A Facebook Page =)

Well to expand our audience, I have sent up a facebook page for FTB~FTM.  I was wondering if you would be willing to like it?  If I can get 25 likes I can have my own page name.  After that we’ll see how it grows all on its own, but I would really appreciate if you would help this blog page reach more folks by liking it on facebook.  You can find the link on the right side of my blog.

I’m really not trying to get a huge audience and all this attention, but I wouldn’t mind being some sort of presence on the net so that I can encourage other families.  There is so little out there about boys working through sexual abuse or eating disorders or self mutilation.  I just want to let other people know they aren’t alone.  So if you could help by liking our page and perhaps passing it along to your other facebook friends, I would appreciate it so much.

I guess you could consider liking our facebook page as one small and simple thing you could do to strike back during Child Abuse Awareness Month. =)



~Vale’s Mom

I kept on hiding in the bathroom for about five minutes, but my mom made me come out. Again, coming out of closets and rooms. Gah. My mom told me it was time to let go of the shame and go in there. She was literally pushing me-like…she actually had to PUSH me out of the kitchen. I was holding onto counters, and grasping at doors, but in the end I got out there.
Vale, on appearing in a t-shirt, exposing his arms, in front of his tutor.

What about the fallout

I want to write a series of posts on fallout.  To my surprise, so few people understand what lies in the aftermath of sexual abuse.  I guess they see it as one and done or something.  ”Boo hoo, have a little cry then back to life has normal” and I can’t think of an idea that is further from the truth.  It still hits me for a loop when we encounter something that is seemingly so innocuous, but due to fall out it becomes a problem.  Going to a restaurant, simple phrases people toss out, being at Chuck E Cheese for crying out loud!  These have all become somewhat of a situation due to the consequences of a traumatic event.

As always, I have other survivors and especially parents of survivors out there in mind when I write my blog entries.  No two circumstances are exactly alike, I realize that.  So there will never be anyone else who visits this blog and experiences all the same things as we do.  But when they read a post about something that seems so random yet impacts so hard perhaps they will feel like, “yeah!  Something like that happened to us too!”  Because outside of trauma real uh… normal.. um, .. regular… *darn*…non traumatized people (?) couldn’t relate.  We have our own weird little sub culture, I guess.  But we aren’t alone, are we.

My Very First Speech (Or at least that I can remember)

My son is soooo awesome!

walkingthroughwithvale:

I’m not much of an orator (or a writer) for that matter. I’m just a fourteen year old boy who was sexually abused. I was badly treated by two older boys for a couple years through the ages 5-7. I’m not sure how many times it happened, I don’t even know one of the boy’s names. I’m sure I never will, but it doesn’t matter, It still happened.

I don’t get why people think that boys shouldn’t show their feelings. Why is it not manly for boys and men to cry? Why does it make a male girly or weak to express their emotion? It’s unfair. Babies cry, so do little boys, and little girls, so do teenage girls, and adult women. Why can’t young men and adult men cry? Why are people teaching their boys it is wrong to deal with their emotions?

I recently read about something on the C.H.I.L.D Facebook page that happened on September 21 to a little girl.  She was sexually abused by a man; a man who was supposed to take care of her, teach her, and be her leader. It went to court, and the following is what the defense attorney offered up to reduce the perpetrator’s prison sentence.   First, the defense attorney stated that he hoped that, “this incident will fade from this little girl’s memory…”

Well, guess what, it still happened. That little girl will still live with that in her head for the rest of her life. And even if she doesn’t remember details, she’ll still know that something happened.   

“Rather than requiring the girl to have to testify in court, he admitted what he did,” said the defense attorney. “He’s accepted responsibility and is remorseful. There were no threats, force or intimidation; the duration of the incident was 2-10 seconds and he stopped it of his own volition.”

It’s great that the man confessed to his disgusting sin, and took ownership in court. Unfortunately that is the opposite with me; I won’t ever have my day in court, never see my civil justice. One of the perpetrators who “offended” me denied even knowing who I was. Now, obviously the man in this case knew the girl, because he admitted to offending her. But my offender said he didn’t even know who I was, let alone to admitting the crime!

