Sexy Ninja Assassin

Do you know what I like best about Alan Rickman?  Besides that.  I like the fact that he plays many different types of characters.  He’s been a scoundrel, a badass, a leading man, an American Jew, an American cop, a Bohemian artist, a posh upper-crust Englishman, and, of course, Professor Snape in the HP movies.  I know he’s not typical leading man material, but he can star in my private home movies ANY TIME.

OK.  Taiji yesterday.  I have decided that it’s time to face the beast, as it were.  Since the flashbacks were coming during meditation time regardless of whether I meditated or not, I decided to trudge forward with the meditation.  I would use the method Julie taught me (looking at the images and saying, “You are not a part of me” before dispelling them) because it’s past time I dealt with this shit.  I’ve lost fifteen years of my life (well, more, but fifteen since I consciously decided to shove the memories to the deep recesses of my brain) to my childhood, and I cannot do that any more.

So.  I rooted myself.  I took deep breaths.  I remembered Julie’s instructions.  Then, the flashbacks came.  They are not really new ones any longer, but they are still horrifying.

In my bedroom.  I am seven.  I am on the bed.  My father is on top of me.  He is choking me and telling me not to fight him.  The me in the image is fighting him this time.  She is saying, as best she can, “You are not a part of me.”  He keeps choking her.  She is flailing her arms and legs.  Suddenly, The Man (someone with whom I would choose to have sex, like Alan Rickman, though it is not him) enters the picture, picks my father up off me and tosses him to the floor.  The Man reaches for my hand to help me up.  I am now a young teenager with hair down to my ass (like I have now, but I didn’t have then).  Holding my hand, he leads me to the door.  Before we reach it, though, my father is up and blocking our path.

Next scene:  I am on my bed (aged seven), my father’s face is between my thighs.  He is licking me, and I am trying not to cry.  The picture is a close up of his face, so I cannot say what my facial reaction truly is.  Again, The  Man comes in, knocks my father to the floor, and holds his hand out to me.  Again, I am a young teen with long hair.  I take The Man’s hand, and we start walking towards the door again.

While watching the screen in my mind, it sometimes splits into two screens.  A grownup me, dressed as a cross between Barbara Eden as Jeannie (complete with my hair in a high ponytail) and a female ninja, with the veil from this anime female ninja, is standing between the two screens.   As the pictures play, she moves them off the screens with a swift push of her hands.  Once in awhile, she throws a few shurikens in front of her.

I forget to breathe as I am busy concentrating on informing the father in my images that he is not a part of me.  I am tearing up the whole time, but I keep going.  Meditation seems to go on forever, but in reality, it’s fairly short.  Five minutes, maybe?

I know it’s hopeful that the younger me is talking back to my father.  I know that it’s a good thing that my adult sexuality is winning over what my father did to me when I was a child.  I know that my father cannot physically hurt me any longer.  I know all this shit, and yet, every flashback drains me emotionally.  I end up feeling vulnerable and scared and powerless.   I hate remembering that time of my life.  In fact, I don’t remember much of my life before I went to college.  I can remember things if I force myself to remember, but for the most part, it’s behind a wall.  A friend asked if I immediately blocked out the memories after my father…molested (she said rape, but I have a hard time saying that) me or if I stuffed them down years later.  I have no idea because I can’t remember much of anything from that time.  I do know that in my second year of college, I was dating a guy who moved to brush his fingers against my cheek.  He stopped and got a concerned look on his face.  I asked him what was wrong, and he said I flinched.  He asked me who hit me, my father or ______ (an emotionally-abusive ex).  I said neither, as far as I knew.  Even then, I knew that something had happened in my childhood, but I only had a vague idea of what it might be.

There’s a parallel to talking on the phone with my mother.  When I am talking with her, I flip right back to the childhood me.  Now, I know that’s pretty common for many people, regardless of if their childhood was abusive or not.  However, I feel completely helpless when I’m talking to her.  I know I should tell her I don’t want to talk about X, Y, or Z, but my throat is frozen shut.   Instead, I swallow all the things I want to say, even the mildest criticisms because I feel as if–what?  Partly, I feel like lightning will strike me dead if I talk back to my mother.  Partly, I feel as if I will be striking her dead if I talk back to her.   Cognitively, I know that I am not responsible for the fact that she has no friends in whom she can confide or that she’s in a dysfunctional, codependent marriage.  I also cognitively know that I am not responsible for her emotions.  However, I still feel as if it’s my duty to be her everything.  It’s partly an Asian thing, but it’s also partly our family dysfunction.

My best friend and I were talking about parenting, and I said I felt like I owe my parents so much.  She looked at me in amazement and said, “You are their child.  You don’t owe them anything.  I wouldn’t want _____ (her daughter) to feel like she owes me anything.  They are your parents.  That’s what it means to be a parent.”

I looked at her as if she had grown a second head.  Her words were foreign to me.  Not owe my parents anything?  How could that be?  I owe them my existence.  I owe them for all the money they’ve given me.  I owe them everything.  Now, while I’m slowly starting to understand why that might not actually be true or fair, it’s something I still feel to my core.

Back to talking to my mom on the phone.  I have so many emotions running through me as I talk to her–not many of them positive.  Then, once I’m done talking with her, I feel like a worthless piece of shit.  I feel like life is hopeless.  I cannot give her what she wants.  Ever.  I cannot be the daughter she wants me to be.  I told Kiki (my best friend) that I thought my family was ashamed of me because I always had to pare off parts of my personality when I’m around them.  She said they didn’t understand me and weren’t capable of understanding me, but that didn’t mean they were ashamed of me.

