Tag Archives: Abuse

Nurturing Little Humans – Creating Healthy Adults

Say what you will about Facebook, it can serve as an enlightening peek into human opinions, I said, as a master of understatement.

A friend shared this picture a while ago. She commented that she’d prefer her children feel comfortable coming to her, so if they did something stupid like drink at a party, they would feel safe calling her for a ride rather than try to drive impaired. There will be consequences for drinking, but they made a mistake that can be fixed, rather than a potentially devastating, life-changing decision.

Child abuse 2

 

The first and fast response, from the father of a small girl, was one word – BULLSHIT!

His argument eventually boiled down to he is the boss, he is the authority, his child fears punishment, and his child obeys because she is afraid. He actually said, “I would rather be feared than loved.”

I suspect he will get his wish.

I am not a parent, I knew decades ago that it would not be good for a child or me. I like children, but motherhood was not a good idea, since mental illness is heavy in my family, and I didn’t want to hurt a child during either a manic or a depressive place. I wasn’t willing to take the risk. It is precisely because I like children that I chose to not have them. What my mother did was due to her illness, and a response to all of ours. Nothing that happened was due to malice on her part, it was a reaction to an illness that was not her fault, an attempt to turn a blind eye to how absolutely broken we were. She did not set out to be abusive.

This man, however, not only set out to be abusive, he bragged about it. “My child is afraid of me, as she should be. I would rather be feared than loved.”

Child abuse 1

 

I’ve had parents try to shut me down by saying, “you’re not a parent, you don’t know, you can’t have an opinion.”

If we’re talking about proper bedtimes, getting the child to eat some damn food – “What do you mean you want mac&cheese with no cheese, but still with orange color, OMG I’ll just melt an orange crayon on it then” – (that’s a direct quote, by the way,) the headaches my friends suffer, then no, I don’t understand, especially since I never see it because I’m auntie and I get perfect behavior. Sorry parents, that’s the way it is.

Child abuse 5

 

So with everyday struggles like that, I agree 100%. But if you belittle them, demean them, call them stupid, or hit them when you are angry, that’s very much my business. It’s everyone’s business. (I’m not entering into the debate about physical punishment as a concept, strictly of objective abuse.)

Now, a parent is absolutely going to screw up. My friends are good and wonderful, loving and intelligent parents, but sometimes that child decides he absolutely will not wear those red socks and forcing them to wear the red socks is the worst affront to a human person in the history of the world and if you don’t give me the yellow socks I swear to the old gods and the new that I will scream so loud your ears will bleed, and you will be late to your job, and now you have to feed me the food I will not eat! NO! Now I want to orange socks! (That quote is exaggerated for comedic effect, but only just.)

child abuse
A toddler is a toddler, no matter how long the nose.

 

In such a situation, the parent may overreact. We are all of us human.

The thing is, the little child is also human, and wants to be understood and has an ego and a need to be heard and can’t yet communicate what they want. They have bad days like we all do.

Child abuse 6

Overreacting is not necessarily the bad thing, as long as we’re not talking about actual abuse. Going back to that child and apologizing and then talking about it can help a hurt, possibly angry child feel validated and respected. It also sets a good example of human behavior, yes adults make mistakes, parents are not infallible, might is not right, and you have an absolute right to be human too.

No, I’m not a parent, so the regular day to day frustrations I can’t speak to. But this, I certainly can. We all can and should.

I don’t believe that anyone is irredeemable. The potentially abusive father there can absolutely find a better way, make amends, and become a better person.

He could decide to work with his child, to change his fear-based approach to parenting. He could do all of these things, and I would applaud him.

But for that little child, it could be too late.

Children look at the grownups around them for guidance, to learn how to be adults and what to expect from adults.

