I was abused as a kid.
The same can be said for one in every four psychology students.
Did you know? Maybe you can tell. There are signs.
Even victims of abuse are typical to one another.
Significant, is that every individual’s capacity for coping is different. Some people heal well and live their lives as normally as they can. Others simply exist; not living, merely engaging in the ritualism needed to survive. Many people, sadly, cannot cope or are crippled by their trauma. Some are inept in facets of social life that seem innate to the lucky portion of the population. Others cannot recover from alternative socialization and maintain an anomic mentality not easily understood by the general public. Some are outcasts. Some turn into the abuser. Some take their lives.
Others wear their victim status as a disability.
There is a fine line between understanding your behaviour as a product of your abuse and using your abuse as an excuse for your behaviour.
I often say, “If you are aware of what you are, you can be different, and that, in essence, changes what you are.”
In many cases, victims post-abuse feel as though they are subject to their thoughts and emotions rather than being in control of them. We can be volatile and inconsistent, and we know this.
That’s what makes the difference. We know what we are.
So, when I am faced with people who act without consequence and without care for collateral damage, and being someone who made every mistake and took every wrong path en route to self-discovery, my initial response is pity.
Is that ideal? Do people want to be pitied?
I hope not.
When do you stop calling yourself a victim? When do you stop feeling sorry for yourself? When do you take control of your own life? When do you take responsibility for your own decisions?
Your abuse doesn’t materialise in dark matter and screw up shit for you. You do that all on your own.
Your abuse isn’t a Get Out of Jail Free card.
Are you broken?
You’re wounded. Wounds heal. Wounds heal quicker when you don’t rip off the scab.
Wounds leave scars.
That scar makes you different. It moulds your personality, how you perceive, cope and respond.
Do not for a second think there aren’t others different like you.
If it seems insensitive, it might be.
I am fully aware of how long it takes to stop wallowing in self-pity. We believe we are broken. We believe we will never be able to live normally, whatever that is these days. We wallow. We cry. We become numb. We believe the world owes us consideration because we are emotionally disabled.
Do you know why we do that?
It’s our safety net. Our comfort zone is believing that we are passive recipients of the evils of the universe. There is comfort in misery, for it is all we know.
Besides, once a victim, always a victim. Right? People just don’t understand you, and if they did, they’d overlook your behaviour, wouldn’t they? They’d let you be you no matter how screwed up you are? You’d rather just tiptoe around your problem than try to fix it?
Your wound is your crutch, and despite the sharp agony of supporting your weight, you wince on.
The longer you pick at your scab, the longer you are vulnerable.
You’re still here, aren’t you? You’re capable of living.
You can choose to live in the manner you please.
I was abused as a kid.