It’s a terrible thing to know you aren’t loved. As I child, I knew I wasn’t. It just was. Unkept, abused, and glowing of nothing good.
It’s not a good way to start life. It sets a tone for everything. The notion that someone should care about me didn’t really exist. I managed to keep my countenance from showing my disheveled insides, but I was really unhappy.
To me it is the worst essence that daily, sustained abuse brings. No love in. No love out.
It grinds on day after day. The shouts in my soul that I was not loveable. The scream of the night that I was made for abuse. My soul bled out daily. Lifeless and half dead, I carried on.
This isn’t a way to live but for many adults that have carried on from childhood sexual crimes it is their way of life. Their days are meaningless — going through the actions just to get back into bed or dive into a favorite addiction.
Hope! What stops this cycle is hope. Having just enough belief to see you are worthy of more. Understanding that abuse carries no form of love in it — none. It’s hard to say you came from a home of no love. Most of us like to change our stories — make them look better. We definitely have a propensity to create love behind us, weave it into a story where it really didn’t exist. Pretend! Why not, it’s what our abusers taught us to do.
It’s time for the pendulum to swing.
Love cannot be manufactured. We cannot create it where it doesn’t exist. Oh, we can go back and pretend that we have love around those that abused us, but it will mean nothing. You will continue to be hurt and exploited.
Tell the truth to your heart. It is only in that deepest, loneliest, place where healing can occur. And, it happens through the absence of denial.