The recent revelations about Louis CK and Kevin Spacey have again reminded me to trust my gut. To trust the instinct I have buried deep with in myself, but mostly temper. While I have certainly been a fan of the work of both men, something about each of them has always disturbed me. It has happened with other celebrities and with people that I’ve known or met in my life and rarely have I ever been proven wrong for having that feeling.
I have suspected that it stems from having experienced sexual abuse and trauma at the hands of two adult men when I was a child. A latent defense mechanism. My abusers were a blood relative and the other a family friend & neighbor. The abuse - or rather as I have recently come to feel it best described as “torture” - was ongoing and separate from each other. Both men were eventually found out and arrested and jailed for abuses against underage girls, but the world never knew about their transgressions toward me, toward my younger brother, and I’m sure other boys I don’t even know about.
When people speak of the bravery of those who are coming forward with their stories of abuse and survival it is important to remember that in most cases they are not just speaking up for themselves, but for those who can’t speak up. Either because they aren’t strong enough yet or because so many of them aren’t even here to be able to speak at all anymore. I don’t know why or I am still alive at 35 years old experiencing this from a very personal place and as human in this world that is changing and coming into the light. I don’t know why I’m here and my brother is not.
My brother who at 19 years old battling a chemical imbalance & addiction, having already spent a considerable amount of time in jail and facing future in a system that told him he’d likely never escape the clutches of that institutionalism; all of that AND not being able to express the pain and self-hatred from our shared trauma. 19 years old and he could see no other option but ending his own life. I understand how felt, absolutely. What I don’t understand is how we don’t all just kill ourselves at 19 years old. Thank God we don’t.
I am starting to take the steps to speak up beyond just blogging platforms like this where my words don’t reach many and my identity is mostly guarded. Beyond just talking about it in vague ways with close friends when the subject is broached. I will be speaking up for myself and for my brother and for anyone else who needs it. Others are doing it for me now as I type. I applaud them and I am ready to join them. I am ready to give a voice to the feeling in the pit of my stomach that knows and wants to speak out.
I have suspected that it stems from having experienced sexual abuse and trauma at the hands of two adult men when I was a child. A latent defense mechanism. My abusers were a blood relative and the other a family friend & neighbor. The abuse - or rather as I have recently come to feel it best described as “torture” - was ongoing and separate from each other. Both men were eventually found out and arrested and jailed for abuses against underage girls, but the world never knew about their transgressions toward me, toward my younger brother, and I’m sure other boys I don’t even know about.
When people speak of the bravery of those who are coming forward with their stories of abuse and survival it is important to remember that in most cases they are not just speaking up for themselves, but for those who can’t speak up. Either because they aren’t strong enough yet or because so many of them aren’t even here to be able to speak at all anymore. I don’t know why or I am still alive at 35 years old experiencing this from a very personal place and as human in this world that is changing and coming into the light. I don’t know why I’m here and my brother is not.
My brother who at 19 years old battling a chemical imbalance & addiction, having already spent a considerable amount of time in jail and facing future in a system that told him he’d likely never escape the clutches of that institutionalism; all of that AND not being able to express the pain and self-hatred from our shared trauma. 19 years old and he could see no other option but ending his own life. I understand how felt, absolutely. What I don’t understand is how we don’t all just kill ourselves at 19 years old. Thank God we don’t.
I am starting to take the steps to speak up beyond just blogging platforms like this where my words don’t reach many and my identity is mostly guarded. Beyond just talking about it in vague ways with close friends when the subject is broached. I will be speaking up for myself and for my brother and for anyone else who needs it. Others are doing it for me now as I type. I applaud them and I am ready to join them. I am ready to give a voice to the feeling in the pit of my stomach that knows and wants to speak out.
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