To my Personal Demon

It has been a bit more than to 2 months into “No contact” with my family, although only my mother knows why as I decided to talk only with her, not really telling her the real reason. Not because I can’t, but because I know she would never understand it and most of all – I’ll provide her with Narcissistic Supply.

And this will never happen again.

During those 2 months I’ve been through numerous periods of grief, sense of loss, anger, rage, feeling lost and forgotten. It feels like an emotional rollercoaster with so much unexpected ups and downs I nearly completely lost myself in it. I saw no end, no recovering from this, no escape.

It felt like I was gone already, dead.

Then, with enormous reluctance I started reading more and more and with absolutely no desire I started therapy. It felt like dragging the weight of the whole world, chained to my neck and it was literally a brutal fight for each step and each breath.

The first session felt like someone slapped me very hard and for a minute there I felt somthig has been “awakened”.

As this is not the first time I was trying therapy, which so far never ever worked for me, I was completely sure that it will kill me this time, rather than help me.

Only it was so different I couldn’t believe how someone can unlock my brain, my feelings, even though just a tiny bit with every session. I was in complete shock. Is this really happening? Could this be the way to recovery if there is a way to recovery at all?

The therapy my therapist thought it would be most beneficial for me to start with is called Internal Family Systems. Never heard of it before and just the word “family” put me of straight from the beginning. I will get into more details into my therapy later on – painful, horrible memories – but I think I finally understood when it all started.  

The IFS therapy works like trying to see every different “part” of you (feeling), talk to it and see what any particular part has anything to say to you. I thought “ok, this one is completely crazy, but I’m already here so I didn’t want to just walk away – after all I promised my husband I will do whatever is necessary to get better.

And what do you know? It turns out I am the crazy one, not my therapist. Well, not crazy crazy, but when I looked into myself and what we uncovered in just a few sessions left me feeling brutally exhausted and with eyes wide open for the first time in my life.

The basics of the IFS therapy stands on looking into 3 main internal family systems, my personal roles sort to speak in the family dynamics I was raised – managers, exiles and firefighters. So the role of the manager – when feels threaten in any way or when whatever is happening to you and are not yet equipped to understand what is really happening – in order to protect you, the manager banish any feelings or memories and these are the exiles. Once your brain learns how to do that it does it automatically whenever there is a threat and most interestingly – creates the so called “protectors”.

My most powerful protector is my rage, somehow not completely understood on my side towards what or who and when it all started. It’s so powerful it took two sessions to let me see any other “parts”. And what do you know – they are all “protectors” not allowing me to see anything else. Rage, guilt, shame and hyper vigilant. The last one – the hyper vigilant one – is actually a part of my first layer of protectors, which I was told is quite rare. This part actually tries to protect me from my rage.   

Because my rage is not just rage. When I visualise it it’s a massive fireball, red hot like lava, pulsating and waiting for something really insignificant to happen to overtake me. I have been that way since I can remember. When the “Rage” takes over you better run. Regardless of my delicate figure there is nothing or no one that can stand on my way. I know it sounds exaggerated, but it isn’t.

When I had to protect myself physically from whatever idiot was trying to do to me, no matter of his size, they were either knocked down with a single blow or beaten up to the point where I realised that I had to walk away or I would literally kill him. And not even a single drop of fear – the thing that most worried my therapist.

Again, I am not exaggerating, I have witnesses and people, that still are turning back and trying to disappear the moment they see me. This is not something I am proud of, it’s actually something I am ashamed of as I have no control over it. But I truly can't stand bullies, not just can't tolerate them, I HATE them. I hate them because they are abusers and the most infuriating part of the my hate towards them its because they are a cowards. They only pick on an easy targets, week victums. This, for me, is the most inhumane behaviour I have no tolerance for. Any normal person would offer help to such vulnarable people, rather than abuse them, but that is completely different story. Again, I am not proud of this, but I am not ashamed aither. I'm only ashamed when I can't contril the "Rage", even it has been provoked and I did my best not to give into it.

But sometimes I just can't. The only excuse I can think of for myself is that the “Rage” takes over when is completely justified, no matter what angle you’d try to see the situation, me or any other normal people, it is justified. And when it’s justified, there is nothing I can’t turn to ashes.

During or sessions it turns out that most people with similar issues have “fear” as a protector. I know what fear is, but it has different meaning to me. Sometimes I fear that something bad might happen to my husband or my kids and that’s it. If something or someone threatens me or my family by my family, I mean my husband and children) there is no fear. I deal with it heads on, with rage already overtaken me and nothing can stop me.  

