again have no memory.

Of course things changed and for a house of 7 rambuctious people to be quiet, something had to be wrong. My older brother and I had always been close. I had always been his shadow and there with him and *****. I felt my brother draw away from me. He isolated himself from the close bond we once had. No one else mentioned anything about what happened. That was also when I noticed that ***** wasn’t around anymore. And considering he practically lived with us most of the time, I was confused. My 6 year old mind didn’t understand. 

Where was *****? 

Why didnt he come over anymore? 

Why was my brother mad at me? 

Did I do something wrong? 

Was it because he told me not to tell and I did?

 I didn’t mean to tell but something told me I had too. All these thought ran through my head. With no one to help me understand them.

This continued and got worse. The attitude I saw from my brother and the avoidance by both of my parents made my imagination run wild and it quickly led me to a new conclusion. Everyone wasn’t mad because I told. They were mad because i must of lied. I lied and made up a story and now Everyone was mad at me and ***** didn’t want to come around anymore. I felt so guilty and upset with myself. 
How could I do that? 

How could I do that to ***** or my brother? 

How could I make something up like that? 

I was a horrible, attention seeking girl and I deserved to feel that way for being a lying liar who lies. I was evil.

I decided that there was nothing i could do except pretend it never happened. Maybe if I pretended, everyone would forget and it would all go back to normal. So I did.but imagined this being put on a 6 year old. I had convinced myself I was an evil liar at an age when I was suppose to be a kid.  I managed to convince myself so well that I eventually forgot the incident entirely. Like it had never happened.How about that? 

Yet Subconsciously, deep down, something had changed. Before I had been a very fluid child. I loved cowboys and rough and tumble games and I also loved the color pink, Barbie dolls and pretty princesses. After that, I didn’t want to be a princess anymore. I wanted to be a boy. Boys got to do all the cool stuff and frankly boys were stronger than girls. I suddenly saw girls as weak. Girls were princesses who were in turn damsels. The girlier they were, the weaker. I especially hated When people called me ‘ a pretty little girl.’

So yes. The first person I ever truly hated and lost faith in was myself. I couldn’t be trusted. By anyone. I was too dangerous. It made me closed off. Extreme thinking, but I was a child left on my own to deal with it 

What’s worse is because I tricked myself into forgetting, whenever I saw ***** around and he would avoid or be awkward around me, I use to get upset. I was left wondering what I did wrong. Now how fucked up is that?

This affected me especially when similar incidences occured later on. Time and time again i convinced myself they were lies my mind made up and not to speak about them. That boy in primary school didn’t really try to corner me and thrust at me until I cried and shoved him off. The same boy didn’t stalk me around school and home, smiling as I screamed in fear while he chased me down the alleyway. It was all miunderstandings and coincidences because he had friends on the street. He was just a regular bully. The other one didn’t rub his hard on against my ass in class when I was 9, making me violently react and get in trouble. And others Things that I’d rather not talk about, simply because, well the stories don’t get better. That’s all that needs be said. 

Because of what happened, I never said anything to anyone. I didn’t think they’d believe me. I didn’t even believe me. Every single thing I wanted to forget, id forget. I couldn’t remember any of it.

That changed in highschool. In highschool everyone was pairing off and having flings. I wasn’t. I didn’t want to. I had already known by the age of 11 i was gay but that wasnt the problem.i had no issue liking girls. My problem was that i was afraid of the idea of a relationship itself. Of putting my trust in another person on such a personal level. Why was I so afraid?

The catalyst for the answer to that question was another incident of sexual harrassment. Drunken texts and phonecalls ect. They upset me as the one who started it, was originally a close friend. I saw it as betrayal. That coupled with my questioning of why i was afraid, triggered what would only be the start of a barrage of flashbacks and memories. 

