The Knife

I didn't know

When I was a kid, I thought abuse meant showing up to school covered in black and blue

It meant blood on your clothes and screaming for help so loud the neighbors could hear you

I thought it meant police always rushing to your side, you being a sight so horrific it took everything not to cry

The abusers had cold eyes, their fists harder than ice, screaming they hated you at your bedside

When I thought of abuse, I thought it meant corpses or those who could run away

I didn't know it could be the people who sing you to sleep and tell you they love you everyday

I didn't know it could be the person you used to wake up early for to get morning snuggles and safely fall back to sleep

I didn't know not every abuser wanted to hurt you, and for some it just ended that way

There was never any blood, except the blood I drew myself; how was I supposed to know it was wrong?

That starving a kid didn't just mean with food, that ignoring a child screaming with everything they have for help was neglect too

That forcing a child into a car who had almost been in a car crash where the driver told them they'd die, knowing the trauma it caused yet speeding down the road as they feared for their life again just because they misbehaved was bad parenting, and I hope they've realized that now too

I pointed out they hit me once, in a casual conversation. I was hit several times at that, and I'd just started questioning if that was wrong. "Are you saying I abused you?" was their calm yet cold response. I couldn't recall if the belt had left bruises, and I guessed if it had it wasn't that bad, so I quickly said, "No," and tried to move on.

I'd been manipulated before, so badly I thought my truth was a lie. I knew that was wrong after it happened but didn't realize how common it was. I thought I could avoid it ever happening again, but the manipulation never really stopped. It transfered person to person, even those I thought I could trust. Maybe that's why a parent's betrayal hurts the worst of all and even after countless apologizes I can't forget. Because the moment I forget I leave myself open for a day it might happen again.

I didn't know that was abuse. No one ever taught the younger me that mental abuse existed. I had the internet and friends for that, and even then refused to believe what had happened. There was no blood. There was no phantom pain of old bruises. There were just the horrified looks as I thought I was telling a normal, funny story.

I still remember that one time I told a trusted adult I was struggling. They threw things and told me, "Well let's grab the gun." The gun was not grabbed. I was uninjured. So why do I still remember it so clearly? 

I was not starved, I never showed up to school in a display of color I shouldn't have had. I had parents who told me they loved me, a mom who blowdried my hair whenever I was sick, and a dad who always told me if I didn't like his girlfriend that she would be gone.

I was young, too young to have problems or know the real world as countless people told me. I don't think a kid without a care in the world would be suicidal by age nine and fighting the neighborhood kids even after I was bleeding just to feel alive. But the fights were all fun and games, no one really got hurt, and my mom hid the pills and broke the tub's drain. No one died so what did it matter? I was physically okay.

We got into arguments at 2am sometimes. I was told to shut up and go to bed. I know it was late, but that's the only time I felt safe. They protected me in every other case, so why was it the side of those hurting me that got taken that time?

I didn't know it was wrong, isolating me because of bad grades, or threatening to get rid of my dog, screaming at me to go do what I was told as I screamed back too scared they were serious to leave my dog, my best friend's, side.

Feeling unsafe was normalized, so much I forgot what to do when I was really safe, so I looked for things to fear anywhere I could. The main place I found to store that fear was the person I saw in the mirror. I was always told everything was my fault, even when I knew they were wrong.  I guess it just made sense to believe them, even if I didn't realize I did. I already hated myself, so why not blame myself? All of my trauma was probably the universe knowing I was a bad friend, a bad kid, a bad person long before I started becoming those things, so it hit me with the karma early.

I did not know those things are commonly caused by abuse. I did not know I didn't somehow deserve it, despite the many times that I screamed it wasn't my fault or begged to be told that in unsent messages. I did not know abuse lived outside of blood and broken bones. And when I figured it out, I refused to believe that the people who told me they loved me, that they would do anything to protect me, could be the ones who failed me so badly. 

I did not know as so many kids don't. None of it ever made sense. I know now some people are just shitty and generational trauma haunts many, that how much a person cares about you doesn't equal how much they can hurt you. When I found that out, I grew angry at those who hurt me just because they could, and begged myself to be able to forgive the ones I knew didn't know the damage they were causing.

I did not know until I truly started the road to recovery how rough a path it would be. How someone apologizing doesn't always make you feel better about what they did, how hearing those words sometimes hurts just as much as another person refusing to acknowledge what they did. The first made me feel guilty, and the second angry, and I realized there was just no winning.

My corpse was not found, and I did not run away for more than a few hours, but that did not mean I came out unscathed. That did not mean I was not abused. One of the greatest failures to abuse victims is only showing them what society preserves to be the worst cases. And until that changes, there will continue to be millions of kids like me.

Sitting in a fire we think is the whole world, and whispering, "I didn't know," when we finally see past the flames.

***

2/20/2023