A little girl with an abusive father, she may grow up to believe that’s what she deserves, and there are plenty of men who will agree with her. She may internalize the lesson of fear he is bragging about, and take from that low self-worth, or respond with anger. At the very least, she will put in her heart the fear and pain from physical and emotional abuse. This is the place she should feel safe, and the first man in her life.

Little boys can learn might is right, and bully the children in school and later, their partners. They can also be filled with a heartsick pain that may not be addressed since they were most likely raised to believe that men should be strong and asking for help is weak. That’s toxic, and it’s how unhealthy men are made, and it’s how abuse is passed on. We all suffer, society suffers, and the man who believes he cannot ask for help is in pain. A little boy is no less worthy of protection, safety, and humanity than a little girl.

This father bragged about causing her pain and fear. He bragged about it on a public post.

These are about the biggest red flags that can fly. A parent who is comfortable enough to loudly and proudly proclaim this, I fear what goes on behind closed doors.

No, I’m not a parent, so I can’t comprehend the day to day frustrations and power plays and envelopes being pushed.

But I can watch out for them, I can look for red flags that are visible from space. I can speak out. We all can and should.

Children are not playthings, they are not going to obey commands or do anything to please you at all times or submit to your authority without question.

You’re thinking of a dog, and you shouldn’t have one of those either.

childabuse 4
“I don’t think so, buddy.”

 

Trolls and Censorship – or – My Rules, and Please Look Up the 1st Amendment

My first trolls have come a’calling.  A friend told me I should be proud because my message is getting out there enough to attract them. So, yaye I guess?

I have posted 15 times on Nightmares and Laughter’s Facebook page, topics including Mental Health Awareness Month, abuse, Close Encounters, regret, writing, etc.

I’m extremely open about my life, to a fault perhaps; I reveal a lot of personal information for the sake of an article. I knew at some point the trolls would shake the gummy worms off their fingers and start to mash their hands against their crumb-encrusted keyboards, and that was a day I was dreading.

So when I put together a quick post for Pride Month and wrote it to reflect the mission of Nightmares and Laughter, I figured it would be the one that would attract trolls.

I got an “Angry” reaction pretty quickly.  Then another.  It had begun.

troll 1
The Angry reactions don’t show on account of all the banning. Why don’t these people worry about their own damn lives?

This was inevitable, so I had already set up a policy for myself; I will not engage trolls.  Period.  Any ugly, irrational, or combative comments will be deleted.

Some shook their grimy fists, twisted their faces in righteous indignation, looked up righteous indignation, then accused me of stifling free speech and being filled with hate for other opinions, etc., the usual projection.  As badly as I wanted to explain for the billionth time what the 1st Amendment is and is not, who can stifle free speech and who cannot (please, I beg you, look it up) I kept to my own rules and did not engage.

trolls 2
This is a good start for learning and things. https://xkcd.com/1357/

The spittle-spewing rage though did make me think that it’s fair to explain why I’m doing this.

Here is the page description on FB:
“Nightmares and Laughter is a peek into my life living with bipolar disorder. It’s a place to laugh together at life’s joys and absurdities, an occasionally painful, unflinchingly honest look at the struggle through my lens, and support around issues of addiction, abuse, and mental illness.
I also write about goats because goats are hilarious.”

trolls 5
Can we take a moment to enjoy this?  Because look at him!

I thought that was pretty clear.  This is a place of support, which is why I include resources at the end of heavier articles.  (There are resources on this one.)

It’s a place of laughter because that’s important.

And it’s a place of community, whatever you happen to call yourself.

You are welcome here, regardless of your political views and religion, as long as you keep things civil.

It is not, and it never will be, a place for trolls to poke at my readers or me and take cheap shots.

I will not engage with trolls, I will not allow others to engage with trolls on my page, even if I agree with them, because that is not what Nightmares and Laughter is about.

Am I censoring them?  Yes. Yes, I am.

Am I stifling their right to free speech?

No.  I am not able to stifle their free speech.  Only the government can stifle their free speech.

trolls 4
 In the name of all that’s holy, look it up!

