I had nightmares all night long last night. I started dreaming about Pennywise The Dancing Clown
from Stephen King's It
. I hate clowns, I've always hated them. Especially this
one. You know the kind of nightmares you have as a child, the ones where you wake up in the dark and you just KNOW someone's in your room with you? Yeah. That's what I was having. Stems from something in my past that I guess I cannot shake no matter what I do. That's what I always end up with. I wrote about this on my private journal that no one gets to see or will
ever see, but I decided that I wanted to post part of that here:
There are monsters, real ones. Sometimes they are in your own family and everyone trusts them. What reason is there not to? They're polite and don't say much, they tend to be quiet and seemingly harmless, incapable of doing anything wrong or evil. But the truth is that sometimes they will wait until you're not looking and ruin a child, leave them bloodied and wounded, and so ashamed and dirty that no one ever knows about it unless they choose to. They sit and wait patiently, just observing everything and everyone, nice as can be, waiting on that one chance.
My nightmares about my childhood always come to me as something else at first, but then it's always the same thing. And it never goes away for longer than a few months at a time.
I've learned something, though. I've learned to absolve myself of any wrongdoing where that monster is concerned. I was just a little boy and there was nothing I could have done to protect myself. It seemed like forever that I blamed myself for things I had absolutely no say in, no control over, no recovery from. The way I figure it is I will live as best I can to make myself happy and those around me happy and aware that they're loved and that I'd go to any lengths to protect them. It's the only thing I can do to try and calm that little boy that still lives inside me, hiding from everyone - even me - and so filled with rage that it would rip me wide open if I let it.
Many years ago I was ruined as a child. It was all taken away from me, everything good, everything pure, everything innocent. I paid for it in blood and scars. I think this is the first time I've ever really talked about this on Livejournal. I have never told anyone what really happened, although I've told Damien and Maggie more than I've ever told anyone. I'm not giving up the details about it, I don't think I have the stomach to do that. I've written it out in pieces and here and there I think I'm together enough to work on that. It feels good after I write it, because it means I get a little of the anger out and the pressure on me is lessened. Or so it seems for that time. There is always more, but at least in little glimpses here and there I get to feel a little bit of time without it.
There things I will never get over, though. I'll never NOT feel like I'm made of dirt inside. When I was little I used to take multiple showers a day, long ones, and scrub myself until I was raw - trying to get clean - but you cannot clean what is inside. They still haven't invented what would get you clean there. For a time, I thought that drugs would, but that was just more trouble than it was worth and only served to make a very complicated situation more complicated. I'll never forgive, either. Not just the monster, but anyone who knew what happened and did nothing to bring him down. He lived a full life to old age and died in a comfortable bed, and with him died any hope I ever had to reconcile this all with myself, let alone anyone else. I still to this very day cannot accept that, even though there is no other choice.
I'm fine now, as much as can be expected anyway. I'm not crying, I'm not hurting, I'm kind of numb - which I prefer, comparatively. I wrote this and made it public because I think it might serve to help anyone who reads it to understand me a little better. It might even help someone else to feel less alone in the world. I am not allowing commentary here, though. I don't want to hear anyone tell me how sorry they are or how much they love me. Don't tell someone you love them, SHOW them you love them. I'm also avoiding the inevitable "I know how you feel, because when I was younger I had ____ happen to me and ..."
That happened to me once and it got really ugly. The part of me I try hard not to give into did all my talking for me and ripped apart the person whose intentions I'm sure were good but wholly inappropriate for the situation. My pain is my own and I am the one that has to own it, okay? Comparing me to something else only serves to bring out the worst in me and that isn't good for anyone.
So. All of this having been said, I know who my friends are and I already know that if I ever needed to talk to someone about this sort of thing I have several people I could go to. And if I ever decide to do that, it will be MY choice and no one else's. Don't speak to me about this stuff, don't even bring it up in conversation with me. I've learned over time how to run from people that pull and/or push on me. Ask anyone in my family about that, they should know better than anyone.
Today I'm going to have some down time by myself in the afternoon, and if the weather cooperates I'm going to go biking. I feel better now that I've had coffee and am sufficiently awake, and am about to shower and shave and read for a while. Nathan has the kids, Maggie is out of town. Just me and the pups today. Not quite a day off, there is still a lot to do around here, but I'll take it! Now - off to be productive...