After another few sessions I finally understood where it all started from and who should take the entire power of my rage.

My brother.

My personal demon.

I thought of having one last conversation with him, but a different kind of fear and with the suggestion from my therapist, I decided to pour it on paper, rather through conversation with him. Because I know him better than anyone. And no matter how calm I would be while explaining that everything he did to me is not forgotten, but simply pushed deep inside me, in order to “protect” my parents and as ridicules as it sounds – even him. Since I have no parents to protect and once I uncover that all that rage started to building up inside me since I was 3 to 4 years old till the day I started therapy I knew that he, my so called brother, stand in the foundations of my rage and only he deserves to receive it with all its power.

And then I uncover completely different dimension of “fear”.

Not fear from him. Not fear that he can do something to me. He is the one that fears me now.

But a fear that he will say something, call me a liar, or even saying that I actually was enjoying what he was doing to me and the “Rage” will take over and I see only one solution in this case – I will and I can simply kill him with no remorse, no guilt, no nothing. I’ve been there twice already and I managed to walk away after he unleashed the “Rage” and I had beaten him up so badly that later on when I saw all the bruises it was difficult to believe that it was me that actually caused them. I had to walk away because I was seeing crystal clear how I go to the kitchen, get a knife and slitter his throat.

How I managed to walk away it’s still a mystery to me. The only thing I know now is that I won’t be able to walk away. He lives 2 hours driving from my house and I clearly see myself getting into my car, driving to the miserable whole he lives in, and finish him once and for all. And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself this time.

He is not my brother by any definition the society teaches us.

I don’t know exactly what he is, but he is not my brother.

That fucker is my Personal Demon who unlocked the “Rage” and turned me into something I have no definition for. My parents played their parts too but he is the key.

Here it is. I refuse to be thing he turned me on and I will try to unleash the “Rage” here, on paper, so I don’t have to kill him no matter how tempting is, and face the consequences afterwards.

So I am giving in and let the “Rage” speak.

You sick fuck, do you have any idea what you did to me? Do you think I have forgotten as I never spoke about it? No. I remember everything. And the only reason you are alive is because I have a family, which I will protect no matter the cost, and I’m not ready to leave them behind when I head to jail.

You are not human. You are sick monster, who simply does not deserve to live. You fucking idiot sold me to paedophile when I was 4 years old. Don’t you dare deny it as if you do I will burry you. If you have any balls at all face the truth, although we both know you have no balls as you are a fucking coward. I don’t care if you are sick, like being psychopath or whatever, there is no excuse from my point of view what you did to me.

Do you think I forgot how you made me satisfy you, touching your dick and made you ejaculate all over my hands, laughing as I didn’t expect it? No. I did not forget. I was 7 years old. And I didn’t know the meaning or any of this, you fucking imbecile.

Do you think I forgot how you joined me in the shower, with full erection, rubbing yourself all over me you disgusting fucker? With a friendly smile, explaining to me that this is just to help me shower myself you revolting animal.

I WAS JUST A CHILD.

AND YOU DID IT ANYWAY, KNOWING IT WAS WRONG.

Do you think I forgot how you ejaculate all over me and then leaving the bathroom and leaving me so confused, I literally didn’t know what had happened, what to think, is it wrong or not. I wasn’t equipped with any tools to deal with all the revolting things you did to me.

Do you have any idea how you messed up my whole life, you fucking fucker? I know you don’t. Because you are not human. And there is nothing more in the world I want then kill you myself.

And we both know I can and I will if you say even one word I don’t like.

So pray that I never see you again because I won’t be able to control myself and I will go full blown “Dexter” on you, you sick motherfucker. And I will feel exactly the same pleasure seeing you dead.

Whatever you do, whatever you think, make sure I never, EVER, see you again. And I know you will because the fear I should feel it’s what you feel. YOU can’t hurt me anymore. YOU can’t touch me anymore. YOU can only fear me and I know you do.

That being said, there is only one thing I expect from you. To die. The sooner the better.

My last words to you are that your psychopath narcissistic mother knows everything now. What she will do – that I don’t know. But if you decide one day to question the truth, if she ever tells you, of course, that she know that you are SICK FUCK, I will end you.

No fear.

No lies.

Only RAGE.

So do me a favour and just die.