Look, the LGBT community suffers hatred and violence to the highest levels of government. Transsexuals are told which bathroom they must use, they are accused of being pedophiles, they are forbidden to serve their country, they are murdered, because of fear and hatred.

Teachers are fired, doctors refuse to treat their children – their children – because there are two loving mommies or daddies.  If you condone that, you do not belong here. There are appropriate groups on 4Chan for you to enjoy.

There is no “both sides” one some things, there is no compromise.  How do you think we’re going to “discuss” the right to take someone’s freedom and humanity?  Where do you think reasonable debate comes in?  I will not “discuss” putting children in cages either.  Some things are binary.

Given all of that, on a post about Pride Month, a snide and hateful comment can be dangerous. Not everyone lives in an LGBT accepting city like my San Francisco. Their religion may call them abominations, their families may have disowned them.  They see a post telling them they are worthy of life and happiness, and then someone with serious pathological issues comes in and says something hateful.  Maybe that’s the last straw, maybe someone breaks.

Maybe someone commits suicide.

I realize that the trolls do not care. I’m hoping to reach people in the middle who may think I’m being unreasonable and not allowing discussion.

I absolutely allow discussion.  I welcome it.  If someone doesn’t understand and comes into the comments on FB or this blog and engages honestly, I will too. That is also part of why I started this blog.

So, trolls have been banned, comments deleted. (A couple of those comments were hits at my City. Some people really need a hobby.)

My readers are important to me, my mission for Nightmares and Laughter is dear to me, and I will not let it be shit on by damaged people.

Sometimes I write when something horrible has happened, and those articles can be angry, but they are not partisan. Some things are beyond politics, or they should be. This is not a political site. It is not a provocative page meant to start flame wars.  This is a place of comfort or laughter or movies or goats, but most of what I post has some underlying connection to mental health and/or addiction; abuse and trolls will not be tolerated.

The bottom line here is, I welcome you with open arms, as long as you’re not an asshole.

Here are some resources in case anyone needs them.

 

PFLAG Support Hotlines

 The hotlines listed below provide services to callers across the country. If you’re looking for a local support network, also contact one of PFLAG’s more than 400 chapters in the United States.

https://pflag.org/hotlines

 

National Helpline

SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.

https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline

 

Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network

Free, confidential, 24/7 support.

https://www.rainn.org/

 

National Suicide Prevention Hotline

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

1-800-273-8255

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

 

 

Abuse and Memory – Finding Our Truth

My sister and I have a shared memory that one of us remembers absolutely wrong.

Bev is five years older than me, but we would still do things together growing up.  One of the things we loved to do was put a record on the console hi-fi, (ask your parents) play a song and sing into hairbrushes, because hairbrushes are microphones, naturally.  This would be to a song by The Beatles, or Journey, something we both liked.

I have a vivid memory of singing along to AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds,” a fairly graphic song released in 1976 about a killer for hire.  Our mom came in disgusted that they were glorifying murder like that.  Bev looked at her and said, “Three words, mom.  Mac. The. Knife.”  This is a fairly graphic song released in 1959 about a killer for hire. Realizing she had no comeback to this, she turned and left the room.

I told that story to a group of friends recently, Bev among them.  We all laughed because the opportunity to zing a parent like that is very rare and very funny.

But Bev frowned, “No, that’s not what happened.”

“We were in the car singing along to The Beatles, “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer,” on the radio.  Everything else is the same, mom said that, I said Mac the Knife, all that, but we were in the car, and it wasn’t Dirty Deeds.”

I was flummoxed.  “It absolutely was Dirty Deeds.  We were in the living room like we always were.”

Then Bev made a very excellent point.

“I hate AC/DC, that’s your thing.  I would never have sung along with them.”

I do a lot of research for my articles.  Sometimes it’s scholarly texts, sometimes it’s Facebook Messenger.

