Dear Jamie,
Thanks for your message. I appreciate your telling me that feeling
overwhelmed by all the emotional stuff is normal. The only way I can cope
with feeling so much at the moment is by writing about it. Hence I have
copied below a section of my journal in which I talk about shame. I am now
using some art therapy books and inner child workbooks which are enabling me
to engage with my childhood self and let her speak about her experiences. I
realised that gathering information about childhood abuse and approaches to
therapy is never going to be enough. I have to be able to tell my own story
and express myself in whatever ways I need to. For the time being this is
the path I am taking (with the support of my friend). If I feel it necessary
to make contact with a professional therapist at some stage then I will
explore this possibility with my GP. I hope the following helps you
understand something of where I'm at with my self-therapy!
Best wishes,
Anon


HELP!

In one of the imaginative exercises I've been doing I pictured myself as a
witness to the sexual abuse I experienced as a young child. I pictured
myself stood in my bedroom watching the scene as my father was in bed with
the childhood me. The point of this exercise was to see what feelings you
had as an independent adult witness watching the abuse take place. My
overwhelming response was to want to rescue the child. I could cry for her
in all her pain and confusion and I just wanted her suffering to end. The
next part of the exercise was to switch and now become the child in the
scene. Imagining my self to be the child I was suddenly filled with the most
agonising silent scream 'help!' When I had tried before to directly
experience what I was feeling as a child in this situation I couldn't feel
anything at all. It was as if I was emotionally alienated from my childhood
self and could find no way to empathise with her. By approaching the
experience of abuse through my adult self sympathising with the child's
experience suddenly I was able to feel what I actually felt as a child. The
pain was unbearable. I understand now why I keep hearing a little inner
voice that repeatedly and desperately cries 'Help me!' When I was a child,
of course, no help was given. My childhood self had no option except to
'swallow' her agony, stay silent and go on living. By repressing this memory
I too ignored her suffering.

I may have been about the same age or a little older when one day I decided
to run away. It wasn't the well thought out plan of an older child. I simply
got on my bike that morning rode away from the house and just kept on
riding. I knew I couldn't bear to return to the house and to my living hell
so without really thinking about it I decided I wasn't ever going back. I
stayed out all day but as the daylight began to fade I inevitably realised I
had no option except to turn for home. I had nowhere else to go. The
hopelessness of my situation crushed me. What was even more soul destroying
was my mother's reaction when I finally came into the house. She was at the
kitchen sink with her back towards me as I came in the door. Without even
looking round she coldly remarked, 'I thought you'd turn up eventually'.
Nothing more was said by either of my parents and I returned once more to
the loneliness of my bedroom.

What is so terribly painful about these two episodes is the cruel way in
which the feelings and needs of the child were completely disregarded. In
both cases I was given the message 'You don't matter'. This lasting message
is what underpins my intense feelings of shame. It was my parents that
mattered, not me. This means, of course, that whatever my parents did had to
be ok. When 'bad things' happened to me it must therefore have been my fault
or as a consequence of some failing in me. I realise that a part of me
couldn't help loving them no matter what they did. Besides how could I risk
criticising them when they were all I had? I had constantly to suppress all
my feelings of fear, pain, confusion and anger: none of it could be
expressed because there was no one there who could hear it. There was no one
who could contradict my growing sense of my own worthlessness. I learned to
become mute and to have no feelings.

Cut off from my true self I became a 'responsible' and 'successful' adult
who in reality was only half alive. But, of course, no one could see what
I'd hidden and my crippling belief in the badness within me ensured that I
never looked too closely at myself either. I realise what is crucial now is
to search for the truth about myself and my past; to express that truth in
words and images that are my own and to honour my childhood self by finally
allowing her to speak. Whatever is hidden will always engender shame: only
'bad things' lurk in the dark. So I am also helping my 'inner child' to
recover her dignity and self-respect by showing my creative writings to
another person. Someone who will at long last take her feelings and
experiences seriously and by doing so help her to believe in her own worth.
I know this is not some miracle cure but it is a start on the long road to
recovering my self as a whole and healthful person.