Adam’s Mask

An Open Letter on Perspective, to My Fellow Glamberts:

There’s a lot of discussion back and forth about Adam Lambert’s photo shoot for the fashion magazine Fault, where his face has been dramatically airbrushed in the custom of publications dedicated to fashion. Some fans love it, some are just happy to see new pictures; others like most aspects of the photos, except for the airbrushing.

In these airbrushed photos, his forehead lines and freckles disappear. It even enhanced his eyes to an almost Marvel Comics mutant level of glowing blue-green hue. Another thing that was covered up may be more important to Adam than to his fans, namely a slight blemish of acne that comes and goes in various untouched pics (or that show up even under makeup in HD photos).

By using the word “slight”, I don’t mean to diminish Adam’s stated perception of the skin issues that he says has deviled much of his family. I say “slight” to avoid being hunted with pitchforks by that corner of fandom that insists Adam is flawlessly perfect, and how dare anybody say otherwise? Well, fact is, Adam says otherwise; and he’s brought it up more than once.

The night he came on Twitter and talked to us about things we don’t like about ourselves? He said it again: he doesn’t like his acne problem. He was trying to share a group catharsis with us, and many of the replies he got had the power to break hearts. Some of them humbled me, made me cry. I told him about my issues with scars and facial damage, and the atmosphere he had created of open acceptance helped me and others to have the courage to bare our insecurities, to not hide them. It was catharsis. For some, it was the first time an insecurity was admitted to anybody, much less in a public forum. Adam has a gift that gets us to be open and unguarded with him, and he asked us to try to be more open with our loved ones and friends. I wept. I felt closer to him and to everybody else who bared their fears. It reminded me that I’m not the only one who suffers with the ingrained belief that I am ugly, no matter what anybody says.

Some of us expressed feeling silly that their insecurity “wasn’t important” in the midst of “greater traumas” but Adam didn’t say his problem was lesser than anybody else’s. If it makes you hate yourself, or how you look, it’s a big issue, even if it’s acne instead of facial scars. Self-hate (which I struggle with a lot) causes real harm and real problems. Nobody has the right to belittle another person’s pain or fear.

Obviously, Adam doesn’t hate himself, he’s a happy guy. Yet in interviews, in meet and greet videos, and tweets, Adam deflects the “you’re perfect” talk and says he isn’t perfect. He has said some of the HD pics out there make him wince because he sees the acne problem first, even if those who love him don’t focus on it or even notice it at all. All that said, Adam probably loves the Fault photos because of the airbrushing. He gets a break from having to see the issue with his appearance that makes him feel insecure.

Another problem about a person’s perceived blemish, fear, or insecurity: well-meaning people like to reassure and say, “Oh nonsense, Adam, you’re gorgeous, you’re perfect.” As nice as this seems, it can feel not so nice to the other person at times. It feels like one’s insecure feelings are being brushed off as unimportant, and one is left feeling unheard, dismissed, disregarded. Adam has learned to say thanks to more of these “you’re gorgeous” comments, but I noticed he rarely lets a “you’re perfect” go by unremarked. One reason I imagine is that he’d like people to remember that he’s human like the rest of us. What if another reason is that this seemingly nice comment makes him feel a wince coming on? “Perfect” conflicts with one’s self-image when a major insecurity in appearance is present.

Sometimes it is nice to hear a compliment, or be told you’re okay, don’t worry, it’s not as bad as you think; that is the difficult dichotomy of this topic, but it’s no less true than what I said before. I love the song “Perfect” by Pink, it has helped some people turn their backs on thoughts of suicide. Here’s the difference: when a person is in the grip of feeling low because of their self-image, and has the courage to express their feelings, fears, or their self-perception, an instant “no, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful” response can actually hurt, because the person doesn’t feel heard, or taken seriously.

A better response might be, “I know you feel that way, I respect your feelings; I just want to let you know that I don’t see you that way. To me, you are beautiful; but I respect your feelings and I thank you for entrusting me with them.” Saying, “You feel that way now, but you won’t always” isn’t fun to hear most of the time, either. If you can’t fix that person’s problem, especially if nobody can, then predicting they won’t always feel that way sounds as disregarding/unheard as the “no you’re perfect” does.