Memory 1Memory 2Memory 3Memory 4Memory 5

 

She is 100% correct, she does hate AC/DC, (on that point anyway, she is grievously wrong) so it is very unlikely my recall of this is accurate.  But the thing that bothers me is, even after she described what likely happened, even after the completely reasonable argument of why it could not have happened my way, I still see it how I always have – living room, hairbrushes, AC/DC.  One of us is simply wrong.

But neither of us is lying.

I am 100% certain that my version is right.  I can see it, I can hear the song, our painful adolescent attempts to copy Bonn Scott’s un-copy-able voice, I can see the hairbrush in front of my mouth reflected in the living room window.  I can see my mother pound into the room and angrily interrupt, and I can see Bev’s raised eyebrows and grin as she delivered the verbal body-blow that ended the argument.

I remember it exactly like that.

Except I am more than likely, 100% wrong.

It seems like a contradiction, but it’s really not.  I’m not lying when I say I see that scene play out exactly as I describe.

In preparing this article, I spent some time talking to my psychiatrist about the implications of memory fluidity. I had to come to peace with my own issues around this before I could try to offer any comfort to you.  But she has, as always, helped me work through it.

Because that’s really the thing, isn’t it?  That’s the easiest way to dismiss an accusation, to devalue an experience, especially if it happened long ago, in childhood, teenage years, is to simply say, memory is fluid, you have a vivid imagination, you saw a TV show and made it real in your head, etc. until no one believes it, and eventually, maybe you don’t even believe it.

Memory is fluid, eyewitness testimony is one of the least reliable, that is a fact.  But what does that mean for survivors?

Memory and doubt 12

I used the example with my sister because it’s funny, and I wanted to work into this a little gently.  But it is also apt.  I remember it exactly as I always have. I don’t remember being in a car.  I don’t remember Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.  I remember the living room, hairbrushes, and AC/DC.  I am likely completely wrong.

But, and this is important, I am wrong about the details, the where, when, what song, but I am right about the important part of the story.  A taboo song, a mother trying to shut it down, Bev winning the argument before it even started. We are in complete agreement about these details.

The actual, important event, is correctly remembered.

This is important to me because memory has played such a critical role in my “story” and even my identity.

I was abused by various people, including a brother, throughout my childhood.  I have no memory of not being angry, of not feeling rage and fear and blinding, white-hot hatred, for him.  I remember specific events.

I have identified as a survivor since my 20s.  When the book “The Courage to Heal” came out, it was a revelation.  I was validated, seen, and I was not alone.  I remember going to an all-day event and watching women much older than me walking from lecture to lecture carrying stuffed comfort animals.  I remember wishing I’d thought of it, and realized that I would not have had the courage to carry it in public if I had.  Allowing myself the self-care I needed was nearly two decades away.  But here I had a community, a large group of kindred spirits who had been victimized to one degree or another, all equally valid, all worthy of love and care.

I remember sitting alone at the lunch break and falling to pieces.  All of these women are here for each other.  All of these women are here for each other, because all of these women have been brutalized and broken, to some degree or another.  I felt hurt, wounded, exposed, and heartsick.

In the coming years I came to terms with my alcoholism, my depression, and finally landed the correct diagnosis of bipolar II, which became bipolar I a few years later.

But the abuse, that was first.  That was in the late ‘80s with the release of that one book, the first time I heard the term “survivor.”  And I am forever grateful to Ellen Bass for that.

When my father confronted my brother after I’d spent a horrible afternoon telling my parents what had happened, dad asked him why he did it.  Dad told me later that he hung his head and said, “I don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”  These are not the words of an innocent person.  The words of an innocent person are, “What are you talking about?  How dare you!  How dare you accuse me of something so horrific! So vile! How dare you!”

With that tacit confession, I should have no longer doubted what I recalled.

“I hate AC/DC.  It was in the car, not the living room.”