How about the perp’s acceptance of his actions and his remorse?  The victim also accepts the actions and the blame as well.  In our society, boys aren’t victims; they are supposed to be the victors.  So I kept my abuse secret for six years. I didn’t tell anybody. Well, guess what? Since I couldn’t tell people I have some serious problems. I have PTSD. I have an eating disorder. I have MDD. I cut.  And even now I struggle telling people closest to me; extended family and friends, because society sees sexual abuse as a ‘girl’s issue’.  Eating disorders are girls’ issues.  Self mutilation is a girls’ issue.  Well I’m testimony that they’re not.

Another thing that the defense attorney ignorantly stated is that “there were no threats, force or intimidation”. Are you kidding me? The victim is a little girl, and he was a grown man! There was a sense of force as soon as that child met that man from the beginning! Children can be scared by adults even if that adult is the nicest person on the planet. This is because of how innocent children are, and their lack of maturity to acknowledge facts.  Now, I don’t think I was verbally threatened when I was raped. Even if they weren’t threatening to me, I was still a little boy. Plus, they were much bigger, stronger, and older.                                               

In my mind the most disturbing thing that the defense attorney said was about the abuse only occurring for a few seconds.  Does it matter if it was only 2-10 seconds long? No, because it still happened! And to say that he stopped on his own volition? Of course it stopped on his own volition. Do you think that the little girl had a choice? Even if she screamed he could still do it!

Another crazy thing this perp stated was that he was “a good man who made some poor choices.” No! My father is a good man who sometimes makes poor choices. I hope I grow up to be a good man, but I know I will make some poor choices. Perpetrators are bad people who make bad choices. These people don’t just wake up thinking; “Hmm, I think I’m going to rape someone today” That is a thought that starts with a seed, and then you feed that seed for a long time. You are not a good man. You are an awful man.

Will this girl turn out like me? That’s what I want to know. Will she hold it all in? Will she hurt herself for something that isn’t her fault? I don’t want that to happen to her, and I’m sure nobody here does either. That’s the whole reason we’re here. To support children who have been abused, sexually or otherwise.

If you’re a boy out there, I want you to know that it is not weak to cry. It is not weak to show your feelings. I hope me raising my voice for this cause will make you want to raise your voices, also. I hope this brief oration makes other people understand and care.  

Robert F. Kennedy once said ‎“Each time a person stands up for an idea, or acts to improve the life of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope.” I hope that I have sent a ripple of hope to all survivors out there. 

That’s all I’ve got to say, really. Just be supportive of people, you never know what has happened to them. It is NOT a victim’s fault that they were abused. It is NOT my fault that I have been abused. Thank-you all very much for listening! God Bless You!

 

Last Friday (the bad part)

What a relief… until Vale started shuffling the color communication cards that is.  He put the light blue one back in the stack and then handed nearly every single other card *besides* the ‘I’m feeling great!’ card:

  • Help!  Things are serious!
  • I want to cut
  • I want to purge
  • I’m remembering
  • I don’t know what to say
  • I feel blank
  • I just cut

You just cut?  How is that possible?  You haven’t been home 5 minutes and I’ve seen you every minute…(suck in breath) Did you cut at The ***** home?

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Vale, did you cut when you were at The ***** home!?!?

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Oh Vale, what happened??  And then he told me.  

Our youth pastor was talking about how we all are part of the body of Christ, and how each part of the body has to support an help the other parts.  All doctrinally correct, and I support that.  However, he then used an object lesson, and I didn’t support that.  The pastor said, “No one wakes up in the morning thinking, ‘I’m gunna hurt myself today’ and then goes and gets a hammer and smashes his hand..”  To which the other members of the youth group snickered and laughed. *sigh*  So insensitive, so foolish.  Vale was hurt and upset by that, and I can understand why.  I am not happy with this.  Vale and 3 of his siblings are in youth group, that means 4 people are there who have lives touched by self mutilation, 20% of the youth group.  He should have been more sensitive.  I’m trying to be more forgiving because after all, Pastors are only human too.  But I want to slap him!

Since this family is a hunting family, Vale easily found a hunting knife and cut deeper than I had ever seen before.  His arm was still bleeding when he got home.  I don’t know if it was the still bleeding arm, the depth of the cutting, the fact that he cut in someone else’s home or the humongous swing of the pendulum that set me off, but I freaked.  I got so scared.  So quickly.  I called Vale’s dad and asked him if he thought Vale should go to the hospital.  Fortunately Vale’s dad has a cooler head, and knew that it wasn’t necessary.  Looking at those gashes I thought of only 2 things, “How did we go from the light blue cards to this so quickly?” and “If he had cut with his arm flipped (meaning the underside of the arm instead of the top side) he could have been dead right now.”  It was all just too close..

