Why don't people suddenly get insight

And suddenly you're strange

Danger; Trigger warning. This blog post is about sexual abuse, if you are uncomfortable with this topic, please do not read any further

When you are born you are small, a baby and dependent on adult protection. Ideally, it is your parents who hold you in their arms, weigh you, put on clothes, feed you and satisfy all your other basic needs that you feel. You are so small that you are not yet able to formulate them. The blueprint in your brain is laid out, but so that it can grow and continue to emerge, a loving environment is required.

At some point you will get bigger. You can speak, you learn to walk and for a while you believe that everyone in this world means well with you. You know villains from cartoon films or radio plays. You still need protective hands over your head, from adults who know very well that these bad guys also exist in real life. And sometimes you even know them without even knowing that they are villains.

You are getting older. You realize that there are people in this world who do not always have good things in mind. Hopefully the protecting hands above your head are still there. But they can no longer intercept everything because you have grown so big that your range of motion is getting bigger and bigger. And if you suddenly meet one of these bad guys, then you have two options. Talk about it, with your parents or with the people who want to protect you. They can help you and make sure that anything that may have happened to you is not your fault. That you know that despite all your protective hands, you have become a victim. You will be helped so that you can find out from this victim role again, that you know that not all people have suddenly become villains. You will be helped so that this will not happen again to you.

Or you do it like me. You are silent. For years. You trust other people less and less because you believe that there is nothing good to be found there. You hate yourself because you believe it was your own fault. BECAUSE you were wearing the wrong clothes or you didn't say NO clearly enough. It may go on like this for years. It happens again and again and you don't dare to talk about it with your parents or other attachment people. Because you are embarrassed and you believe that grown men are allowed to do that to you. You change yourself, first internally, later also externally. It is noticed and nobody really knows what is actually going on with you. You're getting bigger and bigger, you don't go out anymore. You are bullied too deeply at school and you don't tell anyone at home either. Because it's just embarrassing.

You may start to hurt yourself because you can no longer take all of your pain. At some point you end up in a clinic and at that moment you just feel confirmed. You're crazy, the "others" see it that way too. But you still don't say what's going on.

The doctors, your parents who still want to protect you and the youth welfare office still don't know why you are doing so many things to yourself. It is decided that you will move out of your home. Minors. In a big city, 250 km away from home.

You settle in in the youth welfare office, you are at a new school. You make friends, but many still find you strange. Because you look so grim. Because you wear long-sleeved shirts or cardigans even in summer. Because you don't speak to many people and also because you are the one who lives in a home. Inside you it is getting blacker and blacker. You are disgusted with yourself. But you do not show it. One evening it could happen that you take pills. Lots of it. And wash them down with Bailys.

Then you don't know anything anymore. Until you wake up in a hospital bed. Days later. With cables everywhere. A probe in the nose and hand wraps that are attached to the bed for your safety. You do not speak. Your parents have already been informed and are probably going through agony. Because they keep wondering how the little baby at the beginning of the story became this destroyed teenager.

You stay in the clinic. Moved to a closed department. You think that you can hardly sink any deeper. But you don't talk. You don't care what people at school might think, they all think you're strange and weird anyway. You don't care that your home furnishings kicked you out and you're now left with nothing. You're in a relationship, but you don't care either. Because it didn't work anyway and everything felt weird and not good. But at least this guy was nice. That was something.

Thanks to the world’s best social worker at the station, you’ll move to another home after three months. In a home in which young people live who are difficult to handle. Against all odds, it's actually really great there. But you still don't talk. Never ever. You somehow make it through 10th grade. You are going to the 11th because you want to do the Abitur. Even if hardly anyone believes that you can even do this in your strangeness. You have a lot of male acquaintances, but you don't take them all seriously.

At some point, however, you can no longer take it. You're trying the same thing you've tried before. It doesn't work again and you think that you are too stupid yourself. You end up in the clinic again. But the facility in which you live does not throw you out. You can come back. Just like that, even though you are such a risk. And suddenly you are talking. Almost casually it bursts out of you. What's happened. How often and who. Suddenly you accept these protective hands over you again. Hands of your parents because, despite your eternal weirdness, they are still behind you. Hands of the staff of the home. Employee of the youth welfare office. And above all the protective hands of a male being. who was so very different from the guys before. That stayed too. Just because. You are finally talking. Finally you will be helped. But you will probably stay strange forever.

I left home when I was 16. In an inpatient youth welfare facility / a "children's home". When I was 17, I moved to another because my background meant that I was not “socially acceptable”. I tried to take my life twice, once it almost worked. I made sure that I still have scars on my body that make me uncomfortable. This self-harming behavior accompanied me for many years. I stopped when I was 18/19. Because I had a good therapist. And the support of my parents, my brother, my best friend at the time and the person with whom I had a relationship at that time. When I was almost 19 I moved into my first apartment of my own. At the age of 20 I did my Abitur and went on to study. My life finally turned out for the better. But not until I spoke. Only when I finally understood that it wasn't my fault. That it doesn't matter what clothes I wear when. Nothing gives anyone the right to be so assaulted. Nobody is to blame except the perpetrator himself / herself. Nobody.

It's okay not to be okay I could have saved myself many lonely years if I just opened my mouth and talked. Silence is never gold.

To this day, I'm more weird than sociable. But I think that I am capable of relationships. I am no longer disgusted with myself, I can love and am grateful to be still alive. That would probably not be the case if I had never spoken.

Let us help you. Before I did. Remain vigilant and notice even the smallest changes. Asking, since the protective hand, the lifeline and above all, nobody with scars on their body is pigeonholed.


(To prevent speculation here. My family consists of nice people. My parents, my brothers; they wanted to help me at all times; but never knew how. Because I just didn't say anything. They were my anchors and NOT the executioners. Thanks a million hold out at this point for your years)

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Posted on by juni612Posted in Feelings and such