Why didn’t anyone help me?

It hurts me to look at her…

So, I can’t sleep.  I was so tired earlier and then I had a phone conversation with my sister.  I took a sleeping pill and it is 3:26am and I STILL can’t sleep.  So…  I’ll write.

I swear, I have so many thoughts in my head that I want to get out, that I worry I will never be able to get them all out.  There are THAT many.  I was hoping to have a bit of order in these short blurbs that I write.  It seems I am failing miserably at it so far.  Oh well, you’ll either continue reading them or you won’t.  Either way, I am hoping this will help myself in some way.  Maybe it will even help someone else.  Who knows?

Long story short:  I was abused growing up.  It was horrific and painful and leaves me in anguish to this very day.   So many people’s response to this statement seems to be, “So was I.”  And that’s that.  Abuse comes in so many forms and affects each person differently.  Some seem barely affected at best, managing to go on and live productive and fulfilling lives.  Other abuse victims go on to live lives of dysfunction, pain and, in many cases, become abusers themselves.  Some abuse survivors simply cannot cope and end up dying of drug and alcohol abuse, and even suicide.  I hate to use the word, “abuse” because it seems so commonplace these days.  You hear about it almost every day.  I think people have become numb to the word.  Indifferent to it and, even bored by it.  Unless it was sexual abuse, I find, in my experience, people think it couldn’t have been that bad.  Nothing is worse than sexual abuse, right?  Well, I have never been sexually abused, so I can’t answer that question.  I can, however, tell you with certainty, that physical and emotional abuse can destroy a person.  It can eat at them until there is nothing left of the person they once were. It leaves them no chance of becoming the person they might have been, had they not been abused.  I won’t deny that abuse survivors can and do become productive members of society.  They can get past their abuse but they can never forget it.

In this blog entry I won’t describe the different forms of abuse I endured, but I will in future blogs.  The pain that is keeping me awake on this particular night (like many other nights) is the question of “why?”  Why didn’t someone help me?  I will tell you that, in my experience, the greatest pain did not come from my actual abuse.  The greatest pain was the fact that so many people KNEW what was happening to me (to some degree or another) and yet not one, single person stepped in to stop the abuse from happening.  There were many people who were aware of the abuses happening to me and those people chose to look away.  Some of those people would actually blame me for my abuse and tell me ways of changing my behaviour so that I could avoid it in the future.

Let me back track a little bit.  When I was little I thought I was so pretty.  I was not vain in any way but I could look into a mirror and love the little girl that I saw.  I had crooked teeth from sucking my thumb and I was painfully thin, due to anxiety exacerbated by my abuse, but I still saw a pretty girl when I looked in the mirror.  As I grew older, that changed.  I knew I had done nothing to cause or deserve the abuse I was getting so I just could not understand WHY certain people could be treating me this way.  So I began to look for flaws in myself.  I mean, let’s face it, society dotes on pretty people.  They get attention and love (often superficial love, but as a  young child, love is love).  I’d look in the mirror and look for a reason why they would treat me this way and why others would ignore my cries and screams for help.  As I grew a bit older I thought I had found the reason.  My nose was crooked!  It really was!  I know how silly that sounds but, as a little child searching for a reason, this was as good as any.  I used to look at the cute kids I would babysit.  I’d stare at them and wonder how anyone could ever hurt such a precious person?  Of course, I’d never think of hurting a less-than-beautiful child either, but maybe others would?  And so began many years of obsessing about my ugly nose.  I reasoned that my nose was so horrific to some people that it made me seem less human, less worthy of help and love.  Then I began to obsess about how I was going to get this problem fixed!  Then people would see the  loving human that I actually was.  Remember, these are the thoughts of a young, abused child.  I realize how absurd and distorted this sounds, but I just HAD to find out WHY I was overlooked, and ignored.  Why didn’t it matter if I cried?  Why would people turn away when I screamed for help?  I just could not fathom it.  I still can’t.

I have two dogs, three cats and two hamsters.  I have always loved and had pets my entire life.  I think this almost every day:  If anyone even came close to treating any of my animals the way I had been treated growing up, my rage would be uncontrollable.  The momma bear in me would come through so fast that the abuser would not know what hit them!  It seems like such a natural, human response to me that I just cannot, to this day, fathom why no one spoke up for me.  It is a question that will haunt me till the day I die.  Why?  Just a legitimate answer is all I want.

You know what?  I already KNOW the answer.  It is because those people who knew were cowards.  They were self absorbed.  They were interested in their comfort more than my own.  That is really the answer.  There is no other reason why anyone would look away from abuse of a child and not help.  So, I already know the answer.  Am I satisfied with that?  No.  I want every, single person who watched my abuse and looked away to look me in the face and tell me.  I want them to have the balls enough to say, “Look.  I was more concerned with my own well being than yours.  More concerned with my own comfort than yours.  I didn’t love you enough (or at all) to help you.”  That response would make me more peaceful than a million “I’m sorries.”  (I don’t ever expect anyone to apologize to me.  I know there is no remorse.)  The thing is, I just want to hear why.  Out loud.  To my face.  Is it helpful to want these things?  I’m not sure.  My desire for an admission of selfishness seems rather healthy to me.  I know my worth.  I know I am valuable.  I know I deserved to be protected and loved and cared for as a child (and now too!).  I know they were selfish.  I know their lack of action was solely because of a need to put their interests before mine.

It likely wouldn’t give me the peace I want anyways.  But, sometimes, especially after conversations like the one I had just before bed tonight, my mind wanders back to those thoughts…  Why didn’t you help me!?  How could you not!?  Do you have any idea how my life is affected severely to this very day!?  I’m smart.  I know none of them are even remotely interested in how their ignorance has contributed to the difficulties I face to this day.  I know all those answers.  All the reasons they looked away.  But I still ask why…

If you ever see abuse happening, hear of it happening or even suspect it….  you can never know the life changing impact you can have on someone’s life by simply saying something about it and reporting it.  Please help when you see a need…

OK.  Enough for tonight.  Maybe I can sleep now…