We had such a good day.  So many positive things occurred, such progress.  And then to have such a huge shift, a wide swing in the opposite direction…  Why did that happen?  The instability… I think that’s the hardest of all to survive.  You can’t enjoy the good parts, savor the joy, because you’re always waiting for that shoe to drop.  That’s exhausting.

Last Friday (the good part)

I didn’t get to post since Friday because the weekend went by pretty quickly.  Vale was able to go to his first equine therapy session and he *loved* it.  We are trying to put in place different therapies that didn’t require talking.  He does have Biblical therapy once every other week (because we have to pay out of pocket for it) which is more of a talking therapy, but besides that he has art therapy twice a week and equine therapy once a week.

From what I gather from Vale, he spent his time with two different horses in an enclosed arena making obstacles and then trying to encourage the horses to go through it.  He worked with two different equine therapists who helped design and build the obstacles and instructed Vale as to what to do.  I believe this all was a trust building exercise.  One of the horses is afraid of water, so they simulated water with a blue tarp and Vale had to encourage the horse to trust him to lead her through the ‘water’.

Whatever went on there left Vale in a terrific and hungry mood.  As we got into our car he said, ‘I’m hungry!’  That’s a first in a long time.  Vale just doesn’t get hungry any more.  We stopped for some fast food and he ate really well.  Kinda twisted when we rejoice over our son eating chicken nuggets, huh?  Shows you where we’re truly at!

But above all of that, Vale really had a ‘break through’ (listen to me borrowing pop psychology).  Vale admitted out loud that he hated himself and blamed himself for his past abuse.  I asked him if he could tell me just one thing that he thought he may have done wrong and he replied that he couldn’t remember telling his abusers, ‘no’.  Of course I reassured him (or tried to) that it didn’t matter.  He was a little boy, and no one has a right for any reason to do to him what they did.  I don’t know how much of my assurance sunk in, but I was so proud of him for being able to admit to himself (and out loud even!) that he blamed himself for the rape.  In the past, Vale would have a very nonchalant attitude about the abuse, like it really didn’t matter to him.  That apathetic attitude will keep him imprisoned.

Vale then went to a youth group meeting with our church and came home very excited about that as well.  He discovered there was someone in the church who is in the profession that he wishes to pursue.  He mentioned how much he enjoyed talking to another one of the adults from the church and even interacted with other young people.  Vale’s brother also reported that Vale had something to eat at the gathering which was great!  Vale also pulled out his communication color cards and laid light blue in my lap which means, “I feel great!”  That was the first time since we started using the cards that he has used that one.

Over all, it really was a terrific, progress making day for Vale.  What a relief!

Not exactly stellar…

Today was not one to write home about, to turn a phrase.  The anger that I carried earlier took quite the toll on the entire family.  It wore me out physically and emotionally; my daughter started becoming anxious about her weight and how that would affect Vale (which would be not at all, because she’s trim) and Vale was an absolute wreck.  He sneaked a pair of scissor and did a number on his arm, he was a little hostile and had at least two episodes of despairing.  I have *got* to learn to control and mask my emotions more.  The children take far too many cues from me.  The evaluate my emotional state and mirror it, but because they are children their version of ‘me’ is usually quite distorted.

The downside of that is rarely being able to let go.  More hyper-vigilance.  Where do I turn for comfort, or venting, or feedback.  Tumblr apparently (lucky you!).  Even my husband isn’t so available because his work has been extra taxing and he’s strung out from that.  So when I unload gripe cry share with him he doesn’t have a lot to support me with.   Who does that leave?

The upside of the day is that I took the suggestion of one of my readers and asked my eldest son to pick up some of those paint sample cards of all different colors.

I sat with Vale and shared the idea of using the different color cards to represent how he’s feeling.  Vale has a hard time speaking sometimes so with some advice from someone who has gone through something similar, we were able to give him his own language using colors.  We have cards that say, I want to cut, I have cut, I want to purge, I have purged, I am in a lot of distress and need help, I feel blank etc.  Hopefully this will help Vale express himself and aid me in keeping him safe.

