BHJ
Men are often lost in the shuffle in the conversations surrounding domestic violence and sexual assault. I want to make it clear from the start of this project that not only are there many men behind it, there are a few that have their own stories to share. Tuesday’s survivor, Cary, wrote to tell me how surprised and pleased she was that so many of the supportive emails she received came from men. That’s why I’m so grateful for today’s poster.
You won’t see the following survivor story posted on this man’s own blog; Sometimes old pain can cause fresh new wounds for our loved ones.
I’m not spelling out his name here either, so that I can protect him from Google searches — but many of you reading this today would have recognized this blogger by his distinct voice anyway, whether I had written his name out or not. Most of you “know” him. He is a popular blogger, he is a beyond-talented writer, and I am proud to call him my friend.
Domestic violence affects men as well as women, children as well as adults. It has a ripple effect, and it is devastating. It goes on and on and on.
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Memory’s an issue. It can’t be trusted. Where’d you put your car keys? See. Then there’s that deal about whether or not you dreamed it. Oh sure you remember it. But you remember dreams too so did she really say Thursday night? Or did you really visit Rome on a flying carpet? Now, blend in your childhood and it gets even muddier. It’s a whole mess of faded memory, dreams, and wild imaginings. There’s no way you can ever know what really went down. Descartes grappled with this. Freud too. Do you? Do you have any memories that haunt you in spite of their questionable reality? Like, let’s say you’re in a closet and your Step Dad is beating up your Mom. Well, you might not even remember that because did you know your memory can even block things out? It’s like your mind can delete memory. See? It’s questionable. Memory’s an issue. But let’s say you remember you’re in that closet. You can’t actually see your Step Dad beating up your Mom. But you hear yelling and crying and crashing. Then you imagine the rest. See? There it is again. You imagined your memory. There’s no firm handle for any of this. Then let’s say your Step Dad stood outside the closet and yelled for you to come out. Let’s say you remember him threatening to kill you. He says “Get your ass out of there or I’ll fucking kill you I will fucking kill you I will fucking kill you I will fucking kill you.” But then you question yourself. You question your own memory. No one really talks like that, with that weird echo, so there you go wondering again: did this really happen? Is this real? But maybe it is real because what you remember the most is the indecision. You have to get out of that closet because you’re afraid you might die. But all you want to do is push yourself deeper into it, to somehow merge into and become part of the dark and disappear. You want to be the dark. You wonder if your Mom is OK. And something somewhere falls from a table and smashes on the floor. Something broke but you don’t know what it is. You wonder “What just broke? What just broke? What just broke?” Do you have memories like that? They don’t have any context, no before or after. They’re just there like strange paintings hanging in a museum. And you’re not even sure if they ever really happened. I wanna know. Do you have memories like that? Because I don’t.
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There is still time to enter Monday’s contest to win the awesome necklace. Don’t forget to enter, and thank you for continuing to spread the word so well.
38 Responses to “BHJ”
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Thanks for this.
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.
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…
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!
I wonder if there will come a day if this site will ever stop affecting me.
I don’t think it will.
Wow. Loss for words. (Rarity for me.)
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.
madison, wi
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.
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.
Thank you for sharing this. I just had a conversation with a family member the other day about her memory.
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
I have chills. I’m so sorry for those memories and everything that went along with them. Thank you for sharing your story.
Yes. I do.
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.
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.
Damn.
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.
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.
quite a few. thank you for sharing this.
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.
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.
((Hugs)) BHJ-
I already loved you and your writing, and now I feel a deeper connection.
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 remember slaps. hits. going to school with welts.
i wish i didn’t.
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!
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.
Oh my God…I remember it happening too. That’s all.
brilliantly written lack of memory. we all have some. I do too.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
yes I do….and I’m sorry you do too.
Thank you for sharing. I don’t have memories like this, but I’m afraid my kids will.
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.