I had one of those days where something was bothering me but I didn’t realize something was bothering until way later.

It was innocuous. A friend told a story of how he defended his wife to someone who had been mean to her in the past. The key factor was that it involved a show of physical strength on his part, not really hurting this other man but, making it clear that with little effort he could and that he was doing it in defense of the woman he loves.

I have a very, very strong preoccupation with fantasies of being protected. I actually didn’t realize how strong it was until I got into a tv show where the male protagonist showed a fatherly, protective concern towards a young woman that was backed up with violence when necessary. I found myself fantasizing that this fictional man was a fictional version of myself ‘s father. That was a confusing sentence wasn’t it? I hope you can understand it anyway.

When I connected to this fictional person, I fantasized that if he had been my real father, he would have tortured my uncle into confessing what he did to me and then he would have killed him. It brought me comfort…fleeting comfort but comfort nonetheless.

Today when I heard my friend’s story…how he physically stood up for his wife because someone hurt her and that pissed him off…I felt…I don’t know what I felt because I thought I simply cheered at the thought but that wasn’t it. I was bothered underneath the surface all day but didn’t know I was bothered until I got home. A few hours after I got home I got really anxious and antsy and upset. I couldn’t figure out why, but the story kept coming back over and over and over. I finally get it…I think.

I feel sad. Really, really, really, really sad.

I want to cry so bad right now. I want someone to defend me. To hurt the one who hurt me. To stand up for me.

I think there’s something about having a male figure physically defend me that is attractive. Obvious father issues right? And it’s not sexist. I think in a good world, fathers would protect their daughters. And this isn’t really about my adult self. This is about little me who had no one to protect her.

It breaks my heart because I don’t know how it feels to have that kind of person stand up to someone who wants to hurt me and stop them. To physically stop them. I had to protect myself but I couldn’t. I was a child with no strength but my imagination and my imagination is where I stay.

Today has messed with my head.


About CimmarianInk

Abuse Survivor Diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder PTSD and Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) also known as Multiple Personalities
This entry was posted in Child Molestation, Incest, Multiple Personalities, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Sexual Abuse, Trauma and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Protection

  1. Freasha1964 says:

    Oh, CI I am sorry. this sounds very painful. I get it in the sense that I wanted a mother to have my back. My father sort of did- he really defended me from bad guys a couple of times. But he also emotionally abused me. It is complicated. I have come to the conclusion that my mother would not have been like my ideal, either.

  2. kat says:

    i know what you mean. and i can see why your friend’s story triggered that sadness in you–that particular sadness, about never being defended and protected, was so close to your friend’s story, it had to bring up those emotions. despite how sad and difficult this event was, you are probably one step closer to healing, as you have put together the memory with its emotions now, and can feel the emotions along with the memory and eventually let it go, like your normal memories, so it can go back to its proper place and not be triggered anymore.

    sorry if i sound stupid. i don’t have stupid check working today.

  3. blackdaria says:

    I wish there was a way on here to contact you because I wanted to ask you something, but this will do for now. In the meantime how are you doing? Just wanted to check in with you.

  4. Faith says:

    Do you remember the movie Without a Trace? There’s a part in there where the little boy was found. They put him in the police car to escort him home. The scene has to this day been powerful. It showed a long stream of police cars with flashing lights rescuing him. I’ll never forget that scene or the fact that I sat beside my abuser (my mother) as I watched the boy rescued and escorting him to safety with fanfare…. I’ve wanted that scene to be me. I wanted to matter that I hurt. I wanted to have it loudly proclaimed that I’m not bad. I’m worth the effort to recover from her and her family.

    We all need a white Knight.
    I’m happy you got your pictures and the various points of validation.


    • CimmarianInk says:

      Hi Jordan, wow I don’t remember that movie but the imagery you painted was vivid to me even just reading it. And for you to be next to your abuser while watching it…? Oh wow…I totally get that! My heart breaks for the young you that was hurt. *many hugs*

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