When the Dog Bites...

Continuing on the theme of dogs only today the dog is me. I'm going to use an analogy that I feel is accurate.

You're warned a lot of the time when you go to the shelter to adopt a dog that if you get one that's been abused, the dog may bite you when you are petting it. Because the dog, as well-meaning as you may be, may look at that raised hand coming in for a pet and think, "You're going to hit me!" At which point it backs away into a corner, tail tucked, terrified, growling, and snapping.

I'm like that.

It's not something I really want to admit to, because I don't want to sit here and sound like a victim. I really dislike thinking of myself of someone that's been abused. I try to avoid seeing myself that way, because it reminds me of how disempowered that made me feel. How helpless I felt. How obliterated I felt.

But it's something I really need to accept about myself. There's a part of me that is like that abused dog. That when presented with a loving (or simply curious) energy, sometimes confuses it for a hand raised to beat it.

The raised hand is whenever something sounds or feels like gaslighting. Or when it feels like I'm being told I'm disrespecting someone. And sometimes there's a fear of that hand being raised if I open myself and let somebody be part of my dream.

Because I have been abused via gaslighting and told I was being irrational, crazy, or lying when I was not.

Because I have been told I was disrespecting someone when I wasn't, and yet was punished severely for it anyway.

Because I have opened myself, let someone into my dream, and they proceeded to destroy the very foundations of myself the moment the opportunity presented itself.

So, when that happens, when that damaged part of me perceives that metaphorically raised hand, sometimes I get flashbacks. Sometimes I think I'm going to be abused again. Or, as my inner child likes to say, "the really bad thing is going to happen". Whatever the "really bad thing" is.

And I get scared. I growl. I bark. I run to the corner, curl up in a tiny ball, and threaten to bite anything that comes near.

As I said, I do not like admitting this about myself. But there you go. Maybe it needs to be said. I don't mean to do it, and dammit I'm trying the best I can to heal myself so I stop doing it. Awareness helps, but this is also a case where it just takes time and repeated exposure to the "scary" trigger presenting itself and the "really bad thing" NOT happening. Where instead of the raised hand hitting, it gently strokes and caresses. And that replaces the memory of the hitting over time.

I am so sorry to those I've bitten because of this. I'd lick it and make it better if I could. I'm not sorry you (metaphorically) adopted me. Thank you.

I thank you for your time. Adiamas.

--Kyriel