Is It Insanity?

Insanity can be hidden in a house where abuse thrives. It may sound perplexing, but to an abused child, the treatment that she endures is expected. It’s “what’s for dinner” in a sense. Later in life when she has opportunities to glimpse into the lives of other families, she discovers the insanity in its hiding place. No one there is slapped or spit on. Still, this view of other families isn’t trustworthy. An abused child trusts no one and nothing. Often, she wonders if the things that are happening in her home happen in this home, too, just behind closed doors. Isn’t that the way it is at home? Wasn’t my family hiding secrets of shame?

If you think anyone is sane you just don’t know enough about them.

                                                                                        ~Christopher Moore

For years, I kept our secrets hidden from myself, but most especially I kept it hidden from outsiders. No one told me to… at first. No one else was talking about it in our family. When you are abused, you learn not to take risks, so I did not risk talking about it. You learn to pretend. I often wonder if the great thespians of our world were abused children. Pretending is second nature… sometimes even first nature. And so is escape.  Living in concocted stories I created in my mind was the tool that aided my circumvention.

As I contemplate the meaning of all of this, the reasoning behind my need to create a blog in the first place, in writing the second entry, I have already changed by course of intention. When I began, I was so full of anger that my first instinct was the lash out. Wasn’t that the pattern that was modeled for me all of my life? Lashing out with the truth, instead of fists, instead of insults or name calling, instead of belittling and demeaning. But my lashing could be just as humiliating.


The objective is not to humiliate my abusers. There comes a time when you finally say, “Enough is enough!” and realize that in order for the pain to stop, the pattern has to stop. My objective is not to confront the abusers. I’ve tried that route. My mother is a narcissist. Her reality does not match the reality in which people without her personality disorder exist. The objective is for me to soul search, to reflect, to examine, but not to dwell or obsess. The objective is change: the change that is desperately needed in order for me to live with content day by day.


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