Abuse survivor Rob Brown reports what life is like from deep inside his recovery.
At 51, “recovery” doesn’t seem a fitting term, nor does it pass the laugh-test regarding where I am and what I’m doing.
In January of 2007, nothing seemed more important than facing my childhood without the haze of denial and its associated tools. Some say “you are finally ‘dealing with it…finally facing it head-on.’” That’s not true at all. I have always been dealing with childhood sexual, physical and mental trauma. Always!
At any time following any incident of abuse, I had to walk with that fresh, new scar and all of its older brothers in order to live. The morning following a night of someone partying on my skin created an instant hangover (for ME to endure). That day, and every following day, I had to position, compartmentalize, drug-away and act-away the results of abuse.
“Finally coming to terms with what happened in childhood,” is a near-ridiculous phrase. Those early days of disclosure in January, 2007 were simply a continuation of post-abuse attention to the damage. The only difference was at that from then-on, I was no longer doing it in secret. No, this time, seven-years of abuse found a voice, an unwilling audience and an entire cascade of new-found harsh results.
This new mode of dealing with my personal baggage while seeking new life-paths yields questionable benefits (if any). It’s a seemingly doomed method. Society, spouses, family & friends, the divorce courts, clergy, etc., are in no way ready to deal with a messed-up middle-aged guy with a past like mine. And the quicker I find that door out of their comfortable norms, the better.
Six-years after opening my mouth and letting the news flow, I can securely state that my only reward is not being dead yet. Loss of marriage, fortune and a cherished Olympic-grade relationship with my dearest children has proven that not all surrenders end with a ticket to shining freedom.
I’m now left with an insurmountable task of cleaning-up a toxic train-wreck of a new life, completely on my own. 51 years old and tired is no way to tackle a potentially deadly set of problems.
It seems now that though the Sandusky trial served to brief the public on the nature on child sexual abuse, it did little to alter the freakdom that the scars create. Giving society a glossary-of-terms, does little to aid in their understanding of the results.
I’m sick and tired of attempted rebuilds of my life. I’m not used to any sort of failures, nor do I accept them, but the results of each rebuild iteration now follow a trend. Its time to stop expecting new results from a strong trend. Hey! Its time to stop “expecting” all together.
Its time to face the train-wreck and the realities caused by a warped childhood.