As an abuse and incest survivor who also suffers with rapid cycle bipolar and has one blind eye and some serious facial scarring from abusive violent attacks, I feel happier without a mirror around and I have a serious phobia of photos of myself. I toy with the idea of allowing an artist to draw how I really look to have something to show friends and loved ones online, but most of the time I panic and believe all the old lies from my abusers, awash in self-hate and the belief that I am ugly. There has certainly been no shortage of cruel people in my life from birth to now who gleefully call me ugly, freak, Frankenstein, or monster. The silent ones just look at me in fear, or even cross the street to avoid me. All of this reinforces all the times I was told I was too ugly to be loved, or that I should kill myself to put me out of their misery. School lunch tables I passed, where my peers would say, “Do you mind? We’re trying to eat” and the laughter as I slunk away – these things burrow under the skin and worm into the soul.

Adam was called fat, so he strives to be slender. He said he was teased about the freckles, too, and has often said he doesn’t like them. He was probably teased mercilessly about acne, or he wouldn’t be so hyper-aware of it. He has said he likes makeup because it covers his flaws (to a resounding echo of “you have no flaws”).

All of these things tell me I probably can guess that he likes the airbrushed Fault photos quite a bit. Yet Adam isn’t in the habit of hiding. I bet he sees the airbrushed and/or photoshopped pics of glossy fashion magazines as a costume, like if he chose to wear a mask at Halloween. It’s a break from yourself, a chance to toy with ways to actually enjoy looking in a mirror. Like makeup, it can boost your self-esteem.

For those who really don’t like these airbrushed photos, they are allowed to not like them (or they should be allowed). Especially if they prefer to see Adam as is, because to them, he is beautiful that way. That’s great, too. I just think when we have the chance to talk to him directly, online or off, that telling him he’s gorgeous will get a happier response than telling him he’s flawless and perfect. Yet if he’s sharing how he feels about his insecurities, pause a minute and hear him? Let him know his feelings matter too, even if you really do think he’s perfect. He’ll most likely thank you for it.

Personally, I love the Fault photos. I think he looks amazing in them. It doesn’t mean he isn’t amazing in more natural photos, however; I haven’t met many pics of Adam I didn’t like. To me, his joy leaps off of these images. I see no tell-tale shadow in his eyes of worry; and that makes me happy just for his private joy.

In the end, the mask only obscures perception; when it is set aside, the real person is still there underneath.

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 4/25/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse; you are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


The Boy Inside

Pay no mind
to lips shut tight
the crooked smile
stretched in pain
the teeth that clench
glimpsed through my face
when he cries
the boy inside
not me
not me
When I was young
I could fly
til father broke my wings
locked inside
forced to feel
all the nasty nibbling things
Pay no mind
to lattice scars
a map to shattered soul
connect the dots
like broken words
sound it out
sound it slow
when he cries
the boy inside
not me
not me
When I was young
I could dream
til father cut my sleep
numb inside
a cloak of screams
but silence sinks too deep

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 4/18/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse; you are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


Forgive

The word sits upon the page
coiled like a snake
side to side
it starts to sway
it tries to make me break
Just one path to light
so baby open wide
swallow their filth
choke it down
and seal it all inside
Slow beat, edge sharp
lead-lined poisoned heart
pumps old pain
through crusted grief
and tears my soul apart
The word sits upon the page
wrapped in pretty lies
absolve the killer
damn the babe
ignoring all his cries

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 4/18/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse; you are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


Pieces

Feel it moving
sliding through thoughts
too weak to hold it back
it is awake
Peel back the covering
of brittle ego
trephine my soul
the seat of the mind
to seek, to excise
Laid out in neat slices
a pattern’s shadow
only to find
so many pieces
missing
Those that are left
edges raw, misshapen
no longer fit
where they once did
Yet still, beneath
it moves
elusive as tainted memory
Trace a finger
over the blade of hope
suck the wound
penance is sharper
Why can it not be cut
from mind, from body?
It is so hard
so hard to continue
to forget

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 9/7/2000


The Seeds of Power

The Good Men Project and Guest Editor David Kaiser, PhD, ACC were kind enough to post this essay on the Good Men Project site: The Seeds of Power

My thanks for helping me reach other survivors with my story, in the hope of inspiring them to speak out and get help.