I remembered as much as my mind would let me. I remembered *****. I remembered the others. I remembered the fear and how much I loathed being touched now. I remembered why I felt the need to be better and stronger. Why I felt like I had to always be better than the boys. Why, Even though I had friends, I kept myself on the outskirts, both wanting And not to be more involved. I also remembered how my family reacted, Or in better words, didnt.

Holy fuck. The realisation hit me like a truck. But before i could process this and start to figuire things out. i needed to be sure, so I went home and tentatively asked my mum about what happened with *****. 
She broke down crying and couldn’t speak to me for 2 weeks so with that reaction i came the conclusion that all of That stuff really did happen. That was also when i got angry. i had been sexually abused by a man i called my brother, and nobody had done nothing. I still saw him. My brother still hung with him. Our families were still close. Hell, my mama even helped organise his 21st. Cue depression and an increase of self hatred please.

Now this history of abuse is something I’ve been working through for years. I’ve had intensive therapy and it has been addressed with my family more than once. (This is when i hesitantly mention that only the 6 year old incident has been discussed. Ive never brought up the others) It’s a struggle. I do carry alot of resentment about the way it was, or well wasn’t handled, and I’ve let my family know that. i still love them and would do anything for them. They didn’t know what to do and It may seem like I’m making excuses for them but they did what they thought was best at the time (Which i learnt was a good hiding and estrangement.) . Nobody talked about stuff like that and it did more harm to the families. They were also hoping if they didnt speak about it I would forget.i did, just not in the manner they’d hoped for. His family have never been told and are still considered family to ours. I don’t agree with alot of the way that was handled but I do understand why. Any other contact my family has with him specifically is not my concern. I can’t be bothered wasting energy on him and they know how I feel.

What I have issue with more than what happened with him is what happened with me. My lack of support or explanation damaged me more than the abuse did. It’s affected all sorts of relationship I have with people, From friends and family to more, because of that fear of letting people in.

The first person I ever hated and lost trust in was myself. Upon learning that I wrongly persecuted myself, I no longer trusted others so deeply. I struggle to trust even when I desperately want to. The loneliness at times is unbearable. But changing that behaviour and lowering those defenses is easier said than done
I dont want less in my life because of fear. Its that thought that keeps me trying instead of giving up. sometimes i really want too. Damn It all,  i want to go back into that shell everytime i feel like ive been hurt. Everytime I feel like ive been disregarded in some way. 

Yet In everyday life, plans go bang, shit happens, promises are broken and people change.They don’t know how long it’s taken me to get to this point. They don’t know how seriously I take my word and promises. And if ive happened to have shared those things with them…well People will say alot of things when lost in a moment. I can’t expect them to adhere by my eccentric quirks.

I can’t expect others to always take special consideration for just one person. So instead, I take consideration for them. I acknowledge i am not the easiest, and work on giving people the benefit of the doubt.

I keep trying, and stay true to me. For me, My word means something. Its a reflection of my character. I try to be as dependable and trustworthy a person as possible,  and thats For myself, more than anyone else. I don’t want to let people down, the way I have been. I try to treat people the way I’d like to be treated, Even if they don’t do it back. 

The betrayal of my childhood has left scars. Scars that are slowly fading but will always be visible in certain angles and light. The point is though, I am not letting them dictate my life. I’m gonna keep trying. Trying To push my boundaries and comfort zones. To let people in. The first step has been to open up to those already closest to me. Friends and family. That has felt really good and already feels less lonely. I’ve also met people and tried to apply this open and honest outlook. Sometimes it works, other times… i feel like ive taken a few steps back. 

I wont let this fear isolate me anymore. . I am teaching myself to trust again. Not blindly like the innocent child who only wanted a hug, but as a young woman, looking for her place in the world. Fear wont beat me and prevent me from living and loving life to the full. It has already taken enough.
Moeaere x
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At the end of the day it’s about education and support.

