She Said It’s Called Compliance

I have my own sketch book.  She doesn’t put this art out for everyone to see.   She says it’s too graphic; that it might make other people sad.
Well, anyways, I’m sad too.  But she said this one we could use this time.  She won’t let you see the sexual stuff.  Not good, she says, to put those things on the internet.  So, that sketchbook is just all my own for my own memories, and even I have a monster sticker on it.

At Ware, Massachusetts, Sister Debbie Hale is the most horrible woman.   I hate her, and I don’t understand why Mama won’t look up at me at meal times.  I just stopped trying to catch her eyes, because she never looks up or even smiles.

Today, the day I draw this about at the bottom, well, I don’t know what I lied about, but Sister Debbie said I did lie.  So all day I had to wear a board around my neck with the word “Liar” only on it.

And also I just wanted to talk.  Why can’t we talk? But I talk too much so my mouth is taped a lot.  All day.  I don’t get water on this day.  My hands were tied together at the wrist and she makes me sit at the table with my hands folded on top.

Everyone is eating.  My stomach growls so hard.  I don’t get lunch or dinner because that’s my punishment.  It’s hard to go to sleep with a growling stomach.  Did you know that?  But I think I’ll take the tied hands, taped mouth and no meals over a belt beating.

If I can get a potato into my pocket, I might try to sneak it to my bunk.  But then Sister Debbie will hear me crunching it when it goes quiet at night, and I’ll get a beating.  Well, I’ll just be hungry tonight, and tomorrow I’ll be extra good so I can have meals.

Sila Caprin

The art of the child recalls the memory.

The Current Tide

Tired
Morose
Flat
This feels like
An aftermath
Of the rubble
From a space shuttle
I was never meant
To depart from.

Thinking of home
I am a Universal vagabond
With my heart strapped on;
Ripped so many times
There is no more lining
For stitches,
So I wrap it in twine
Tie a knot inside my chest
A place to tether
The sadness.

Stop trying to fix
The broken hearted
With your big words.

Until you’ve worn the shoes
Of a human’s abuse
Speech is mere verbs,
Letters leaving lips
Which can never really
Know what it’s like
To feel all of this.

In the meantime I
Rewind the knobs
Tune the strings
So I can
Sing my way through
All the things I
Never tell you and
Why I like to be alone,
A solitary soul
Singing lullabies
To the invisible sky.

V.K

Pounding Pages

While Adele was chasing pavement, I was chasing memories in the pages of “Cult Child“. Now, she accompanies me as I “go over everything” in the “Cult Child” sequel, “Rise of Sila”.

Pages come in spurts between resting and remaining balanced for another emotional journey into lost innocence, trailer parks, a narcissistic mother, an undefined multiple me and time behind bars.

Sometimes, as I am writing, my mind releases to a distant place where I look back and wonder how this was my life. Deep inside, a purpose drives me. It is a reason I continue on.

I spend my time passing knowledge on to anyone who will stop and pay attention. I want you to know about the children no one checks on. I want you to know about the illusions which exist in the advocacy world. I want you to know how short staffed law enforcement teams are and how seemingly un-interested the FBI is in making this virus of pedophilia and child abuse a priority.

I think about my country, our right to make citizens arrests and our rights to freely investigate without stalking. I wonder if citizens could become partners with law enforcement. I wonder if we could switch out the hundreds of thousand of prison inmates who are jailed for cannabis, with hundreds of thousands of pedophiles and child abusers.

Who do you want on your street corner? The hippie or the child lover?

As I work inside the web of my personal goals, focusing first on my own self empowerment, then to those whom I can support in positive growth, I realize how much of the problem with child abuse can be monitered through citizen volunteerism.

CASA is a great place to start. If there isn’t one in your city, consider contacting them on how to start a chapter. It’s a good way to get started in helping protect child rights.

Most of all, pound out your own pages, whatever they look like. Release your own aches so they can be replaced with passion for others.

I am pounding out the pages of my past in sporatic language vomiting. It tells the truth about this twisted world, from inside the thoughts of my own young mind.

I am Sila Caprin. I survived. We are scribing more memories, in sync with exploring new emergences, through our cave guide, Hyro.

The Collective

Un-Acknowledged

What does it feel like
To be a ghost shunned;
A soul un-grieved,
Un-missed and unforgiven?

In the hovering bowels
Of mysticism where the
Cynics hang their hats,
She waits to be
Acknowledged.

In these times there
Is a satisfaction in this
Inter-dimensional reaction;
When spirit feels the wishing
Just like we did
When we were little
And hurting.

“You are undeserving.”

I see her there
Weeping. She is
Repeating all of the
Mistakes that
Make her ache, but

You see, it’s
Not up up to me to
Provide relief.

There are grave
Consequences for
Actions, and sometimes
They get passed on
To the next
Generation.

Mistakes can’t be erased.
Absolution is a
Figment of your
Imagination, so I say
Proceed on with caution.

Meanwhile, she
Hangs from the eave,
Hovering,
Hoping to be
Seen by me, and I
Wince inwardly.

I remind myself that
She is the reason
I have moments of freezing
Dead in my skin and
How hard I have
Had to fight to win,
So no, without emotion, I
Leave her restless
In eternal hoping.

©venniekocsis.com

Abused Children Wear Multiple Faces

What the un-abused cannot understand is how a child can be raped and defiled, then smile at school the next day.

What I can say as a sex and physical child abuse survivor is that a lot of us victims don’t fully understand it either, except to explain that this is where fragmentation of the mind happens.

