Like Grown Ups Do (Unsettling Content)

Today I was watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and the two elderly people I live with were sitting there next to me and neither of them seemed as interested in the program as I.
I was sitting there durring a commercial and it got me thinking. Why do I like this program? It's unpleasant and never happy and it's uncomfortable to the other people in the room as I since I only ever watch it on the T.V.

But I don't really know why I asked this because I know why I watch these kind of shows.




I'm obsessed with them.


I'm obsessed with sexual assault. But it's not a kink or any sort of physical thing for me. It's sort of cathartic to watch police officers run about and try to solve these crimes because it never happened for me or those I know that these sort of things have happened to.
I watch these types of shows because it helps me live with what happened to me.

There is a lot of things I've heard about my childhood but I've blocked so much of it out that I don't feel comfortable relying on other's heresy. I know what is said is at least partially true because I'll have dreams or moments where I remember something from when I was little that I don't actively know. I have memories of seeing my mother get fucked by strangers. I have memories of strange people coming in to my room at night when I lived with her and doing things. Most of my memories are very vague and convoluted because I've spent so long trying to forget them that they're not quite reliable anymore but...

I remember one instance when I was older that I've never been able to forget.
There had been some emergency that called away both my father and my mum and they hadn't been able to find anyone to watch us so they left us with the only option available: my uncle Dale. He was nice, if a bit strange at times but he wasn't so odd for a member of our family. He lived with my other uncle, Steven, who I loved intensely.  Steven collected Star Trek memorabilia and those little plaster houses from the Dollar Store, just to give you an idea of what 'normal' constituted in the family.

Anyway, we stayed over and during the day it was fine. We played at a creek and I was mostly left alone, as most people do with me. I was very into myself from a young age. By that I don't mean that I loved myself and only paid attention to myself but that I spent most of my time in the imaginary world in my head. So my two brothers played with each other and I joined in sort of. My uncle always seemed to like my brothers better so I didn't really mind. I didn't know him too well and he was no Uncle Steven so I didn't really pay any mind to him.

But come that evening is when the strange started. I didn't think it at the time, probably because I was young and because I didn't know any better. But when he took each of us alone into his room to pat down with powder (I assume it was baby powder or something similar) it was strange and it should have sounded an alarm but it didn't. It sounded so reasonable when he took me in there after one of my brothers to "check for ticks" and apply this powder for some reason. He was an adult and as such I trusted him, as most children trust adults of their family.

I remember being confused because I could check myself in the mirror for ticks but I trusted him because I didn't know what a tick was or what they looked like. I know he convinced me to kiss him under some line about doing things like "grown ups". Applying the powder and checking for ticks constituted an all-body search.
An all over the body search.
But he treated me like a "grown up"
I was happy. I was fucking happy because adults never treated me like a grown up. I was small, blond, and had one of those little girl voices and no one took me seriously. Usually they just ignored me or pandered to me.
It ended quickly because one of my brothers was waiting for his tick-check but it didn't stop there.

Later, when we were watching a movie, he sat me in his lap and asked me again if I wanted to learn to kiss like the grown ups do. I was eager because I was small and young and he's my uncle and family means safe, right?
So he showed me what a grown up kiss was and he touched me and made me touch him.

And I think this is about the last time I ever really trusted my family or adults in general.
Because in the back of my head I knew he did something wrong. That he wasn't supposed to do that with little girls like me and the older I got the more revolted I was at what he had done.
The more it made me hate my family and it even got me to start to distrust my brothers and pull away from them. Before this it had always been big brother, me, then little brother against everyone else but I couldn't trust them anymore.

They were there for the second come around of this. They were sitting right there in the room and they did nothing. Not even my older brother who I know has gone through enough bad-touch moments to know better.

I couldn't trust them. I couldn't like them. They had betrayed me. My whole family. I know this sounds a bit melodramatic but that's just the sentiment I have. I can't trust them because they made me damaged.

They have damaged me so much and I doubt there is recovery from this ever. There only seems to be coping. But I don't know if I want to cope with the things that happened to me while I was growing up. Sometimes I just want to drown myself in recklessness so that I can at least pretend not to care about myself. I hate my family and I hate myself and I hate the world because we all let this happen to me and it just makes me so angry all the time.

All this anger and hurt and rage and pain and guilt just makes me feel like I don't quite belong to the human race because there's no way the rest of them burn in their center with this massive craving to destroy everything because it all just makes it hurt and the destruction will make them feel alive and whole. It seems perverted to want to set everything on fire just to be able to appreciate how alive it was.

I love life and I love existence and I love the passion and energy that is humanity but I spend so much of my life inside this contradiction.

I hate everyone and everything but in the same breath I love them all and I feel so much. I don't understand how I don't feel at ends. I suppose, though, that it's simply my nature. I hate and I love in the same breath because I feel as if with every breath I live that I die. I revel in this contradiction. It feels so human and I need that sometimes because there are moments where I'd rather see the world burn than continue on with this mass of sickening and depraved individuals that make up the glorious race I am apart of.