ego-maniac

Abuse Is Not Just “Being Harsh”

The Eyes Don’t Lie by Vennie Kocsis

“No, you don’t understand.” I explained through the phone. “I witnessed abuse; cruel, verbal abuse.”

Well, you know,” the lady on the other end replied, “some people can be a bit harsh.”

Harsh, that’s what my mother’s generation called verbal abuse. Harshness. Harsh meant you could be spoken to however an adult wished. Harsh meant you were a pain in the ass, always fucking up, couldn’t do anything right, controlled, sequestered, gossiped about, and all the while your abuser feigning to the outside world that they are a good person.

Too many times than I care to count, I have heard how wonderful and kind my mother was.  Yes, it was hard to watch my mother be nice to other people for the sake of appearances.  My mother’s abuse was subtle. She could pinch you on your upper arm to shut you the hell up while smiling at the stranger she was speaking with.

Harsh. This woman I was speaking with had just called blatant verbal abuse “a bit harsh.” I knew in that moment, that none of this was worth my energy.  It was futile to even try anymore, so I said, “Well, I love you.” Because I do. I have love for her existence and the gifts I’ve seen her display.

Then she laughed at me, as if the statement of “I love you” was ridiculous.  She actually outright laughed at me.  I was momentarily stunned.

“Well, I wouldn’t say THAT. That’s not something we just throw around.” She retorted.

I realized even more, that this is the problem. Lady, your generation didn’t tell us you loved us. You didn’t “throw around” love when we needed it, and you still don’t. You throw denial. You throw self service, because “who is going to do this and that for you because you didn’t keep up with age of technology?” You don’t throw out, “I’m sorry you had to witness that. This is not okay. I understand why you ethically wouldn’t want to be associated with that kind of behavior.”

Instead, I received defense statements which melded into victim blaming as if we are over-exaggerating; as if our feelings and observations and hurt don’t matter.  As if we don’t understand your blurred line between “Harshness”and blatant Abuse.

“Well, I say I love you to people I appreciate, so know you’re loved.” I reply. I realize it doesn’t matter. I can feel love for whomever I wish. If she chooses to mock it, that is for her to feel, not me.

I don’t have the where with all to associate myself with these kinds of apathetic mentalities. They are damning and counter-productive. They are petty and cruel. They are lacking depths of self-accountability, and there is not healing within those confounds.

There is a generational gap where the strong are over taking the weak. I feel a sense of empathy for the dying. A Generation of Sociopaths created a grave problem in our societal construct, spent the next fifty years studying these self-created problems, used their children as test subjects for their abuse and study and wrote mass books about it; books which contain no “on the ground” solutions. Regurgitation is not for our generation.

I feel empathy for the waning because they will never know how good it is to heal, to love, to stand in truth instead of denial, to call moments for what they are, to own their own behaviors and make a choice to change them; to speak truth no matter who throws stones, instead of running on passive aggression. They’ll never what it’s like not to care what others think of them or not base their worth on another’s opinion. That’s rather sad, yet that energy is a dense weight on this rising Earth, needing to be healed or dispelled.

When a person is hanging on the edge of a cliff, there comes a moment, their hands become weak.  They know that death is inevitable.  Yet still, they grasp onto that rock with all of their might. Finally, they take that last breath, and free fall into the inevitable destiny of change.  Welcome to a new era of letting go and flying.

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of CULT CHILD, and hostess of Survivor Voices radio show every Sunday at Freedom Slips.

img_3657

VennieKocsis.com

 

Advertisements

Forgiveness Is For the Egomaniac

Forgiveness.  Sometimes I get tired of hearing this word.  What does it mean to me?  It feels moot; an unnecessary element in the totality of my growth journey.

I’ve learned a great deal about myself through this journey of therapy.  This host who carries these parts of me, she is intelligent and free spirited, kind and giving, thoughtful and strong willed.

These past few years have been a procession of betrayals, subsequent disenchantment rightfully created, and a slow withdrawal into an even tighter state of mistrust.  Yet, this is not the way I thought I was supposed to live.

I watch my cats closely.  I learn a lot from them.  One element of a cat’s personality is the way they are with people.  Rarely does a cat let someone close right away.  It takes time.  They watch.  They wait, observing.  My lack of waiting or accepting the signs that things with certain people were not right, have cost me relationships and a lot of hurt.

Yet still, I work through the process of these hurts and how does forgiveness play a role in it.  I don’t feel forgiving towards certain individuals.  I feel disappointment.  I feel anger.  I feel betrayed and used.

In what way would forgiveness change those emotions and what does that mean?  It feels plastic to me; passive aggressive, a sweep of the hand over the heart and the soft cliche of “I forgive you so that I can heal.”

That’s not how I feel.  To say that would be a line of bullshit.  I don’t forgive anyone who doesn’t have the humble ability to own their behavior.  I don’t expect forgiveness if someone feels I don’t own mine.  I say fuck off, get out of my life, and accept it if someone feels the same about me.

Forgiveness feels overrated and fake most of the time.  It feels like a way to smooth over or make excuses for shitty behavior and give someone a chance to wear the forgiveness crown.

No, I don’t forgive you.  That doesn’t make me bitter.  I’m just keeping it my kind of real in a “please, with sugar on top, fuck off” kind of way.

In the end, life continues on, and I wish no human any harm.  Forgiveness doesn’t hold miracles or healing for me.  I heal because I choose to.  I go forward because I move my feet.

Forgiveness feels as if it is for the ones who enjoy the idea of hanging as a victim on a cross, a personal self built pedestal, so they can announce to the world “forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Forgiveness is for the ego-maniac.