WARNING! Contains triggering material and naughty words. Lots of them.

Here goes.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I knew before that this was a problem, why the fuck is it a revelation to me again.

 

So I had this short conversation over the weekend, and someone called me out on my apparently ongoing problem of apologizing unnecessarily.

It’s no surprise to me that I apologize when it isn’t appropriate at all. But it is surprising to me that I need to be reminded of it again. In fact, it pisses me off that I’m still doing it.

So what did I do about it? What action did I take.

I went online and asked the question, why do I apologize so much. I looked for answers. And after reading and listening to a fair amount of nonsense, I remembered that I know the reason why.

Life kicked the ever loving shit out of me, from the day I was born. Abuse and assault and neglect and blah blah blah….

I feel like a victim because I was a victim.

Fuck that.

I don’t have to be a victim anymore. What I do need to do, is pull up my big girl pants and stop apologizing.

Now, I’m sorry if this….

Shit!

Now, I know that might sound a little harsh, but I think it’s what I need. To be a little stern with myself about this apologizing crap. About my habit of feeling sorry, about shit it isn’t even necessary to feel sorry about.

Sure, I need to be gentle with myself, and allow myself the space to heal. There’s a kid inside me who was very badly injured, and I need to nurture that child back to health.

But fuck!

I don’t need to apologize for it.

So why do I keep doing it.

Well, I can actually think of a few good reasons why. So let’s start there.

Number one. I’m feeling a hell of a lot of pain and fear at the moment. I started working with a new therapist, and they’re good. Really good. We’re digging deep into all that childhood trauma, to try and get some healing happening.

It’s been like re-fracturing a badly healed broken bone, so it can set straight this time. Painful as hell and pretty damn immobilizing.

And we’re digging around in all that intersex/transgender trauma too. The fact of the matter is, I’ve been living in fear of sudden, unpredictable violent brutal assault my whole damn life.

And I was a defenseless captive victim of it, for the first fifteen years of my existence.

And I feel like it. And I don’t like it, and I want it to stop.

What complicates the matter, is that I know full well that my fears are grounded in cold hard fact. There are people out there, complete strangers who will call me a f**king f****t to my face. People who will cheerfully bash me, for no particular reason at all.

The world is not safe.

And the victims of assault receive more shame and blame, than protection or support.

Secondly. Although awareness of mental health issues has improved a lot, over the years. Still there’s not much by way of genuine material support.

Now, I don’t know what it’s like where you live. But where I am, you have to be on your knees and begging for help, before the social welfare system will so much as toss you a scrap.

And even then, they treat you like a malingering leech, and vigorously discourage any access to support at every turn. Seriously, I have had precisely zero support for the last fifteen years, that I didn’t pay for myself.

If you are functional enough to work, you have mental health issues. If you’re too sick to work, you’re a welfare sponger, a cheat. And dealing with the authorities who administrate this stuff, is simply too damn traumatizing.

The city I live in is shitting itself over the homelessness crisis, at the moment. It’s just too damn big and too visible. And everyone seems genuinely puzzled, about how things got this bad.

Let me give you a little context. We have this mental health support body, which is famous for printing posters and leaflets and doing nothing else. It was founded by a retired politician, famed for closing down hospitals schools and health care services.

Seriously, this guy was notorious in his day. Peaceful protests at school closures, including teachers, parents and the children themselves were infamously and remorselessly broken up with armed riot police baton charges.

See, charitable institutions where I live, are usually set up by retired politicians and businessmen. Mainly for self promotion and to provide do nothing sources of revenue for their family and friends.

There’s actually a big push going on, to try and disenfranchise these people. To redirect the public funds which are going into their pockets, towards the people who actually need it. And they’r fighting it tooth and nail, every step of the way.

Hell, now that I start writing about it, it shocks me how fucked up this all is.

Shit. No wonder I feel like a victim. I’ve been absolutely hammered by life, damn near crippled by abuse and neglect. And then hung out to dry, by a corrupt greedy government riddled with ‘jobs for the boys’ nepotism.

Sucking up tax dollars and handing it to big business, and lining their own pockets along the way. And then tossing table scraps to the people they just robbed.

And lastly, I’m pretty well fucked at the moment. I haven’t been healthy enough to work, for several months. I have no income whatsoever, and my support eligibility is precisely zero.

Thankfully my employers have been very understanding, and I still have a job to go back to. When and if I can. But I’m finding out the hard way at the moment, how severe childhood abuse can fuck your long term health.

And when I say I can’t work, I mean it. When you beat children on a regular, frequent basis and break their bones, without taking them to the doctor after. The adult they grow up to be, has some serious mobility shit to deal with.

Whew!

That feels better.

To feel anger at injustice, instead of feeling sorry for being fucked through no fault of my own. To not feel guilty about being fucked, actually feels a little better.

But there’s a problem I need to deal with there too. And that’s confusion.

Everything got muddled up when I was a kid, and I need to sort it out. See, if I was bad the punishment was violence, if I was good the reward was violence. If I did nothing at all, the result was still, yeah you guessed it.

The only thing that yielded any relief was keeping my head down and my mouth shut. Being silent and invisible.

My entrenched rule systems concerning good and bad, right and wrong, worthy and unworthy. Their all fouled up.

I am the not perpetrator of my damage. I should not feel guilty or unworthy of care.

And I am not sorry.

And I won’t apologize anymore.

 

Peace.

Love.

Whippoorwill XO

 

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