Justice

In the past few months I’ve been thinking about justice regarding what my father did to me. Whenever we confront traumatic situations during therapeutic sessions, I tend to ask myself whether I have gotten equity. I don’t think so. First of all, in my opinion it was just gutless that my father ended his own life to avoid prosecution. I thought I knew him very well and I would have never guessed he would do so. When my brother found me on the street and told me what had happened, I just felt nothing. I could not believe it. And I did not want to believe it. I think, after all, I had still wished for him to be punished in some way, and his suicide seemed ways to easy and painless. I am not a bad person. I don’t like people getting harmed, but in his case, each and every single form of torture would have been okay for me, as long as it really would have hurt him. When I was in the mental hospital, they told me I should strive to forgive him in order to make it easier for me. I have tried. I really did. But I found that I don’t even want to forgive him. He hasn’t done anything to earn forgiveness. He was just a bad person, rotten to the core, and even if I don’t believe in hell or purgatory, I hope he’s in a place of eternal torture and pain. Not to clean his soul. I don’t care about his soul. Just to suffer. Does that make me a bad person?

After all these years, it still makes me angry to look at my body and see the marks he left. I’m not fond of the scars I left on my own skin, either, but each one he left tells a story of being used like

Yeah, like what? I was not cheap, I was for free. He kept better look after any of his possessions. I was just a free whore, a punching ball, a toy. Who would I be today if he had been a father to me? If he had loved me? If he had kept himself from doing what he did? I don’t have the slightest idea. I guess I would not be almost autistic in so many concerns, I probably would have a normal job and so on. My therapist keeps telling me mourning what I do not have does not make sense, but I tell you, it makes. It helps understanding that how I see and rate the world is just connected to what my father did. How I see the world is just a mirror of what he did.

Sadly, I believe in everything he told me. There was no time when I was told I’m a good person, a beloved son. I grew up believing I’m his whore and that I deserve and want it. Even worse, I wanted it at some point. It was familiar, his body over and in mine, haunting me, using me. I know I’ve fled to places inside myself and I wished for it to end, and because I knew he would not stop until he’s finished, I hoped for my life to end and tried to hold my breath long enough to die. I came back when climaxing, because I did, even as a kid. He knew how to touch me and yes, I liked it. My therapist keeps telling me I did not like it, I just came to think I liked it. But I know he’s wrong. I really liked it. Coming somehow was my reward for all the pain, and the more it hurt, the harder I came. The worst thing though was when he gave me BJs, because I always feared he would bite it off, because I don’t deserve to have it and because he might decide I’ve had enough fun.

There have not only been violence and pain. My father inflicted sweet feelings on me. Yes, he did. He could be very tender and because he knew me so well, he knew how to arouse me. I guess in 30% of all cases, I slept with him because I wanted to, because I was horny, because what he did felt so forbidden and therefore so well. Believe me, my therapist is wrong. I was not only forced.

I feel guilty because of it all. I feel guilty for keeping certain photos and videos and watching them sometimes. I feel guilty for who I am and what I want, especially for what I crave from John. He’s ok with it all, it’s me who struggles. “Don’t blame yourself”, he keeps telling me, “you just need it”. Oh, I do. I wonder how I would feel without that guilt? Would I be able to enjoy myself, without having to hate myself? Sometimes I think I just want to mess it all up, you know, like interchanging normality and perversity, just to be able to tell myself that it’s ok to do what I did. Regarding myself as guilty puts so much pressure upon me and being told that I did not like it and just thought I would by my therapist is not true. I wanted it. I enjoyed it. To be honest, I love John most when he is sweet and violent to me, just like my father was. Nothing gets me going like that, but even worse, nothing makes me feel so secure than that! It’s the equivalent of being tied down. Violence makes me feel myself, my body, my soul.

I wish he had not done what he did. I wish I had not felt what I felt. I wish these dreams of us would not make me cum sometimes. Seeing my cum on the sheets makes me the kid again, torn between guilt and lust. Hurt me, so that I feel lust, then hurt me again, because I felt lust. There is no justice in that…

It’s so much easier to talk about it in English.

3 thoughts on “Justice

  1. mondfeuer says:

    Hey,

    Talking about what happend in english makes a bit of seperation from it and gives you the distance you need to handle it. At least for myself it is this way.

    I don´t know what to say. I just understand so much of what you write.
    My childhood and youth was not in that way unbearable, as i told you before but it makes similiar things with my mind…..therefore i know about what you speak and be unable to respond something helpful, useful…anyway….

    I understand your therapist in his way of view, but this is not the only way of seeing things right. Your point of view is also, maybe much mre, right and makes it a bit more bearable for you.

    You are so strong in my eyes. I know, you dont see it that way. Me neither about myself. But, i don´t know you outside your blog, but i think you are on a really good way to find your own way of dealing with that.

  2. mondfeuer says:

    Post Scriptum:

    No, it doesn´t make you a bad person to wish he might be in a place of eternal pain and tortoure, it makes you a human with feelings, anger and deep reaching wounds, scars and hurts.

    My mother and my stepdad and also the men who abused me, for all of them i wish the same.
    I don´t want to forgive them, i want that they get consciousness about what they did to me, what pain they forced in me and what a mess of person they leaved.

    When everything i write might offend you, please tell me and i will stop writing comments under your blogposts.
    But sometimes i want to say you, that the way you think, feel and behave and also treat yourself is naturaly after such a childhood and youth.

    My therapist, instead of yours tells me, mourning about what happend is a good and needed way to deal with it, to feel it, to get in touch with yourself and get awareness of what happend, what is left, where you can build up ressources and what you really need. Regardless what a therapist and modern psychology might say. You are your nearest person, your intuition and soul will guide you the way, you are in a way your own healer and when you feel that a certain way is a helpful remedy to deal with your issues, makes it less hurt and makes you feel a bit better, then, from my point of view, it is a good way.

    Sorry for my silly grammar….i´m very tired and have go to bed, but wanted to leave a few words here for you.

    I hope you will get a weekend in your favor with all that you need and want.

    • Blaubeermann says:

      Hiya Mondfeuer,

      I highly appreciate your comments. The exchange with others who suffer from mental illness and have experienced abuse is very helpful for me (but nonetheless I completely fail in group therapy or self-help groups because I get triggered quite easy). So please, keep commenting🙂

      Talking about it all in German is very hard for me. I think I sound silly in my native tongue, and I tend to trivialise what has happened. And moreover, it makes things to ugly and true, you know. Talking about it in English somehow disguises how bad it really was and sometimes is.

      I have really big issues with the fact that I as a victim am bound to redo what my father did to me. I guess it’s no surprise I have a relationship like I have. My therapist thinks this was predictable and is situated somewhere between self-harm and unreflected behaviour. Well then… I’m able to reflect on it, yet I’m not able to change it, because I feel I need and want it. But of course I know that abuse during childhood changes the physical brain and the insubstantial mind massively.

      Your kind words about me being my own healer have really moved me. Bless your heart, Mondfeuer.
      Sometimes I think it was no wonder I have turned to a more spiritual life. I’m quite good in lingering inside myself and talking to entities who might or might not be there. I’m still not convinced about the reality of what happens during shamanic journeys or the things Lord Shiva tells me, but they make me feel better and in control, somehow, so I keep up with it.

      Wishing you a lovely weekend!

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