Vale just went to bed handing me two cards: I’m remembering (which means he’s obsessing over a memory) and I don’t know what to say…. and that latter one reflects my sentiments as well. *sigh*  I feel so inadequate for this job.

ps.  Our sewer appears to be blocked again.  Because we weren’t busy enough.

It’s all about me..

If you would allow me, I’m going to indulge in a little self pity.  Today is exactly one month since we first discovered how much pain Vale is in.   I can’t get over how much I’ve aged this last month, how haggard I look, how drawn.  Now don’t get me wrong, I was no spring chicken to start with.  I’m over 40 and have an adult child.  My hair is rather grey, although I could really care less.  But my face was pretty line free.  I had some slight expression lines around my eyes, but I rather liked those because they reflect how much I smile.  But now I wake with this furrow between my eyebrows.  I can’t rub it away.  It’s because I find myself caring this concerned expression on my face all the time.  I find my forehead wrinkled and feel tense and I have to tell myself to relax it.  And as far as those fine lines around my eyes… I don’t smile as much.

I can’t believe how incredibly tired I feel, how much sleep I lost, how early I wake.  I wake at 4:30 or 5 and tell myself, what’s the point in going back to sleep.  Getting to bed is hard because that’s Vale’s most anxious time of the day.  To get him to deescalate takes time and if I don’t take the time then something is going to happen.  If we could start getting him to start with his deescalateion around 6-7 that would be awesome, but right now it’s not a reality.  The weight of the responsibility and vigilance is so heavy.  I can be worn down by 10:00 AM.

Please know that I express things things because I hope that one day other mothers will read my ramblings and find themselves in like company.  I don’t express them because I’m irritated with Vale or I resent the time or the lack of sleep or the aging process.  I am still very aware of what a privilege I have of caring for Vale and taking this journey with them.  But even if you’re a mom you’re still just a person.  You’re a person who wants to be able to go out for lunch and not worry about fallout from the absence.  You’re just a person who  wants to be able to go to bed early if necessary and not feeling like you’re leaving your children in a dangerous situation.  You’re just a person who wants to have date night with your husband, but know you can’t leave your fragile child in the care of others.  You want to take care of yourself but are so filled with worry and so tired that you can’t seem to do so.  You’re a person who wants to say, ‘hey!  what about me?’ and you feel so guilty for feeling this way.  This is your child, you pour your very self out for them and then willingly volunteer to do so over and again.  But it doesn’t negate the fact that you’re worn thin.  If you think about an airplane crashing, the first thing they tell you is to use the oxygen mask for yourself first before applying it to your child.  Because if you pass out you can’t take care of your little ones.  It’s impulse to care for the child first.  I guess, I’m waiting for my oxygen mask.

So much to type…

… and yet so little energy to do it with.  We had a lovely time with friends yesterday, a pretty positive day all around.  Until the evening that is.  One the way home from church, I explained to the children that I was exceedingly tired and I asked them to get their things together, get something to eat and go to bed peaceably so that I could go to bed at a decent hour.  Vale’s disposition was off all evening.  He was distant, limp and cold.  I knew something was up and asked him several times if something was wrong, if he needed to talk or if he had something he shouldn’t have.  He just looked at me blankly and murmured virtually nothing.  Bedtime had come.  As my husband and I were having our evening snack, Vale comes down with his bland face, eyes darting about, acting anxious.  He handed over a knife.  He picked it up at the church and smuggled it out.  When he showed me his arms.. oh my, what a disaster.  He started cutting on his stomach as well.  That was new.

His anxiety was elevated because we had the meeting at the CAC (please see a previous post) the next morning and he was horribly concerned about it.  What worried him most was that there would be a camera and microphone in the forensic interviewing room.  He hated the thought of the video camera.  Also he felt that the last time he was interviewed he got two details confused and he would ‘mess things up’ and no one would believe him.  No matter how much soothing, affection, tears etc I tried to showered on him would bring him back to me, he stayed in that distant vacant place he went.  

As dreadful as his arms looked, the vacancy was more intimidating, more heart wrenching.

Not a good coping day

I admit it.  Some days I just don’t deal well.  I don’t know exactly what happens to make me less able to cope than others; the mood Vale is in (or how quickly he vacillates between moods), the amount of phone calls I’ve made or received, trying to manage more than one crisis at a time, etc.  Today I believe the impetus was the school trying to schedule even more meetings.  

