Sitting at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean I’m Sitting at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean after an extremely painful therapy session. I once again went deeply into the most traumatic part of my life. The part in which I never wanted to face out of fear of falling apart. The part that I have nightmares about. The part which causes me […]

Sitting at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean

I’m Sitting at the shore of the Atlantic Ocean after an extremely painful therapy session. I once again went deeply into the most traumatic part of my life.

The part in which I never wanted to face out of fear of falling apart. The part that I have nightmares about. The part which causes me so much shame and pain, despite the fact that it’s been well over a decade since those nasty hands touched me.

However the consequences of his actions are still here. They still haunt me day and night. On my better days, the memories are just background noises as I go by my day and on the harder days, they are all over me and follow me wherever I go. They control me and turn my normal rational brain into an irrational state of fear. It makes every move difficult. It makes my legs heavy and my chest tight. It causes my brain to shut off and I can’t focus on the most simplistic of tasks. Unfortunately, I have a lot more hard days than easy ones.

I’m sitting here and watching the waves. The tide is very high now. The waves appear to be so angry. They start small and build up with a huge sense of passion and anger until they finally hit the vulnerable and powerless sand of the shore. The sand of the beach can be coarse and thick but the closer you get to the water, the more refined and smooth it gets. It is that sand that gets a beating from the mighty waves every few seconds.

Looking at the innocence of the sand is bringing me back to my childhood. That pure and vulnerable boy. The boy who was so badly hurt and damaged. Too soft and refined to fight back at the nasty waves of his abuser. Like the waves, my abuser started out soft but then built up his attack and hit me like the biggest and ferocious wave. Again. And again. And again. Hundreds of times.

Here I am years later, and I still feel those attacks. I still feel his cold hands devouring my body. I still feel like that helpless piece of meat, a mere pleasure machine for my abuser. I still feel that confusion. I still feel the loneliness of living a double life and being so different than everyone around me. I still hear his moans of pleasure while using me.

So standing at the ocean I’m faced with two choices. I can turn around and pretend the waves of my abuse didn’t happen or I can face them head on and even dive into the wave itself and attempt to heal from it all.

I’ve chosen to dive straight into the waves. However, the pain of doing so is beyond description. I’m feeling everything again. I’m in the ocean trying desperately not to drown in the rivers of pain while I do my work of healing. At times I feel like just giving up and letting go. Letting go and just allowing the ocean to swallow me, seems so much easier.

But I know that if I do that, I’m allowing my abuser to win and I can’t do that. I need to fight this with all my might. I need to keep going and relearn the truth in my story. I need to know and acknowledge that I was just as innocent and powerless as the sand at the ocean.

I need to learn that although water has such devastating powers, it is also so extremely vital for our survival. The earth can’t exist without water. The waves of the ocean can also be so calming and relaxing when the tide is lower. It soothes the mind and the soul.

I need to learn and believe that although the waves of my abuser seem so powerful and dangerous, I will get to a place of seeing the opposite part of the water. The beauty and peace in it. I will be able to forgive myself for not fighting off my monster. I will be able to see the beauty in the very same actions that my abuser taught me so much disgust in.

I turn to You, dear God, I’m here all alone. Its just me and You and the pen in my hand. I ask and beg You with tears in my eyes. Water is a method of travel as well. Please be with me and give me the strength and bravery to continue my travels along this journey called healing. I want to heal so badly and I promise I’m trying my best. Please help me get to the other side of my ocean of trauma. Help me relearn what I need to. Help me see the real truth in my story. Help me see the beauty in the water instead of being scared away by the waves.

Posted in media, news-articles, op-eds, survivors-letters.


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