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I just wanted to be normal

Growing up I just wanted to be like other people, like anyone but me.

As a toddler I jumped into the lady’s car whose son my mum was babysitting because I wanted to go home to their place. It was better there.

I wanted to be like my cousins whose dad had a high paying job, who took them out places (other than the pub!) and who went to private schools.

I wanted to go to parties like my friends all did, I wanted to have a boyfriend like a normal person would and in my late teens I wanted to go to clubs like everyone else or go out with friends and have fun.

I wanted to escape my reality and I spent so many wasted hours doing that – through fantasy.

I found a man online who turned out to be a sex addict, the result of which got me into recovery and awoke me to my stuffed childhood sexual abuse.

I didn’t know what it was all about back then, I just wanted to get out and be like everybody else.

When I found my sex addict I lived a facade for 20 years. People thought I had it all together – that’s what I wanted, but all the pretending was wearing me down.

Then one day it all came crashing down and my true colours had nowhere else to go but to be on display.

All was not actually well and I had unravelled.

A life of pretending, holding in secrets and wishing I was someone and somewhere else was raw.

I was bitterly unhappy.

That was 9 years ago and now I am discovering who I am, learning to accept and love myself, going against the family system than conveniently uses me as a scapegoat and standing firm in my truth.

There is nobody better than me and I am enough. The journey’s in believing.

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Finding Yourself

Finding yourself is not really how it works.

You aren’t a ten dollar bill in last winter’s coat pocket. You are also not lost. Your true self is right there, buried under cultural conditioning, other people’s opinions, and inaccurate conclusions you drew as a kid that became your beliefs about who you are.

Finding yourself is actually returning to yourself… An unlearning, an excavation, a remembering of who you were before the world got it’s hands on you.

Source: Emily McDowell

Distorted Reality

Distorted reality – a very influential situation for me and has been all my life.

My parents distorted my reality by making me (the child) believe that my sexual abuse was made up. That was 1978 but the distortion began way before then, when I was lead to believe that the alcoholic didn’t have a drinking problem.

Slowly slowly they chipped away at the block (my mind) until I started to think something was wrong with me.  I thought I was like my schizophrenic grandmother, I had a mental illness and nobody told me otherwise.

I buried what happened to me because I had no way of processing it, no validation, no support and no love and acceptance. I was simply defective.

Move forward 15 years where I met a sex addict.  He told me all sorts of distortions and when I questioned them my thoughts were dismissed as unreasonable. I began to put to him that something was wrong with me and he didn’t argue with that.

Move forward another 15 years where I’m working in a workplace that hushes truth and rewards bad behaviour to pacify employees.

My head is spinning so fast, I don’t understand what is happening here – I question my reality time and time again as I do not believe in myself. Am I sane, why are they not listening to me, something must be wrong with me, why do they not address the problems here….

How do I right this in my mind to stop the spinning. Over and over again it goes until I am overwhelmed with exhaustion and confusion. It is easier to just play the game of distortion and all will be well.

But it won’t be “well”.  it is time to take a stand, to stand up to the manipulator who keeps me in my position using accolades, to stand up to the injustice and distortion by simply walking away and saying “no more”.

I am scared, worried, frightened and beating myself up emotionally – rewind 40 years.

R.C

Past Photographs

If I have a feeling I was photographed inappropriately as a child, how can I find out for certain? Where can I search for my photo? How do I do that and what websites do I look at?

I would say this exercise would be arduous plus severely triggering for me – but how else am I to prove for certain I was not only a photographer’s sexual object but an object for millions of child sexual predators?

Any input/experiences with this would be greatly appreciated.

New Years Eve – Another Drama?

Y’know what’s hard and has always been hard? Seeing everyone making plans for New Years Eve. Walking their dogs early, buying up big on food and alcohol, buying nice clothing to wear, their excitement, the crowds, the fireworks and the “Happy New Year” texts at midnight.

Growing up I was never really allowed out to celebrate with everyone else. Everyone was out partying and I was home with my parents listening to it all and feeling left out and alone.

As I got older sure I went out with people to parties or sat with friends but I was never really happy. It was never what it was cracked up to be. I was always miserable because in the back of my mind I was living with a problem, I was living with active sex addiction and it was hard. All I wanted was for it to stop and my life would be better (Step 1 in the 12 Steps to recovery).

For years I lived with emotional pain and suffering, living as mentally ill because I was treated as such and moulding myself into that label.

When living with active sex addiction in my life there was always some sort of drama, an incident which caused me pain and emotional suffering.

There is an enormous amount of New Years Eve baggage for me. I really don’t care for New Years Eve, I’d rather not be reminded of it and as much as I try to have a nice time now (active sex addiction is no longer in my life) I still feel sad, empty and lonely. I’d rather not celebrate it, I’d rather push it to the back of my mind and pretend it’s not there. I cannot wait for it to be over so I can move on with my life.

I can’t say I’ve met many people who feel this way on New Years Eve, perhaps it’s just me and I am truly alone here.

Repressed Anger

Is it really a bad thing that I express my repressed childhood anger towards other people who irritate me?

At least it’s coming out, right? 😀

Cup of Tea Anyone?

I changed the header on my Facebook page to show a picture of a little girl having a tea party with her toys.

I used to love having a tea party with my imaginary friends when I was young. I had a little plastic tea set and I used to put green cordial in it and serve it to my guests.

It’s a fitting picture, very pretty.

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