I requested a 504 plan for Vale, to build in some protection for him when it came to school.  A 504 is similar to an IEP (a legal contract between you and the school for academic support of your special needs child) but is for health reasons as opposed to any type of learning disability.  If your child broke their leg and needed to use the elevator then perhaps you would have a 504 drafted to make sure that he/she is taken care of in school.  Because the initial doctor to see Vale thought that he would need to be in a day treatment program, for Vale focus is a major issue due to the onslaught of flashbacks he’s enduring, and the many appointments we’re attending, I wanted a 504 to enable Vale to have extension on assignments etc.  With everything going on, I didn’t want 7th grade to also be a burden.

Vale’s original doctor put on the 504 document that he wanted Vale tested for PDD, which honestly, blows my mind.  There are a number of reasons for that, but where are we getting autism with this child?  Perhaps they just want to rule anything organic out.  Anyway, because of the request to have Vale evaluated for PDD, the school is calling and wanting meeting after meeting to make sure they keep all their legal ducks in a row.  I appreciate their position, and that they are trying to be so proactive, but I need one more thing to deal with like I need the proverbial hole in the head.  So by 3:00 today, I had had it, and was in desperate need for a nap.  That proved to be a big mistake.

I laid down for about an hour and a half, and woke to find Vale sitting on the floor outside my bedroom.  I knew this was not a good sign and asked him what was the matter.  Without looking at me he handed me a pair of scissors and I knew what had happened.  Part of me wants to be angry with Vale because I can’t even take a nap without him hurting himself.  How am I going to get any type of self care?The strain of having to be so vigilant can really be overwhelming, not just for me, but to Vale’s father and siblings.  For instance, one of his sisters left her razor in the shower by accident.  Vale found it and gave it to her, but she was devastated that she put him in that dangerous predicament.  Vale didn’t use the razor, but that didn’t ease his sister’s mind.  And for that reason, my husband and I don’t feel like we can go out together, because if something would happen, Vale’s siblings would have to carry a terrible weight.  So there is no respite from this, no break.  Who would you ask to watch a child like this.  I doubt handling a possible suicide is not part of any babysitter’s manual.

However, I remember that Vale gave me the scissors, and that is the idea that I have to hang on to.  He could have stashed them in his room.  He could have pretended like nothing ever happened and put on his ‘I’m perfectly fine face’ when I woke from my nap.  He could have cut for a couple of days without my knowing, but he chose to give up the scissors right away.  How could I be angry with him?  Yes the situation strains everyone in the home.  The situation is difficult, tiring, worrisome.  But Vale isn’t the situation.  He didn’t cause it and most importantly he’s doing what he can to overcome it.  That’s worth a few naps, don’t you think?

For our sons…

I have a son.  I have 4 actually, but this blog centers around just one.  He is beautiful.  He is 14.  He’s artistic and funny.  He’s athletic and intelligent.  He’s an overcomer and strong.  He was formerly in foster care.  He is adopted.  He is also a cutter.  He is trying to starve himself.  He is depressed and suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.  He is a victim of sexual abuse.  He is in crisis.

About 4 weeks ago, much of this broke.  I didn’t know about the cutting.  I saw him being less hungry, but I thought it was just a natural ebb and flow of eating that children had.  I had no idea he had lost so much weight.  The realization hits like sucker punch to the solar plexus.  Don’t think I still have my air back.  I dealt with it initially by breaking some plates, however over time, another way of coping had to come because we can’t afford new plates every week.

So I did some web searches for blogs of moms of sons in this dilemma, and I found nothing.  What I did find is some outdated statistics and erroneous information such as the notion that these issues are only girl issues.  I found that boys are notoriously underreported when it comes to eating disorders or self harming.  I learned that boys who are sexually brutalized are actually shamed into silence. Well we just can’t have this now can we.  Hence this blog.



No, I won’t share my son’s name, or his image.  There is still far too much stigma in the world for that much honesty.  I’m not going to have him thrown on a proverbial sword in order to break out of some of these taboos.  Maybe one day, when he’s older and has gone from victim to survivor he’ll write a blog of his own.  But until then, we’ll call him Vale.