Im watching Nancy Grace and someone is testifying to witnessing the abuse of a toddler. The baby is locked up and put away, pushed down when trying to walk, hit over things he doesnt understand, and he doesnt cry because he is afraid to. Afraid to cry lest he gets punished even more severely. All he can do is turn away and let the tears well up in his eyes. He can save the real crying for when he is alone and that is most of the time.
That was me also. Dont ask me how I remember this, I dont know how. It comes back to me in bits and pieces and when it does, its as if Im reliving it all over again. I am not even always conscious of it at the time. I will just spiral down into a hopeless weeping little child, afraid of her own shadow. It usually is precipitated by something I see or hear. I guess you could say it is like post traumatic syndrome disorder.
I remember while in kindergarten and grades after, I had a paper doll that I would make happily and so carefreely skip across my desk top. After a few skips I would knock her down with my other hand with such force and with such sick joy, that I would reenact this over and over throughout the day. It interfered with my attention in class and the teacher would often yell at me. I felt the happiness in the skipping doll and in a split second I felt the pleasure in knocking any little bit of joy and security that poor little girl had right out of her. It confused me and I progressed into an adult even more confused, switching between wanting to be secure and happy to anger so deep and terrifying that it caused me to avoid anything that made me feel that way. It is probably why I couldnt deal with my son when he started to walk. I never felt anger or hate towards him and I never even touched him in frustration. I was too paralysed to. I just had to leave. I had no other acceptable coping skill.
This blogger has failed and I couldve lost everything I just typed so I will end it here, hopefully to continue this thread at a later time. Wish me luck. Here it goes.
