I am sitting in my bed, struggling with an infection which has laid me low but its not the physical side that has caused me the most pain right now and I cant help but feeling the fact I have spent the last few weeks surrounded by tales of abuse that has got me to this place.

The news has been filled with so much these last few months and that has been constantly in the background, the historic stuff seemed to pass me by but in truth it has been an accumulation that I hadn’t expected. Baby P’s story has resurfaced, operation Yew Tree is seemingly dragging more and more into the light of public scrutiny and I think most people would feel affected.

Added to this I am training people about Personality Disorder and therefore I have to discuss the histories that has brought so many PD patients to where they are, in my group I have been speaking about similar subjects and thinking about my colleagues from treatment, almost all of whom suffered at least one form of abuse in their past. I have spoken to my friends about the sadness I feel that the stories have almost no effect on me anymore, I don’t get shocked or angry as it seems I have accepted this as a normal situation, how ridiculous that must seem to anyone not as jaded by the weight of horrific stories but its far worse than that.

Sitting in my bed for a long time, weakness reminding me of my past I realised what is going on for me in this situation, my self reflection , something I endorse to my trainees has made me feel maudlin and not very far removed from the frightened, sick child that brought me this place in life.

I am reminded of the fact that abusers, regardless of what they’ve done do not live with the consequences of their actions , even those who are brought to justice can sleep soundly and live out there lives, guilt may intrude in their lives but that’s nothing compared to damaged minds that struggle with every facet of their lives forever more.

This may seem sad and rather negative but in some ways it is the opposite. By reflecting on what I am I can see the error I have allowed myself to fall into. Abuse is never mundane or typical regardless of the times you’ve listened to people discus it, and even if I have kidded myself that hearing about it somehow diminished the damage my own history has wrought on my life I should in stead accept the facts and live with them.

I can pretend for the best part that this big strong macho persona is not a construct, most people never look beneath the veneer anyway and that I am only ever weak when I am unwell but the truth is weakness isn’t something to be scared of, vulnerability, the other name for my weakness I guess. Is strength in other peoples eyes and they are people I admire for their bravery. I have to accept that the features I feel make me the man I want everyone else to admire in me aren’t necessarily the ones I am most proud of. My abuser may be dead, one of them anyway and the other oblivious to my plight but I don’t need their guilt to allow me to move on, to admit that I have survived this long, not without causing horrible damage to others and myself.

I am here, alive against the odds on occasion, and in working hard to lessen the effects of the damage done to not only my peers but those that the people I train will work with I am striking back against their abusers by allowing them to live better lives, not great or even happy but when you’ve been through the mill we have better is where the bar is set. I may one day get to dance on the graves of the people I owe this life to but even if I don’t I can know I avenged myself in a far better way, I managed a purpose, a purpose that doesn’t just kick my own abusers back into their hole but I hope all the sick bastards who have made the lives of my friends and those I haven’t met who will hopefully gain from the awareness I have spread of their plight.

If that sounds a little high minded and over blown I apologise but I am not very well and this stuff means a lot to me, sprry

 

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