WARNING, this essay contains abuse triggers for some survivors.
______________________________

It wasn’t the lash of the belt or his hand on my throat that hurt the most, it was the look on his face: pure power, mixed with a dismissive arrogant boredom. I didn’t matter unless I managed to entertain him, either with my body, my humiliation, or my pain. That day, all three hadn’t been enough to earn me anything; not food, reprieve, or mercy.

Today I call myself a survivor, that way station between victim and victor; the struggle for healing between the acts of abuse and the goal of conquering my fears, as well as my mental, emotional, and physical damage. Yet the hard truth of abuse is this: some of these things can never be made right.

The seeds of power start small. The abused sometimes learns to abuse, in some vain and barren attempt to taste what power feels like. We see this in bullies today, so often victims of abuse and ignorance themselves. I never wanted that taste, not that way. Power to me was cruel and cold, terrifying – not a thing to desire, but a thing to flee from, or to obey. Disobedience was a seed too – a seed of powerlessness.

My father blinded my left eye when I was sixteen, to punish me for not coming home from school by the time he’d ordered me to be there. I tried to sneak in, but he was waiting. He hit me, beat me. I hoped that would satisfy his anger, but it didn’t. When I was weakened, he handcuffed my wrists over my head to the newel post of our staircase, sat on my legs, and used his knife to cut the upper eyelid off. He told me that was the intent, and if I didn’t stay still, he’d cut my eye by mistake. He said it would teach me to watch the clock better. That was a lie. He did it to force me to watch as he brought his lit cigar down and slowly pushed it into my eye.

Have you ever felt powerless? Feel the cold of a hard floor, the burn of metal cutting your wrists, of a weight crushing your breath from your body; feel the searing fire as it grinds out your sight. His mercy was to leave the right eye intact, though he often threatened it in the years after.

My father was never diagnosed, but he was a narcissistic sadist and a pedophile, who believed he was a god. His power in the home was absolute, as was the powerlessness of my mother and myself. She, a child of abuse herself, was more of a child than I was in many ways.

Being powerless was my life until I escaped at age nineteen, living on the streets to get away from the abuse, only to find more abuse of many different kinds waiting there.

Today I have a home, a family… and children of my own; my angels, my reason for fighting to survive every day from the damage, the memories. I could rail, cry, and scream about the injustice, but it wouldn’t change a thing. It wouldn’t give me the experience of seeing my children with the sight of two healthy eyes.

With all I still have to struggle with to heal, the only form of power I’ve ever found that helped me was the power to help others by telling my story. So few people who have been abused and raped can tell anybody what happened to them. Most who can talk about it are women; yet there are so few men speaking out. Men and boys have such an awful stigma to fight against, the myth that males cannot be raped, cannot be abused. If they hear other men speak out, it can encourage them to tell somebody they trust, encourage them to seek help.

Now, when men and women tell me that reading my essays and poetry has helped them in some way, hearing that helps me. It starts with a strange swelling in the heart, a timid, fledgling gratitude. These moments are the seeds of power for me; the power to help, to heal.

~ ~ ~

 W.R.R. 3/15/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse. You are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


Castration Is Not The Answer

The disgusting miscarriage of justice this morning in the Canadian sentencing of the pedophile monster Graham James has sparked a lot of outrage and hurt. He got two years in prison for over a hundred rapes of teen boys, four of whom I know about; not sure how many victims James hurt. I wasn’t strong enough to let this essay see the light of day when it was written. With the comments of cutting James’s balls off being uttered by people who feel as angry and betrayed by Judge Carlson’s hand-slap sentence as I do, I had to post this in response. Personally, I hope James is harmed in prison; but castration doesn’t stop pedophiles from harming children.

WARNING, this essay contains abuse triggers for some survivors.
__________________________________

In the realm of advocacy fighting for an end to child rape and abuse, and most prevalent in the realm of Twitter, I come across statements of intense emotion from people who are horrified by pedophiles. A report of Jerry Sandusky, under house arrest for 50 counts of pedophilia accusations, spoke of Sandusky wanting to be able to visit his grandchildren. Why anyone would allow this man to see ANY children, ever again, boggles the mind. Yet in this same report, legal folks are arguing about allowing Sandusky to sit on his back porch – when his property happens to face the property of an elementary school. I think that monster needs to have his porch ruled off-limits, but I’m not at all surprised he chose a home next to that school. One response to that report that I saw is a common one, that Sandusky should have had his balls removed years ago. While I can understand and agree with the outrage expressed and the vengeance desired, there is an issue of terrible importance that this whole exchange brings to mind:

Pedophiles, rapists, abusers; these people don’t need testicles or a penis to rape and abuse other people. They can manage just fine with everyday household tools and appliances, or medical equipment.