Victims need support. Victims families need support. And even the abusers families need support. After something like that, it dosent just go away. Things change. It’s how you manage those changes that makes all the difference.My family didn’t handle it, but that’s cause no body knew how. It wasn’t spoken about and still isn’t in some places. Abuse of any kind from emotional, to physical, to sexual, needs to be dealt with properly. It can be a long a delicate process but it’s needed. I can only imagine the possibilities if I had gotten the support I needed earlier. But I can’t dwell on that. I can only handle the hand i have now and encourage others to seek help , support and prevention of abuse.

http://rpe.co.nz/get-help/find-a-sexual-assault-support-center-near-you/

http://www.victimsupport.org.nz/get-help/support-after-sexual-violence-or-family-violence/

Blogging barriers

I haven’t posted since my first posts. Partly because I’ve been busy, and partly because I’ve been flaking out hard. This sort of exposure is still hard for me to wrap my head around. I dont do it. Expressing myself isnt something that comes easily and yet here I am potentially posting very personal posts(that lay drafted and unpublished). I’m using pictures of myself and my name (not my first name mind you.). I’m allowing people to see things that are some times hard for me to acknowledge myself.

I also run the risk that someone I do personally know will stumble across this. I’m not hiding anything or twisting tall tales (unless i post otherwise about a short fictional story or poem ect). Its more the things im sharing. I dont want people to read things they didnt previously know and suddenly change their perceptions of me because of it. That even though I’ll change the names in more personal stories, they’ll recognise the people I’m talking about and will no longer look at them the same. I’m generally pretty open and honest about my thoughts and past. But there are some things I keep quiet about, simply because I know it upsets people around me.

My struggle to express myself is more because of the way the people around me respond. Its not always pretty and some topics are pretty heavy. They can make people i care about feel angry, upset, sad and sometimes even guilty and that in turn makes me feel bad because i brought up those emotions for them. It’s really the guilt that gets to me alot. Like, Why do you gotta make my pain, your fault fam?  Some things were unpreventable and you blaming yourselves makes it harder, not easier for me to deal. I keep alot bottled up for this very reason. 

But that was the whole point of the blog.  I want to push myself so I can find myself. To break my limits and get to know me better. This is suppose to be the place where I can and will speak about what I want. Everything from the joy to the sorrow and That includes the hard, heavy and upsetting. 

This is for me. For me to express myself and me to have that safe place. That place where I can say whatever I need, feel, or whatever random things my mind wanders into . This is my mental walkabout.  I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

Moeaere ✌🏼

Everything happens for a reason…even if we don’t know what that reason is just yet.

This is something I tell myself everyday. It’s something I try to live by, along with my beliefs in karma and fate. 

There’s always alot of skepticism regarding these things. Ive met alot of people who dont believe  and i understand and respect that. I love the conversations and debates I can get into over it. In reality I don’t care if someone dosent believe, that’s their choice.  Im like that about alot of things. I just like to try get people to expand their thinking and look at things from another angle.

But anyway. One very common misnomer i I found though, is Many believe that those who believe in fate, spend there lives just accepting whatever happens and have no drive to actually work for things because they think that if their destined for something bigger than it will just happen because fate deems it so…😂😂😂. 

Okay so yes, there is some truth in that but not in all of it. Not in the part where they believe there is no drive For believers of fate. yes, there are some who do sit back with their hands out waiting for the easy way, that they believe they are destined to have…(I’ll let the ellipses speak for my thoughts on that) but majority of people (who I’ve met anyway) do not think this way at all. They believe you have to work for it, but the way will only open when you are ready for it. Not before or after you are ready.

For me,  it means I rely on my intuition alot.  I will think about and do things and see it they feel right. (Like i think most people generally should.) I believe that you have to work hard but the reasons I choose to believe is, like many others, believing makes it easier for me to handle the struggles and hardships life always seems to throw at you.

It’s very hard not to dwell on the negative things that happen to you and the others around you. Many times you just feel as though lifes unfair and struggle to keep your head afloat. I know I do. I’ve battled with depression from the age of 14, it might of been younger, but 14 was when I finally started getting help for it.