It’s not only a single detail being confused here.  It is the entire scenario.  Except for the “punch line,” every single thing I recall is wrong.

Memory and doubt 8
How would you describe this in 20 years?  Are there stairs leading to a doorway?  Chipped paint on the ceiling?  What color was it, what color was the sky?  But it took your breath away, that you won’t forget.

I have my memories, and more importantly, I have an admission of guilt and diaries and poems that go back to nine-years-old.  I have “source material,” if you will.

And even still, I had doubts sometimes.

What of the women who don’t have anything but their memories?  What of the women for whom this is a “he said/she said” situation?

What of the women who completely and utterly disassociated while it was happening, to the point that it’s a black nothing in their memory?  Don’t think that’s possible?  Here’s another story.

When I was 16, I bought my first vehicle, a yellow Toyota truck with a camper shell.  I took it out for a spin with several of my friends, laughing and having fun in the back of what was basically a playhouse for teenagers.

I was on a four-lane street with a large grassy median.

Here’s what I remember next.  A car swerved in front of me within inches of my fender.  I remember seeing the jackass in the back seat turn around laughing as I tried to keep control.  Next, I was on the median, the entire left side of my truck on the curb, my rims had bent and ripped my tires to shreds.  My friends were trying to open my door and get me out.  When I came to, when I started to get my higher functions back, my hands were so tightly gripped on the wheel that I could barely remove them, and I was aware very slowly of the shooting pain up my arms as I had apparently used them as shock absorbers during the crash.  My friends finally coaxed me to unlock the door.  I got out, lost control of my legs, fell to the ground, and just…shook.

My friends said I was amazing, I kept control of the truck, I had no choice but to crash the way I did, but I skidded along on my rims and came to a safe, controlled stop.

To this day, I have zero memory of any of that.

My brain simply went on some sort of autopilot, I guess literally this time.  It was so horrible that my memory said “Well, I’m out.  I’ll be back here with Smell until this is all done.”

This happened during a car accident.  Imagine what our brains can do when we’re being raped, abused, beaten, molested, imagine how far away we can leave our brains and hide, or even rewrite, something life-shatteringly horrible.

Memory can get muddled, that’s a fact.  Those of us who are survivors become extremely good at disassociation.  I have been a pro since I was a child; it’s an escape, it’s a world you control, you are essentially a god.  It can also make for a rich creative life.

But these things can be, and are, used against us.  How do we know what is real?  How do we know what really happened, was is AC/DC or The Beatles?  Is it a total blackout from mental self-defense, did it spring from a vivid imagination?

I can’t answer these questions for you but I can tell you this.

My memories are real.  Maybe not minute details, maybe not the room, the surroundings, the time of day.  But the events – what actually happened – are drilled into my head.  The more traumatic the event, the more likely we remember.  Or sometimes it simply never writes to memory.  Like my accident, that 3 or 4 minutes is not there.

I have the details surrounding the event wrong.  It was The Beatles, it was in the car, this could not be more different from my memory.  But the core of it, the actual, meaningful event, was correct.

Friends, men and women alike, if you have a memory of abuse, if that memory causes your heart to hurt, I suggest that it is probably correct.  At the very least it should be examined, try to find a therapist to help you work through it.  I’m including some resources you can use as well.

Please, do not let anyone tell you it’s not true, you are misremembering, or worse, that you are lying.  If it hurts to think about, look at it.

Memory is foggy and imprecise.  But it is not to be ignored because the curtains were blue and not yellow.

Please take care of yourselves.  Be gentle with yourselves.

Carry a stuffed comfort animal if you need to.

 

National Helpline

SAMHSA’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7, 365-day-a-year treatment referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.
https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline

Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network

Free, confidential, 24/7 support.

https://www.rainn.org/

 National Suicide Prevention Hotline

We can all help prevent suicide. The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones, and best practices for professionals.

1-800-273-8255

https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/