First off, not all offenders are male. Female offenders can use tools or objects, or their bodies, to rape and abuse. If anybody reading this thinks a woman can’t rape a man or a boy (or another female) you’d be wrong. If you believe a boy can be “initiated into sex” by his “hot” female teacher, and that he should feel proud or lucky, or that he won’t feel any bad affects from the act, you’d be wrong, too. Check out websites and books/articles on rape and child sex abuse for what adult female rape of a teen boy can do to that boy. It’s not pretty, or “lucky”.

Secondly, not all offenders have their genitals anymore. Chemical castration used to be an option for the courts (I’m not sure if this is still the case) and some offenders who claimed they wanted to stop harming others actually asked for this procedure. Studies showed that it wasn’t a perfect solution, either; some offenders had their criminal and horrid urges return over time. Other offenders had vasectomies, volunteered for or not, but not all of those men stopped their crimes. Some offenders have had their genitals removed (by accident or via vigilante revenge) yet those men still commit rape and abuse. How is this possible? Because the urge to harm others is not inside the sex organs – it is inside the mind.

Those who read my journal know that I am a survivor of incest, rape, abuse, and torture. My father trained, conditioned, and taught me from my first memories that I had been born in order to provide him with sex. The first time he raped me I was four years old, but that was not the first time he touched or penetrated my body. What is typically known as “grooming a child” to be a pedophile’s victim was not really necessary in my case. I was in a house with this man, raised to obey him, raised to believe I was his property and had no rights at all. Most of his fascination with torture came along when I was a teen, but as a child, if I didn’t obey or follow instructions/rules to the letter, I was “punished”. Some of these punishments resulted in my worst injuries, a few of which continue to handicap me to this day.

When times got tough, he used his genius wit and social skills to find and gather “clients”, and rented me to other pedophiles. He had a downstairs bedroom off of our living room set aside for this, and scheduled these men for convenient time slots. If they allowed him to watch, they got a discount.

Some of these “clients” I only saw once or a few times, but others became regulars, and my father started referring to them as his “club”. They were prominent and powerful men at the time and he was proud of the fact that he was their leader, because he owned what they all wanted, what he offered to them, without the risk of legal interference. I was trained and owned, so there was no need to abduct boys, no risk of being caught “grooming” their target victims, or acting out on their sick urges. In the privacy of our home, they could pay for exactly which deviant acts they wanted and commit them without fear.

None of these men were anything but horrible rapists and abusers to me, but the worst one was a man who never touched me with anything but his hands and teeth, and the tools and objects he brought with him. It was many “visits” later before I found out why he never raped me the way the others did. He said he needed to piss (they never used child-appropriate language, why would they?) and I almost felt relief because as humiliating as being sat in a tub and used as a lavatory was, it didn’t physically hurt. I was confused when he didn’t order me into the bathroom as a few of the others had done. Then he took down his pants and I was horrified. His genitals were missing. There was a small tube there in folds of skin, like a narrow straw. Now I know the word for “catheter” but I didn’t know anything about that then. He made me use the tube like a straw before bringing out his tools to hurt me. He told me a boy had done that to him, a teen boy. He said if I ever disobeyed, my father would let him do that to me.

This is why I cringe when I see comments like “cut off his balls”. I know the person saying it is simply expressing an outraged reaction to a horrible crime, and I empathize with their horror; but mine goes a lot deeper. I know that cutting off a pedophile’s genitals doesn’t stop them from raping and abusing children. It just makes them use a curling iron or beer bottle instead. Sometimes, it makes them a worse monster than they ever were when they could use their genitals to rape. This urge to harm, to rape, to destroy children – it is inside the pedophile’s diseased mind, not in their pants. Whatever method the judicial system decides to use now, or discovers in the future, to control or stop these monsters – removing or altering their genitals is not the way. It can make them want to destroy a child even more.

