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Misty Misty MorningSigned on: Wed 27 Dec 2006 00:15:48 EST
Misty, Misty Morning 
Enfolds me in its mist, 
To help me with my “Mourning” 
Of my childhood missed 
Of false love and ugly scars 
Handed down through  
The quilts and threads like bars. 
Of a fathers brutal hands 
Life was like a “rubber band” 
Not soft gentle fatherly hands 
Time and feelings I’ve had to repress 
I now know 
I’ve stood the test 
To explore the terror enough 
Inflicted upon me at such a tender age 
I have now found the strength 
To uncover and unleash my hidden rage 
I now feel worthy of 
‘Letting my love in’ 
And strong enough to cut the threads… 
Those that have bound me 
I have now found the  
Keys To the Times of My Passage 
Misty, Misty, Mornings 
Now surround my heart 
And the two shall never part! 
Gail O’Keeffe © 2006 
GailSigned on: Wed 27 Dec 2006 00:12:32 EST
October 2001 at the age of thirty seven, the truth rose up and hit me with such force that I felt my heart split open and shatter into a million pieces. My soul felt fragmented and at the same time, I was consciously aware of my life and my surroundings. This feeling was extremely frightening and terror filled. I literally felt like someone had picked me up and put me on another planet! 
There was chaotic noise that I was hearing in my head, a searing pain in my heart, along with the impression in my mind of my father naked and fondling me. I remembered that I had been sexually abused and could no longer repress the memory and the heat from the searing pain that had ravaged my life. 
The thoughts, millions of them, all at the same time - Oh my God, where have I been? Who am I? My body feels foreign. But I loved my Dad. How could this happen? No, I must be making it up! I feel so dirty. What if he finds out I remember? Why didn’t someone help me? Who is going to believe me after all this time? I was drowning in a turbulent sea of painful reality and questions. 
The assault on my senses was unbearable and the pain in my heart made me feel faint and nauseated. I was shaking uncontrollably with shock, as the tears streamed down my face and the pain clawed at my heart, like nails down a blackboard. 
I then uttered the words, “I have been sexually abused by my Dad.” As I spoke the truth out loud to the workshop leader, who was comforting me, the pain was unbearable.  
My world and life was changed forever. 
Finally, my life started to make some sort of sense. I had been battling depression on and off for over twenty years. I always had a sense that something was horribly wrong, but could never identify what it was. I had also begun drinking heavily in my early teens. I now know it was to mask the shame and pain of sexual abuse. 
The following months were filled with bone wracking grief, terror, seething anger and plotting ways of seeking revenge, as more memories continued to surface. I realised my initial memory of incest was only the tip of the iceberg, with many more memories surfacing out of the cesspool of incest, rape, child prostitution and sexual abuse that stole my childhood. 
My soul ached for the pain to end and to feel whole.  
I commenced searching for ways to deal with; the emotional fallout that now littered my life; seeking answers to why I had only now remembered; finding ways of coping with the flashbacks; the effect this has had on my life; keeping myself afloat while caring for two small children and being a wife; to heal from the trauma; be rid of the sick feeling in the pit of my gut that I would wake up with each day; to find peace within myself; to find answers to the why’s and the truth in the lies of my childhood. 
So, I began my healing journey. 
After continually feeling disenchanted and disappointed with the quality of a range of therapeutic interventions, attending countless workshops and after reading more than my share of self-help books, I became increasingly aware that there was no real healing taking place within. I still felt broken and defective, and I was still seething inside. 
Once I made the decision to learn how to heal from the inside out, good things began to happen. I learnt empowering tools and techniques to access my inner heart and truth.  
My healing journey had begun. 
That was 5 years ago! I am a different person now!  
I no longer suffer depression, drink excessively or feel broken and defective. I now feel a deep sense of peace and purpose, living with my gifts from God: two beautiful children, and a loving husband of 19 years.  
