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| There was physical abuse and threats of physical abuse. Never anything so dramatic as to leave evidence. It was only enough to make a point. A yanking of the ear, a pinch of the arm or leg--never as a punishment to enforce behavior, but as an expression of intense anger. It was always just enough pain to sate the sadist dishing it out. Worst of all, you had to take it in stride. You were disallowed from any response other than cowering and acquiescence. Otherwise, again, more anger and more pain. You had to acknowledge you deserved what was happening to you. | There was physical abuse and threats of physical abuse. Never anything so dramatic as to leave evidence. It was only enough to make a point. A yanking of the ear, a pinch of the arm or leg--never as a punishment to enforce behavior, but as an expression of intense anger. It was always just enough pain to sate the sadist dishing it out. Worst of all, you had to take it in stride. You were disallowed from any response other than cowering and acquiescence. Otherwise, again, more anger and more pain. You had to acknowledge you deserved what was happening to you. | ||
| <p> | <p> | ||
| - | Does it get better? You are not an optimist; you are a realist. It has gotten better. What they did not give you in strength you have learned on your own. You owe them nothing. You want nothing from them but enough space to forget them. But that means casting out any vestiges of them. It means cutting out healthy flesh to ensure all tumors are removed. It hurts. It’s scary and uncomfortable because it is new and different. You may not have been happy before, but you managed to be comfortable most of them time, somehow. | + | Does it get better? You are not an optimist; you are a realist. It has gotten better. What they did not give you in strength you have learned on your own. You owe them nothing. You want nothing from them but enough space to forget them. But that means casting out any vestiges of them. It means cutting out healthy flesh to ensure all tumors are removed. It hurts. It’s scary and uncomfortable because it is new and different. You may not have been happy before, but you managed to be comfortable most of the time, somehow. |
| <p> | <p> | ||
| And after that first cut, after something other than the sting of the scalpel can enter your mind, you start to feel better. So you cut more. More and more. You don’t have to face them or anyone who supported them. You are your own person. You fear you’ve cut too much. But no. You’re allowed to be broken inside and now, full of self-made holes. People will love you and cherish you anyway. No one is perfect and no one expects perfection. When you’ve finally stopped cutting, and set aside your seven pounds of flesh, you’re no longer sure of who you are. | And after that first cut, after something other than the sting of the scalpel can enter your mind, you start to feel better. So you cut more. More and more. You don’t have to face them or anyone who supported them. You are your own person. You fear you’ve cut too much. But no. You’re allowed to be broken inside and now, full of self-made holes. People will love you and cherish you anyway. No one is perfect and no one expects perfection. When you’ve finally stopped cutting, and set aside your seven pounds of flesh, you’re no longer sure of who you are. | ||