We function in multiple settings, some violent and horrific, some considered normal, and we move between these fragments in order to survive. As a species, we don’t fully understand the absolute capacity we have to get through horrible events and experiences. So, in order to thrive, there must be in all of us, an acceptance, instead of a need for explanations or closure that we may never recive.

Why do evil humans do what they do?

Who cares.

Let’s stop them.

We spend more time researching, than we do focusing in on victim rehabilitation and harsh sentencing for perpetrators.

We spend more time debating theologies on news panels for television time, than we do walking into the lives of the victims so we can truly understand what they have experienced.

If you want a solution to an epidemic like child abuse, ask some of us victims. You will find that maybe you should listen to us, whether you agree with our view or not. If you have not been a victim you really aren’t the expert. The victim is. To put yourself in your own absolute bubble makes you a part of the problem.

Start to listen, as we are speaking very loudly, and our Survivor Voices are rapidly growing.

Cult Child at Amazon:

Vennie Kocsis is the best-selling author of Cult Child and the hostess of Survivor Voices Show and her live Sunday broadcast Off the Cuff. She is an advocate, poet and artist.

 

When Childhood Gaps Haunt You

I wish I had one less tear for every time I heard the advice to stay more focused on the future than I do the past. Or one less ache for the unsolicited opinion that letting go is always best.

I have spent many years contemplating this.

I revert to the line in a journal that was gifted to me. It says, “Remember to get through it. Don’t stay in it.”

I’ve met many abuse survivors who have all of their memories. I have felt a mixed twinge of jealousy that they remember everything and sadness that they recall all of the hurt. Still, there are some of us survivors with time gaps.

For me, those gaps are not completely blank. They hold flash and impression memories. Flash memories are 3-10 second images which sometimes have no specific beginning, sometimes no end or sometimes both. Impression memories are feelings and thoughts for which there are no accompanying images. Both of these types of memories are cloaked with a big question mark.

There is no closure for them. To forget and let them go is as impossible as the inevitable fact that if one tries to stay awake for as long as possible, eventually, they will fall asleep. The memory will go nowhere whether we will it to or not.

Therefore, instead, to dive into the dark and dismal pits is sometimes the definitive path to wholeness. To finally reach the destination may include feeling our way through some very dark hallways and caves.

The key to this expedition is behavioral awareness. There will be tears and weariness. There will be moments of wanting to give up. There will be times anger will emerge. Being aware of whether or not this is affecting our behavior is important, as it affects those connected to us, our health and well being.

Balance is the ying to the yang. It must be set in place by way of grounding into the present. Dissociation begins with physical symptoms such as a heavy chest, difficulty breathing, rapid heartbeat, nausea, tunnel vision and more.

To dive into the abyss requires a safety belt and a wire. It is not impossible. The more we care for and accept signals from our physical form, the more the gateways of the mind become open.

To enter the haunted house, one must remember the number one rule.

It is not real. Right now, in the present, it is not real. It is a memory. We get to control our response to it. We get to be patient as we learn how to enact that control.

And once our bodies have become accustomed to the trapeze, to know there will always be a net, we can be free to swing between the poles of our soul gaps.

And all that is darkness will be exposed by the light. As horrible as it will be, don’t turn your eyes. Let the images and accounts embed themselves so deep, that you never lose your empathy.

Are You Afraid To Write Your Trauma?

We are often encouraged to write out our trauma memories. As an author, I am definitely a supporter of this process and understand what it can do for the mind, body and spirit.

Often I have spoken with trauma survivors who don’t have any kind of outlet for the pain they are holding in. So it sits in their skin like weights. It becomes despair, sinking them deeper into hopelessness and the unknown.

When I ask them if they’ve ever tried writing out these moments, there is one phrase I hear the most.

“I’m not a very good writer.”

This is what has inspired me to share some things with you about the writing process.

Writing out your trauma has nothing to do with whether you deem yourself a prolific writer or not. Writing out your trauma is simply about getting it out.

In her book, “PTSD: Time To Heal“, Cathy O’Brien stresses the importance of writing by hand. I completely agree and have at least 5-6 journals going at once. For me, the reason I hand write certain things is because it makes my brain slow down. It lets me really pause to do sensory recall. I sometimes will have a crude, coinciding sketch emerge.

I also can tell who inside of me is scribing based on my handwriting. One of us writes in all caps. Another tends to use cursive. Another is messy and lazy with writing, and her wrist will start burning and become tired quickly. A couple speak telepathically and I am their scribe.

My writing out a memory may, in the beginning, look like this:

Potato dugout
So dark in here
Smells like mold
Do demons really lurk in shadows?
Don’t want to go back there in the back part.
What if a demon gets inside of me?
Where is the boy who usually is here to help?
I hope it’s not a mean boy.

I don’t always use full sentences. I get in a first person voice so I can re-visit it in the present. I will use fragments of sentences, literally writing whatever comes to my mind. Sometimes more information about that memory will come later, and I will go back to write more on that particular page.

The point, you see, is not to feel the pressure of writing well, or to put out a novel or even a blog, unless you want to. It has nothing to do with writing skills and everything to do with Purging and Visualizing.

Have you ever had a difficult time grasping a concept until you saw it outlined for you? Our memories can work the same way. Writing out even one or two word phrases can open up our minds, expansively allowing more to emerge.

So when you are writing out your trauma, remember it’s not about the manner of your writing. It’s about the ink letting of your pain.

Remember to get through it, and not stay in it.  Soothe.  Take a break when you want.  Have cool water and whatever comforts you nearby, and Remember to Breathe.  ❤

Vennie Kocsis