Stopping the Bleeding

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Abstract

e reform or the environment.But none of these things is the issue. The issue is that we live in a culture where the lives of children have no value. And if children have no value, then adults have no value, because all children who survive childhood become adults. And a culture that has no respect for people is a culture that is harsh and artless and destructive; a culture that will die of its own sickness.My mother will eventually die of her own sickness, too, but I don’t think that will offer me much comfort. Because even if I do manage to heal from the wounds she has inflicted, I will live always with the scars.But what I need to do now is make some effort to stop the bleeding. I need to stop letting the vital energy flow from my body.It is probably one of the hardest things I will ever do, but I need to stop hating

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my mother. Because every time I spend my life energy hating my mother, I am giving away something that is mine.And I have already given away too many years of my life; forty-five, to be exact. I give away my life energy all the time, a little here, a little there; sprinkling drops of my precious blood all over the place; draining my body slowly of my very life.And so I need somehow to let the wounds close up, to seal myself off and contain myself. I must do this, or I will not survive. I guess my need to slice myself open and let the blood drain out of my body was my way of staying close to my mother; a way of making myself believe that she was not who she really is; a way of clinging to the hope that she would finally love me.But now I must make a choice. I can have my life or my fantasies, but I cannot have both.</article></body>

Our National Disgrace

I would venture to guess that fifty per cent of the deaths in this country are caused, indirectly, by child sexual abuse. It is our national epidemic; our secret disgrace; our profound shame. It is the reason for ninety per cent of the social problems we have. It is a national horror, a nightmare, and no one wants to admit it.

People instead want to get aroused and stirred up and violent over issues like abortion or welfare reform or the environment.

But none of these things is the issue. The issue is that we live in a culture where the lives of children have no value. And if children have no value, then adults have no value, because all children who survive childhood become adults. And a culture that has no respect for people is a culture that is harsh and artless and destructive; a culture that will die of its own sickness.

My mother will eventually die of her own sickness, too, but I don’t think that will offer me much comfort. Because even if I do manage to heal from the wounds she has inflicted, I will live always with the scars.

But what I need to do now is make some effort to stop the bleeding. I need to stop letting the vital energy flow from my body.

It is probably one of the hardest things I will ever do, but I need to stop hating my mother. Because every time I spend my life energy hating my mother, I am giving away something that is mine.

And I have already given away too many years of my life; forty-five, to be exact. I give away my life energy all the time, a little here, a little there; sprinkling drops of my precious blood all over the place; draining my body slowly of my very life.

And so I need somehow to let the wounds close up, to seal myself off and contain myself. I must do this, or I will not survive. I guess my need to slice myself open and let the blood drain out of my body was my way of staying close to my mother; a way of making myself believe that she was not who she really is; a way of clinging to the hope that she would finally love me.

But now I must make a choice. I can have my life or my fantasies, but I cannot have both.