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Thank you for visiting Violence UnSilenced, a speak-out platform for survivors of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and sexual abuse. If you are a survivor and it is safe to do so, we encourage you to share your story here. If you are not a survivor but you want to support those who are, please click around this site and find out more about what you can do.
I spent time in my own closet with that small space echoing for years in my dreams. Giant, drive an 18 Wheeler through the holes, gaps of nothing where birthdays and Christmases should be. I understand. And I hope that your echoes, like mine, lead like breadcrumbs to the truth. Or at least peace.
I know the truth and I'll add your echoes to my own and share the burden. Be well and thank you for sharing.
I have many memories like that. I feel like I'm making them up. Thank you for letting me know that I'm not the only one. Thank you for being brave, being honest and sharing.
Yes. Thank you, sir, for your share. To know another has felt this void, this emptiness, is invaluable. Huge blocks are gone, unless someone else colors in the storyline, the long and winding tale that sounds so surreal from others' memory vaults, as I have left it back there, and any good in between got caught in the drain trap too... I hate not sharing the vivid rememberance of my sisters' laughs of joy along with our cries for help. I felt guilt and shame at forgetting what they could not, at moving forward, at my direct, often emotionless approach to friendships and family. We're quite "expressive" now, here in the present, packing every day full of love, life and love of life. Thank you thank you thank you.
That's chilling stuff, because it's so vividly written. I'm glad to say I really do not have such memories, and I wish you could say the same. Glad to know that because you have become master of your life, your kids won't either.
I am one of the lucky ones that do not have childhood memories (or lack of) like this. Hopefully this will help another mom or dad realise how much these things can effect their kids and give them the strength to break free. I am glad you are not killed.
Yes, I do have memories like this.
Sometimes they will go away only to come back with such a fierceness that I am literally paralyzed emotionally for long periods of time.
Thank You for sharing.
OK. I got my words back. This has been a wrenchingly emotional week for me due to the very memories -- or convenient lack thereof -- that you describe. They're always there, but buried, deep. And when they surface, it's like being struck by a nuclear missile.
A big hug to the little boy in the closet who now calls your psyche home. Here's hoping that someday -- if he isn't already -- the little guy can smile.
Thanks for sharing that it happens to men too. Not just children, not just women, but amyone can be a victim of violence. And thank you BHJ for sharing your memories. Those memories are the hardest. My children will never have them.
Kind of. But it wasn't my parents. It was my teenaged neighbors in the basement.I wouldn't have believed my 4 year old self when she told my grown up self, except I've seen the pictures of my 4 year old self after they burned the tip of my nose with a car cigarette lighter. That makes me think the rest probably happened, too.
But it never, ever will to my kids. Because I trust no one.
Very powerful. Thanks for sharing your story. I think this is a very common thread. The second guessing, the fear of "being wrong", the urge to somehow protect the wrong doer.
Again, thank you for sharing.
I have never known this kind of pain.
I have tears streaming down my face because I've never felt this kind of reality and feel a little guilty because I have been so blessed.
Because you told this story and because this site exists, I will never look at life the same again. And I won't be quiet when I think things are "off" with someone I love. Someone that might need another human to be their voice when they can't speak.
Thank you. From the bottom of my soul. Thank you for sharing a piece of you.
i remember, and i don't. and then, all at once, i don't remember and i do. there's fog and clarity and haze all wrapped together, but the cries of my brothers have that same eerie echo. all of my childhood has that same eerie echo.
I wish that my memories were not so vivid, but, alas, they are. I have very few good memories from early childhood when it comes to the man who raised me. I was not physically abused myself, but I was a witness to many cruelties of inhumanity. Thank you for sharing your vivid memories and vowing to break the cycle!! Thank you again, Maggie, for this forum!
Today's domestic violence poster is a man, and I bet you even know him: http://violenceunsilenced.com/bhj/
I know those memories all too well. The crashing, the Step-Dad's booming voice, the sobs of my mother. All too well, my friend.
I thank God that, no, I don't have memories like that. Unfortunately, I know far too many people who do.
Thank you for sharing.
Yes, yes I do have memories like that.
We force ourselves to forget the things that are too painful to remember. We convince ourselves that it wasn't real so that we can go on and live another day.
What a great blog this is. Thanks for doing this.
This is one of thise things I want to look away from , because I have my own, 'almost' men at home, who could have written this based on their years of living with a drunk for a father. Thank you for writing this.
I feel guilty because I'm mesmerized by the writing when I should be offering encouragement and acknowledge your pain first. There are stories that elicit immediate empathy, and there are those stories so strong and so masterfully told that all you can do is freeze and listen to your own breathing.
We articulate our memories the way we find them, and if we can. Thank you for letting us take turns holding the things you carry.
When words create an indelible image and send chills up and down my spine, I know that the writing is powerful, piercing, and more than anything else....relevant. Thank you for this beautifully crafted from-the-heart post. I'm blown away.
So well written. As a regular BHJ reader (who else could those initials be?) I am used to how you get sucked into his scenes, but still, this is a very chilling and needed peak into what it is like to be a child witnessing these acts. And kudos to you for *not* becoming that next generation.
I have chills. I'm so sorry for those memories and everything that went along with them. Thank you for sharing your story.
Memories like that? Too many. Sometimes I like to believe it's just a surreal escapism to make my life more haunting...anything is better than the reality, the realization it happened.
You broke the cycle, you became someone who decided you weren't that person, that monster. Most of all you broke the silence. (Hugs)Indigo
Thank you for sharing this. I just had a conversation with a family member the other day about her memory.
No, I don't have any memories like that. But I know plenty of people who do. Too many actually.
But I'm happy to see that the cycle stopped there.. .at least for you. So often it just repeats itself.
That's why awareness is so important. It's the first brick in the edifice of prevention.
Shit. The way this is written, I'm in the memory with you.
I have memories that I 'don't have', too. Thank you for this.
Thanks so much for including the voices of men, both as survivors and allies. Only with a concerted, cooperative, co-ed movement will we finally eradicate violence in our homes and communities.
Great blog. Thanks to you and your brave posters for continuing to speak openly about their experiences.
- stephen montagna
men stopping rape, inc.
Yeah, I have memories like that. I have the film that goes with the soundtrack too. I wish my memory wasn't the steel bear trap it is, that I could have hazy parts where I wasn't sure if I'd dreamed it, but apparently it is my burden to remember, when my siblings don't, when my parents don't.
Wonderfully written - I was ready to go on to the next chapter!
Yes. Too many.
Thank you for this. Thank you for sharing with us.
One of my memories is my mom crying to us through the floor vents because my step-dad beat the hell out of her (again) and locked her in her room (again.) No surrounding context. Just those few moments...
I had the memory issues. I told my therapist at one point that I wished there had been a witness to verify what I thought had happened really did. He told me there was a witness.
It was me. And that is good enough.
Good for you for sharing. I hope you find some peace.