“Anger is a wound gone mad.”

14 Nov

I have spent all week avoiding the news, turning pages, clicking past, closing my eyes. Closing my ears.

But you can’t.

I’ve spent the week trying to avoid the knowledge that I was being triggered, in the most massive of ways, just by coverage and words. It’s like my insides were retrieved and pulled back in time, to another place. I wasn’t that little boy the the showers, but dammit if I don’t remember the feeling of knowing, of knowing without a fucking doubt that someone knew. Someone saw and someone could have stopped it and someone did nothing.

I have lived my life with the knowledge that I wasn’t worth saving. That I wasn’t worth the effort of protecting.

It sounds like the simple choice an adult could make. Get involved, don’t get involved. Walk away. Pretend you didn’t see. Pretend no one if hurting. Pretend there isn’t a little girl naked on film, film in your hands.

Wash yoru hands of it.

To me, it makes you complicit. It makes you guilty, If my eyes had reached to you, much as that little boy would have reached, in anguish, in horror, in terror, and you could walk away, are you any less a monster?

Somethings are just wrong. I, like many others this week, have spent time reliving our monsters, playing it over and over in our heads. The knowledge that we just didn’t matter.

That we were something to walk away from.


I can’t listen about the man who just got 5 years for 4.5 MILLION images of child pornography without wondering if I’m one of those pictures. I will never know. I will never know if the man who took the pictures while the other man directed the action ever felt bad when he walked past me in the street. I wonder if he ever thinks about what he did, about the full impact of what he did.

On bad nights I wonder if he kept them and enjoys them still.

On bad nights, the voice whispers to me that I must be unworthy, I must be garbage, less than some, a null value. Why else? Why else did this happen? Why else was there a cold wet tongue in my mouth at 8, fingers at my chest? Why else are there memories colored by condoms and pain and frigid terror, a red wash to the skies behind my eyes while my body goes rigid and eats it’s own screams?

Why the fuck else?

Why else would anyone destroy a child, if they were nothing to begin with?


I don’t have the answers. But you know what I do have? I don’t trust anyone. I try, and I bind my lack of faith in pretense and poetry, but there is a nagging doubt behind me always, nodding. They will betray you. They will ruin you.

You will deserve it.

I hate myself. Every child who has been touched, every adult who has felt the power leave their limbs will nod and understand this loathing, the scars on my body where I’ve dragged metal through skin, the sudden shudder to my voice. There is such hate inside of me, a burning seething wreck, stranded lonely. I cannot soothe it, or break free from it. Instead I cover it with the cotton of time and walk from it in hope.

And you will never know.

Your skin will turn cold at a lover’s touch. Your stomach will curdle, your breath will catch and you’ll resist the urge to call out your own name in rememberance. You’ll forget the difference between memory and a dream.

As if there was ever one anyway.

9 Responses to ““Anger is a wound gone mad.””

  1. Bon November 14, 2011 at 8:15 pm #

    just needed to say i was here, without words of my own but fiercely stirred by yours.

  2. senorayatezamiee November 14, 2011 at 10:20 pm #

    what made me cry, what made bile in my throat, was that they left those little ones, gave them no help, no assist no voice. so many grown capable adults, so many saw and said they ‘did’ something but really did nothing. it is horrific. it is terrible. and i am so sorry it is something that you know, something that happened to you.

  3. Marcy November 14, 2011 at 11:26 pm #

    I can’t imagine. Lord give some comfort, some cushioning (without illusion), not only to Thor but to these others.

  4. Quadelle November 15, 2011 at 11:59 am #

    I am so sorry this has happened to you and to others – innocents who lost your innocence in such horrific ways. I wish wishing was enough to undo what has been done.

  5. Rae November 15, 2011 at 12:08 pm #

    Oh, I hate this so much, the lasting hurt that has been in your life. I’m so sorry, I have no good words, but I pray and hope that people will stand up for kids, who ARE so worth it, so worth protecting from the hellish evil in this world. I’m sorry they let you down. It’s all their fault. xoxo Thanks for writing it down.

  6. magpie November 15, 2011 at 2:43 pm #

    I’m sorry, hon. I wish it weren’t so – for you and for all the others.

  7. Natalie November 16, 2011 at 9:44 am #

    Sucker punch….I’m here too.

    Also, my best friend was the prosecutor in this file. She is the leading child porn prosecutor and she’s long tried to TRULY know (without being fully able) to understand the impact of the actions on others. I’m not sure you can, unless you tragically have been victim to the act.

    Can I point her in the direction of this blog post so that she can read it? I somehow think this will help her in the fight…even if the fight comes much too late for you, and many others.

  8. anna November 20, 2011 at 7:14 pm #

    I apologize for being human that this has happened to you.
    I should talk about forgiveness, peace and the freedom of love as as christian but I hope that they burn in hell, each and every one of them burns for the pain they are causing you, when you were young and still when you are much and much older.

    I’m sorry out the deepest of my heart and soul, they might walk the streets now, when they die, even if they die in their sleeps a long trial is waiting for them I’m sure of REAL JUSTICE will be served on the day of judgement.

  9. Suebob December 9, 2011 at 1:32 pm #

    Underneath all the self-hatred, the torment, the emotion, the rage…there is a part of you that they couldn’t touch nor take away. I can see it so clearly in your words, in the spirit you convey. You are a being of light that no one can darken.

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