I recently began a healing of my
spirit from childhood physical mental, physical, and sexual abuse. This particular
event is something that I believe killed my spirit in such an unbelievably profound
way. It has taken me all of my life to even TRY to tap into my feelings
surrounding what happened on this day. There is no processing the death of your
inner child unless and until you are truly ready. I fight for myself and my
inner child. I hid myself in the shattered pieces of her spirit for years. How
can I not now heal her heart?
My God. This journey of healing that
I’ve begun. Had I known the sheer anguish and heartbreak surrounding this
particular memory would suffocate and engulf my spirit in complete and utter
devastation, I’m not sure that I would have started this process.
I could be wrong, but I feel like
when you’ve been abused, there’s that one thing/event that’s happened to you
that will always haunt you. For me, this is that event. The thing that broke
the camel’ back. I’ll need to tell this story in two parts in order to connect the
dots. When I was 2 years old, my mom was involved with a secretly cruel man. Everything
he did was done in the dark. I have a remarkable long-term memory. I even have
memories before the age of 1 that I can pull up at the drop of a dime. I amazed
my mother with the things I remembered. I don’t remember my mom being around
when her significant other chose to inflict his abuse on me. I remember being
afraid of this man she was seeing, and I when he entered into the picture, I
began wetting the bed again. Looking back as an adult, I find that odd because
I was potty- trained before the age of one. This was such a huge red flag! A
red flag that was missed. Anyway. When I would wet the bed, his punishment for this
‘crime’ would be that he would rub my nose in my pee, and smack my nose with a
newspaper like I was a puppy being house-broken. I can still see his evil eyes
fixed on me. His teeth clinched. My face stinging; I sometimes would bow my
head in shame and humiliation as the memory takes hold of my frightened inner
child. The apartment we lived in was a shithole full of rodents and roaches,
and that only added to my fears of living there.
Fast forward. I remember we moved
into a nice home, and I was thinking that since the home was pretty, that this
man would be nicer, and that his abuse would stop. There’s nothing more pure and beautiful than a child’ mentality. My heart sinks as I think of how wrong
I was. The hope my inner child must have been feeling. To have that hope slowly
crushed, yet again. Not only did he not stop, but he stepped up his abuse. I
had a younger sibling, and he was also now in the path of his wrath. My younger
sibling mercifully has almost no memories of his childhood. I can’t and won’t
speak for him. I can only tell my side of the story. This abuser was good at
not leaving physical marks. The scars he left were left in my spirit. On my
mind. Across my heart. The ongoing mind fuck this man caused. It’s the cause of
some sleepless nights, and many, many instances of me asking God why He would
allow this “Christian” man to destroy my soul before I even knew what a soul
was. Why would He allow that if children were supposed to be so blessed,
special, and protected? Where was MY protection from this monster of His making?
He placed a demon in a place where I should have felt safe. I had to re-think
all of this after some healing. The truth of the matter is that God didn’t place
the monster in my presence. Had my mother healed herself from her past traumas,
she never would have chosen this man to be in her life. She would have seen him
for the nothing that he was. As harsh as that sounds, that’s the truth of the
matter. My mother placed this demon in my life. Damn. I loved her with all my
heart, and she never abused us. Ever. But when parents don’t heal their mental
health issues, and they constantly live in survival mode; they miss so many
signals. They’re with you, but not really. Things are missed.
When I was about 5-6, we got our
first puppy. We were so excited! I remember rolling on the floor in a flurry of
joy. We were in love! Inevitably, the puppy wet the floor. He had his nose
rubbed in the pee, and had his nose and face smacked with newspaper. My mind
immediately flashed back to when I received the same punishment for the same “crime”.
In that moment, I ceased to exist as a human, my inner child was slaughtered
that day. She died a quiet death in front of witnesses who had no idea that the
little girl with the frozen smile they were looking at would never be seen
again. Had she not had the ‘gift’ of an infallible memory, this would’ve been a
joyful day of getting her first puppy, and not the spiritual annihilation of the
innocence she was desperately trying to hold onto. She let go in this moment of
death. She idolized Tina Turner, and she dared to dream of her name in lights
right next to Miss Turner. No need to ask for singing for dancing lessons. She
knew puppies couldn’t sing or dance. She stopped fighting with the man involved
with her mother, and also with the male who was sexually abusing her. She
wasn’t human anymore, so it didn’t matter. She stopped trying to be the good
girl she felt that she was in her heart. She lost her humanity, dignity,
beauty, and her place in the world. She laid down everything in that moment.