I thought about it some more, and I am sticking to my original assessment.  They are ashamed of me.  When I go to my brother’s house (which isn’t often these days), I have to constantly watch what I say.  He told my mother that he was worried that I was a bad influence on my niece because I refused to lie about God (the fact that the Christian god is not the oldest god around).   And yet, my brother is the one member of my immediate family that I am sure I love.   I don’t love my father, and I am wavering on my mother.

Which makes me feel like a horrible person as well.

The demons are very loud right now.  All I can think about is all the shit I’ve done wrong in my life and all the flaws I need to fix.  I am not happy with myself at all right now.  Not that I ever am, really, but I am pretty much disgusted, worn out, fed up, fatigued, and mournful.  I have a separate meditation session with Julie tomorrow (really, today).  I am hoping that will be a good thing.

*Johnny Cash’s version of Hurt is still my current theme song.

7 Responses to Sexy Ninja Assassin

  1. “I cannot give her what she wants. Ever. I cannot be the daughter she wants me to be.”

    If it makes you feel any better, understanding that is the biggest step of all.

  2. As a child, you didn’t ask to be brought into this world. that choice was made by your parents. Anything positive they did for you was their choice. No one held a gun to their head. Just like my own kids. I tease them here and there about taking care of their crippled mother when she’s old, but in reality? They owe me nothing. They didn’t ask to be here. I made the choice for them.

    But ok, let’s just say for the sake of argument that you do “owe” them for the money they’ve given you, the house, whatever. If we’re going to keep a score card, my friend, we’re going to keep it accurately. No cheating. You have done countless hours of proofing/editing work for BOTH of your parents. You also keep the house in good order for when they do come to the U.S. Let’s also lay out some of these flashbacks. A rape survivor who sues her financially-stable attacker can get a pretty penny. I don’t know how much money they’ve given you, nor am I asking. I don’t need to know. But I am willing to bet the farm that it doesn’t even come close to what I court of law would’ve awarded you. And the ruination of his career if you really decided to drag this shit into public? Hmm. Wonder what that’s worth.

    You can’t only do math on one side of an equation, Snowgirl. And if you don’t believe my mathematical skills, talk to your Kali. She’s our resident math genius.

  3. I agree with Kel.
    If you go read half of my writing on The Girl, you will see my biggest fear is not making her feel responsible for the shit her father and I did to one another. She owes us NOTHING. WE brought her into this world and having done so means WE owed her, we failed.
    Having seen that, it is my desire to never make her feel now, like she is responsible for his life, or my life or, for any of the shitty things that happened.
    You don’t owe your parents Jack Shit, in the way you guilt yourself. Nope, THEY brought you into this world. THEY committed to be parents to you, their failings are theirs and theirs alone. Your ONLY job the first 18 years, was to be a kid. That’s it. That includes making mistakes at a young age that we learn from and take with us in life to later make GOOD and healthy choices, but you don’t “owe” them anything for bringing you into existence.
    They failed their commitment to you.
    Way to go for allowing someone else to come in and give Little Minna a hand in saying, “NO! You are not part of me!”

    I’m proud of your steps Minna. Just remember not to chide yourself when you backslide in thinking. It took a lot of years to think like we think. It is not going to change overnight and suddenly become a pattern to think healthy, but you’re on your way to flipping those tapes off!

  4. “A grownup me, dressed as a cross between Barbara Eden as Jeannie (complete with my hair in a high ponytail) and a female ninja…” Fuck YEAH!!!

    For now, try and relax every chance you get. Make your bedroom a safe nest, and if your headache is worse, try relaxing into the sensation today that eased it tonight. Just relax, breathe. The correct Chinese word for the kind of relaxation I want you to find is called ‘Sung.’ Relax doesn’t quite describe it. It actually means to have a relaxed body, but an energized and awake internal feeling. Thus, the hot/cold/tingling/etc. I will teach that Ninja girl how to fight those images like ‘a peerless hero(ine).’

    I agree that you don’t have a debt to your parents. And remember that your brother was also threatened/beaten into a kind of submission. He may seem more confident with your parents, but your SIL shares some pretty unfortunate traits with your father. You don’t have to love the behavior, but you have a chance to stand up for yourself there.

  5. Robin G., I guess. It still grieves me and makes me feel guilty, though. I have failed her at every step of the way.

    Kel, everything you say is logical and true. I still feel as if I have a debt I cannot repay–not just to my parents, but to society in general. I started to relinquish that belief some, but then it kicked in full-time again.

    whabs, I am trying. I don’t feel as if I’m making much progress. The shit is pretty damn shitty in my mind right now. I think it’s a good thing the little me is fighting back, but it’s getting rougher on her in my images.

    Choolie, thanks for tonight. It was scary, but I know it’s necessary. Relax. Yes. Will try. I thought you would like the sexy ninja assassin visual.

  6. Well,

    Maybe you should stop seeing your images and take a look at her images. To you it looks like it is wearing her, but have you asked her in her words what it is doing to her?

    For all you know, she has been waiting a LOT of years to finally speak and maybe she is feeling energized or more in control.

    She has an audience now. She has people listening and validating her. Maybe she is comforted and energized?

    I like believing that each step you take energizes her and gives her more power, but maybe that’s just the dreamer in me.

  7. whabs, I mean it’s getting physically rougher for her in the images. And, it’s getting emotionally more draining for me in viewing them.

    You are right, though. I do not know what she actually thinks and feels about the process. I will have to talk to her about it.

    P.S. I like that you’re a dreamer. I am one, too, at heart. It just got buried along the way.