During the last weeks and especially after that certain event when I got my hair cut, my therapist and I have been working with a part of me I obviously have lost when I was still very young. I have never had trust in this method, you know, and always questioned the use in dealing with younger selves. I wanted to regard them as gone forever, even dead, because I thought it would hurt too much and bring too much back if they were not. But, as you know when you’ve been following me for longer, there already are certain child-parts of me active in my life, like that little boy who still needs diapers and his pacifier. I found out that living out that aspect of myself has made it easier to cope with it. The pressure has vanished, and sometimes when I feel the urge to be little, I just give in and allow myself to be a child again.
Now, I have made contact with a part of myself who is about 6-7 years old, a shy, deranged boy who can’t speak propperly (he stutters) and is very frightened about anything. He doesn’t really speak to anyone and shys away from people, especially from men, which is a bit tricky, because I am a man, I live together with a man, my therapist is a man, and even my best friend is a man. He fears almost any movement and one of his gestures is to put his hand to his head as if he wants to prevent someone from hitting him. Am I surprised? Not at all. Besides all other tortures, my father used to hit me on the head, like very often and very brutal. I have suffered several traumas in my head region, ranging from concussions to a broken jaw and several injuries in my ear region. As a result, on the right ear I can’t hear porperly. I’m not really hearing-impaired, but I’m not able to hear very high tones. Of course hearing and the ability to speak properly are connected, so I’m not surprised that this boy is stuttering.
When he was suddenly there, he brought a lot of memories with him I wanted to forget. Or to be honest: I had forgotten. My therapist says that that’s quite normal. I have seperated this part of me from my conscious memories and locked it up somewhere deep inside myself. To be honest, I wish he had stayed there, but my therapist and even John keep telling me it’s good that he’s back with me. Since he’s with me, I suffer from nightmares, and when I wake up, I’m spacy and panicking. Ugh. My therpist has encouraged me to find out what this boy might need, and I went to buy him a helmet. I thought that was stupid, but obviously he likes it.
At the moment, I don’t know how to cope with the pictures and memories he has brought with him. I see myself at that very young age, trying to be a good boy and know what my father wants before even he knows. I remember his dirty fingers anywhere, his brutality, then again his tender movements to make me cum, still dry. I remember that feeling of getting a stiffy, of being ashamed but liking it anyway, of wanting to die or to run away. My lame attempts to hide from him, my discomposure when he made bottles and hangers break on my body, and my decision to never feel anything again and to vanish. It makes me so sad to see and even worse feel this boy again, standing alone between shards and broken bones with nowhere to go. I try to tell myself that he is me, but I have difficulties in really feeling him. I’m afraid it might be too much if I’d allow that to happen, but on the other hand I know I now have a place to bring him to: right into my arms or maybe into John’s.
In these moments I feel that hatred again. I hate myself, I hate that scum who did that to me. It will never end. I even hate that.