My full story of my healing journey is going to be released in a book. 
Thank you for spending this time with me, as I share from my heart.  
My intention is that you also find healing, peace and purpose. 
Heart hugs, 
ChrysalisSigned on: Sat 07 Aug 2010 23:07:33 EST
I grew up in a family… 
I grew up in a family… 
where love was measured by  
how much you could take,  
how much you could stand,  
how much you could lie, 
how much you could hurt. 
I grew up in a home… 
where no one told the truth, 
except when it could be used to  
taunt you, 
demean you. 
expose you, 
frighten you. 
I grew up in a house… 
where protection was given,  
but only on special occasions like 
the days you made a deal, 
the days you denied what was true, 
the days you didn’t fight back, 
the days you agreed to hate. 
I grew up in a nightmare… 
where sleep was a safety valve, 
except for the times when  
you were to blame that she was angry, 
you were the reason they had to drink, 
you were at fault whenever they fought, 
you were alive when he came home. 
I grew up in a war zone… 
where there were no such things as allied forces, 
unless, of course, you had something to trade like  
your security, 
your loyalty, 
your voice, 
your innocence. 
I grew up in a war… 
And like in any other war, there were casualties. 
There were casualties, injuries, missing parts, destruction. 
Growing up in a war, living in war zone, surrounded by the enemy, with no way out. 
Today, the war continues but with one significant difference…. 
I am now my own enemy. 
Christine SandorSigned on: Sat 09 Dec 2006 15:02:04 EST
I Invite all survivors, family of survivors and therapists to read my book "Warming the Stone Children" and visit my web site. My story is about the healing process from Mother-Daughter Sexual abuse. I am a survivor, a therapist and know the journey from the darkness to light.  
IN Love and Light, many Blessings 
Bob ShankSigned on: Wed 06 Sep 2006 19:34:25 EST
Read The Book.........  
Alone she sat upon a bench, her chest heaving with a multitude of sobs, her tear stained face in her hands prevented her from seeing the man who sat beside her. "My child, why do you cry" She told him to leave her alone, that he wouldn't understand. He pulled from his pocket a shiny book, and said, "please read the book, it will make all your tears and heartache disappear" She took the book and opened it, she saw children with inflated stomachs filled with air from starvation, she saw deformed children being born everywhere. She quickly turned the page and saw people dying with cancer and aids, saw soldiers returning from war with no limbs. Quickly she turned to another page where she saw gardens of majestic beauty, families eating and playing together, a newborn suckling upon his mothers breast, she lingered on these pages for some time before she went on. The next page she saw people relating to each other, sharing emotion, thoughts and feelings, hugging and nodding in agreement. Feeling a lot better, she turned to the last page and saw the mans picture, there was a halo above his head, and she asked, what is the name of the book and are you GOD?, "no" he replied, I am your inner soul and the book is just simply, POETRY!........ Copyright © Bob C Shank  
broken spokeSigned on: Sun 03 Sep 2006 02:47:18 EST
A word to the wise .. 
Deep down in pastures gone ,  
innocence lives but betrayed. 
Seek out the child within , its still there, just covetted with sin. 
damaged but not broke ,injured but within hope... 
fear is a half live those that have this fear done... 
experandum carberundum [ don't let the bastards grind you down ]
phoenixxSigned on: Fri 16 Jun 2006 02:22:09 EST
i wrote this in 2002 
The Legacy 
Our parents give us building blocks of pain, betrayal, shame.  
We gather them ,collect them all, pretending it's a game 
For they are God, in our child mind, and truth is all they speak 
So we are stupid, ugly, dumb, useless, worthless, weak. 
Their truths we use to make more blocks, and from them build a wall 
So hurt and shamed, we need to hide, and so we build it tall 
And with these truths are planted seeds, behind the wall they grow 
On pain and shame and hurt they feed- no sunlight do they know. 
So the child builds high, a tower tall- no gap, no crack, no door. 