~ ~ ~

 W.R.R. 2/8/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse. You are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


Fade

Hear the echo
tiny little feet
they run while others chase
hide and seek
with nowhere to hide
Shaking in the cupboard
bruised face
struck by sink pipe
don’t cry out
fade, fade, fade
Another game
caught under bleachers
so many fists and feet
hold your head
and fade
Face pressed to wall
the seekers have found
again
a man turns to dust
and begins to fade
Dust falls on a memory
but never softens the blow
as pain wells
in body, in mind the same
fade, fade, fade

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 1/31/2011
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse. You are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


Merry-Go-Round

Set a child on a fancy horse
that goes round and round
laughter pealing out on the wind
Is it just a rare memory?
or is it a lie?
There’s a man behind
holding the strap
to keep him safe from falling
but he is not what he seems
Whirl of colors, lights, sounds
fantastic creatures jump and twirl
but the hand on the back
pressed into a spreading bruise
can turn the music to a din
and cotton candy dreams
slowly turn to ashes
breathe, choke, forget again
A child is not a pretty toy
a gift to barter or sell
bound head to toe in expectations
like bright ribbons
that tighten like a noose
A simple phrase spoken
brings it all back:
You got to get back on the horse, son
The image in mind’s eye is clear
rearing hooves, wild face, staring eye
it was black, flat paint
its expression frozen in a cry
the mane was stiff, not soft
the saddle wet with urine
as the giant hand slid inside
the tiny little clothes

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 3/2/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse. You are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


Ebb and Flow

I watch
as cascading water
caresses my love
A ghost beyond the glass
unseen
mere shape
of sharpened lust
for the worship
of this flesh alone
this sacred fire
most base, most sublime
Divided from my soul
if it pleases
just to fill
and be filled
in a rain
of sweet droplets
as two
penetrated
become one
For there is no love
no lust
in reflections of Heaven
or lost in swirling steams of Hell
that could match
what fires my blood
While in the deep places
ebb and flow
ebb and flow
This pull of desire
could steal the moon
from the ancient sea

~~~

© W.R.R. 2/13/12


Children Were Abused By Teachers, Mr. Fletcher

Citing this story via L.A. Now: “Miramonte teachers to file grievances after removal from school” at http://topicfire.com/share/Miramonte-teachers-to-file-grievances-after-removal-from-school-19241128.html , I have to make a point about the authorities who claim to have the best interests of our children at heart. As I see it, both the school district and the teachers’ union are in the wrong in more than one area in this news article; but the following statement from Warren Fletcher, president of United Teachers Los Angeles, is the one I found most disturbing:

“We resent it when the district does so, and we resent it when this community and these parents have their children’s education deeply disrupted for no other purpose than to deflect criticism from an administration that failed to do its job.” – Warren Fletcher

What is being argued about is the Los Angeles Unified School District’s removal of the entire teaching staff (besides the two teachers who were arrested for child sex abuse) and replacing them with all new teachers. I can sympathize with innocent teachers, but I don’t think it is too draconian to expect them all to be investigated to assure parents and the community that there aren’t any more pedophiles hiding amongst them. One would think they’d all want to be sure about that.

Yet Mr. Fletcher’s words above disturb me intensely. “Deeply disrupt education for no other purpose than to deflect criticism”…? Mr. Fletcher, parents removed their children from Miramonte in droves because they don’t want their children to be raped or otherwise abused by teachers and staff at the school. Whatever political fisticuffs you wish to engage in with the school district for its decision regarding your teachers, don’t try to imply that their removal was solely to play a blame game while “disrupting education” in the process. What has disrupted education, and probably grievously damaged the lives of the abused students, was the abuse they endured at the hands of two of your teachers, sir, as well as the threat of possible abuse to the thus far unharmed (we hope) majority of the students at that school.

One assumes you are an intelligent man, Mr. Fletcher; I bet the plaques on your wall say so. It would be encouraging to parents and community (and the world watching) if you cared more about the safety of children than the reputation of your union, while hiding behind a fabricated outrage at the “disruption of education”.

~ ~ ~

© W.R.R. 2/13/2012
For all survivors of any form of rape or abuse. You are not alone. Speak out. Find your path to healing.

www.asashesscatter.com
wrr@asashesscatter.com
@AsAshesScatter
@RagMan_RIP


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