She accepted her role as the non-descript, nothing of a family pet that she
was. My God.
People told me all of my life that
they thought I was pretty, beautiful, etc., but I never felt that I was. Well,
I did up until the puppy incident. The puppy thing explains and opens my eyes
to why I’ve had so many issues with my self-esteem, and where those issues
probably started. Even as a small child before this incident, I thought very
highly of myself. I remember when I was in kindergarten, my mom went to the
bowels of hell (in my 5 year old eyes) and pulled out this butt-ugly dress for
me to wear. I looked it up and down and said ‘Mom! I can’t wear that dress!’
She asked me why, and I said ‘because it doesn’t become me’. Five years old,
and a WHOLE mess! But for me to have that high of an opinion of myself before
the puppy incident to having zero self-esteem afterwards, I’m putting money on
the puppy thing fracturing my self-esteem. It was at this time that I / she
started gaining weight, starting fires, and acting out in belligerent, violent,
and somewhat homicidal behaviors. That’s another post.
I’ve been so torn on how to heal my
inner child. The hole in my heart in her lifeline, so our connection is indeed
eternal. She cries out to me daily. She died a private, unacknowledged death,
and I left her. I abandoned her. Left her broken while I hid myself in between
her shattered pieces. She took every hit. Every torture. Every fondle, and
every fuck. I left my fallen soldier on a battle field she was never equipped
to survive. Jesus. Wow. The guilt I feel now when I think of the times I
quieted her/buried her/said it was ok for the take her rest. After all she had
‘survived’ through. All the hits she had taken for me. Each hit, equal to a
spiritual death. Walking away and laying her to rest felt like the ultimate
betrayal. Me, of all people! I should never be the one to silence her voice,
and literally be the one to put the nail in her coffin. She screams my name.
She still begs me not to disregard or dismiss her memory. She used to be dead
to me. How could I feel any connection with her when I never allowed myself to
even connect with my own feelings? The more I’ve healed, the more I
hear, feel, and sense the existence of my hurting inner child. She lives,
breathes, and screams out to me. I acknowledge and feel such a beautiful
connection with her spirit. I love her, and I honor her strong spirit. She came
into this world as a giggly child who didn’t even cry when she was hungry, or
even when her diaper was wet. She was the baby dreams were made of. I watched
this child morph and change as abuse slithered into her life. Her spirit
weakened, and eventually caved under the weight of one death, after another,
and another. The incremental deaths that go hand-in-hand with abuse are the
silent soul killers most don’t recognize or see coming. Or the signs are
intentionally muted under the perverse glare of the wolf who claims to love
you.
Ok, so I can’t lay a soul to rest
who lives. Completely out of the question. My prayers tell me over and over the
only way to honor my inner child is to heal my heart so that I can finally heal
her heart. I’ve begun my healing, so she’d no longer on that battle field. I
hold her close to my heart. I speak love to her daily, and I thank her for her
dogged spirit. Without her grit, there would be no me. Who knew that she was
the stronger one of the 2 of us?
All the humanity and beauty she lost
on that day, I now return to her. The chains of brutality are no longer hers to
wear, nor to embrace as her own. Tears fill my eyes as I write these words, and
I know that I’m telling the story of so many inner children awaiting their own
rescues. I will visit the house of horrors one time only. You and I died so
many deaths on that property. Our physical wounds healed, but the psychological
mind fuck that lives rent-free in our mind continues. The hatred that bubbles
up when I think of all the things we both lost in this house. The list echoes
through my spirit like hollow, broken promises.
Healing is the ultimate Pandora’s Box.
Once you open it, you are a prisoner of change whether you want to be or not.
You follow this new path where it leads you. Opening this new box of healing
has ultimately led me to the realization that healing my inner child is just as
important (if not more important) than healing this new woman who now looks me in
the eye. My promise to my inner child is to heal all levels of the hidden, quiet
mess I’ve forced her to sit and ‘live’ with me. When we left that house of
horrors, we left as defective, defeated, and damaged souls. The next time I walk
away from that place, I won’t be holding the hand of a victim. I’ll be holding
the hand of my champion. My soldier. My lifeline, and my guardian angel. You’ll
hold my hand, and I’ll hold your heart. Let’s get outta here, Baby Girl…
© Antoinette Davis, September 12,
2022
