“No one loses their innocence. It is either taken or given away willingly.”
― Tiffany Madison
I don’t know how to describe it. This feeling of. . . moving on. I’m minoring in Criminal Justice and came across this passage about victims of child abuse. It stated that in one study officers ranked dealing with an abused child as the most stressful kind of situation they encounter. It occurred to me, with a feeling of aloofness, that I was once that child. It almost felt like a lifetime ago to recall my experience of sitting in a cheery little house, that I later learned was an advocacy house, and explaining in detail to the female officer the extent of my abuse.
Is it a sense of moving on or just another aspect of PTSD, feeling separate from the abuse and the child I once was? I don’t feel like the same person. I think I’m coming into myself and know myself a little better. I’m not that scared little girl anymore that tried to escape into herself, books, the shadows, anywhere no one would notice her.
It’s like. . . my abuse was a safety blanket. The fear, panic, depression, insomnia, all familiar emotions and old time friends. I don’t know what to feel anymore. It’s like I’m looking back and kind of missing the old me. Everything was familiar. What lay ahead, the unknown, scares me a little more than the past. Maybe that’s why some abuse survivors don’t move on. The feelings become all too familiar. You don’t want to let go. Your fears bring you comfort at night, for they are valid. But once you’ve moved on, accepted the past and shrugged off it’s grasp, what else is there?
Just a thought. I guess I’ve been coming a cross a few triggers lately. I think I’ve been handling them a bit better than I used to. I no longer break down and have a panic attack. I just. . . still can’t bring myself to forgive him. I don’t think I ever will. Innocent acts they seemed, pictures, touches, etc. And yet they left such an impact and took so much from me. I think there will always be a hole somewhere inside me that nothing can fill. The place where my innocence used to reside.