No light, no love may enter here, no feelings any more. 
Just echoes, ghosts and emptiness, a hollow place of pain. 
With weeds so tall and dark and rank, from years of tears as rain.  
Tho some build rooms, a door to each- to enter and explore. 
To feel the pain, the hurt, the need, then close the door once more. 
Yet from these rooms a magic springs, of words so wond'rous fair.  
Of love and hate and tenderness, of joy and of despair. 
And some there are, who build their wall, and tend the weeds inside. 
They nurture hate, and pain, and fear-"God's" truths alone, abide. 
Imprisoned, bitter, angry , hurt, all unaware what grows. 
Until the day the walls won't hold- though death, their legacy, knows. 
Rainbow HopesSigned on: Wed 07 Jun 2006 14:13:34 EST
*The H*ll of His Moods* 
So many things happened. 
I was just a litle girl, 
I deserved a good mommy and daddy. 
Not the h*ll, 
That I had to live in. 
Day in and day out, 
What will daddy's mood be today? 
Cold silences, 
Heated rage, 
And under the cover of darkness, 
When it was safe for him, 
Torment for me, 
He could be "loving". 
I hate him, 
For all that he has taken from me. 
----June 2001
slight obsessionSigned on: Fri 19 May 2006 11:29:07 EST
Look into my eyes 
See the light I think has faded. 
Tell me you can see that I'm not dead. 
I feel like I have lost something, 
A pureness, a drive that I possessed. 
Once so eager to help the world... 
Now I keep all that for myself. 
So greedy with my feelings, 
It's hard to ask for help. 
The selfless thing, the sensible 
Would be to show my fear, 
Hold tight and beg for help 
Beg for someone to save me. 
But I hold it close. 
Jealously I guard my pain,  
Anxious to remind myself I feel. 
My jaw locks 
My feet fidget 
My eyes grow steely and dead. 
I'm locked inside my head. 
Everything I used to love. 
Dead to me. 
Crawling through the motions, 
Desperate to rip apart my flesh 
Exposing myself, lay myself bare 
But I can't. 
Exposed I am vulnerable 
And I've been vulnerable before. 
My light was taken, 
Extinguished with tears and spit and worse. 
I lapped up poison, salty and thick 
And it's made me heart sick. 
A year and a half on, 
When I thought I'd moved on 
I find myself bitter 
Stretched so far I'm brittle. 
One wrong move and I will snap. 
KimberlySigned on: Sun 16 Apr 2006 15:55:19 EST
One of my first memories are of sexual abuse, it seems thats all my memories consist of. When I was 3 my grandmothers husband sexual abused me, thankful he was caught and even though I was so young I can still see what happened. I was a survivor of that. In first grade my mother's husband started sexually abusing me, this went on till I was in the 6th grade. This is the one I struggle with the most because it was so serious. When I was 8 my cousin started to abuse me also, I still have to face him to this day and I'm almost 19. The most hardest thing to admitt is my brother would sometimes abuse me. More than anything I feel ashamed to talk about it, I feel like I'm whining or no one will believe me. I hate looking in the mirror all I see is an ugly distorted picture, I just wish I could see why everyone says I'm beautiful. The abuse has effected me in so many ways with relationships, I couldn't say no to guys even if I wanted to. My self esteem is so low and some days I just feel numb like I'm not even here. Im engaged now and still have not told my fiance about this, I don't want him to think of me any different but I do want to tell him because it effects my moods in many ways and he doesnt understand why I am the way I am somedays. I'm almost 7 months pregnant with my baby girl, I'm terrifed someone will hurt her like I've been hurt. How do you deal with controlling your thoughts about other people around your children when you've experinced so much?? For so long I've wanted to tell people, I feel like maybe that's why it happened to me, so I can tell other survivors. This is enough for now, it's a start for me. It's just one day at a time now. We all can survive and live life!!
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