Telling myself everything happens for a reason, even when I get real low, is me telling myself to have patience. Patience that even though things seem bad, that the reason those things happened will one day reveal themselves and it will make sense.  It’s a hard and challenging way to look at it but it’s accepting that something will come from the hardship you endured if you just wait. Not because your owed it, but because that belief makes it easier to tell yourself not to dwell on the hardships and struggles but use it to carry on and push through it. It can only get better and the balance will one day restore itself.

I know there are many situations and times where belief like that means nothing to people and can just fuck right off. I understand that as well. Some things are just too painful. This is just how I convince my 21 year old self to keep going and pushing.

One example for me trusting in fate (that is relatively mundane and not that heavy) is my knee.

When I was 17, I played rugby. I was in several women’s teams as well as high school teams, and I was looking to cinch a spot hopefully, playing overseas. What I really wanted, was to go to the USA. My back up plan was the army. But I ended up blowing out my knee. Not a big deal to alot of people but my physicality was my ticket. And the sport and The army were my dreams. The reconstruction failed and I needed another, but after 4 years of repeated surgeries and physio 3 times a week, bottom line is my knee is fucked. I will never play sport to the level I was at again. if I pushed and manage to, it will be a short career with alot of suffering afterward, and at a much younger age, and essentially not worth the risk. The army was out of the equation for the same reasons. The two things I had wanted to do with my life, were no longer an option.

So what did I do? Nothing 😁. My depression flaired exponentially during this time because I was too busy wallowing in my self pity and sulking about lost opportunities. But they were my dreams, and dreams I had just lost. Than finally I started to talk to myself more and more about everything happening for a reason, And fate..it took a while but I eventually ended up having alot more up days than down.

So now, When I get low, i sit and try to think about all the things i would have missed if I hadn’t blown my knee. A week after i blew my knee, a girl from my high school suffered a heart embolism and I, on my crutches, was the first responder who administered cpr. I was later told that she should have died and the cpr saved her life. The thing was, I was suppose to be on a snowboarding trip but had to miss it due to obvious injury. I was never meant to be at school that day. That same week I was at home resting from overdoing it when the neighbours dog broke came onto our property and attacked our dogs. She almost killed our puppy girl but I once again overdid it and got to her. She ended up with a 2 and a half thousand dollar vet Bill but living. Everyone agreed that if nobody was home to stop it (which I wouldn’t of been) she would have died. 

These things I remind myself of, not to be a big headed egomaniac, but to tell myself, to stop being a dick. These are reasons why you were meant to be hurt. If you weren’t hurt, you wouldn’t of been where they needed you to be. 

I was able to met people I would of otherwise never met who helped me grow. I was able to be there to support my two best friends through their miscarraiges, when I would otherwise be overseas. I was able to farewell people who were important to me when they were at the end, and I was even able to fall in love, but thats another story. all of thus was only possible because an injury kept me home to experience it all.

Little things like that, that you make big things, help keep the depression at bay. And the ideals, though sceptical and illogical too many,  are helping me keep going and find new dreams and goals. I tell myself that fate must have other plans for me so I better get my ass into gear and go find them. I throw myself into anything and everything, keeping an eye out for the doors that open and wether or not I feel like this could be my calling. 

My point is, my belief in fate, karma and that everything happens for a reason, helps me to make peace with hardships and struggles. It helps me slowly turn those negatives into positives and push myself to my potential. Yes it’s a struggle and my mental health is another barrier, but I fully believe and trust these ideals, because really what have I got to lose otherwise. There’s no harm in it and it makes me that little bit more content and happier believing that there is something more out there and all I have to do is follow my intuotion to find it. And when I finally do, it will be worth the Rocky and at times outright dangerous path to get there.

What do you  make of that?

Moeaere ✌🏼