Ksenia Oustiougova

I don't know how to write about this. But what if the closest people to you are rejecting your love attempts, what if it seems too much for them, or strange, or weird, or not natural? It hurts, it hurts a lot. The newfound love that I have, that I want to share, what if I can't share it with the ones close to me. I'm torn, I send it and I receive no response. I want to share it, and it is being rejected. I want to express it, but it meets dead walls. I thought wailing was the thing of the past, but I am wailing now. What if my change does not constitute the change of other people, what if it is not the beginning of something new but a beginning of an end? This is not something I envisioned. I thought all will be swell and awesome and different. I was being a toddler again, laughing and being careless, being open to the world. What happened? Why didn't it turn out the way I wanted to? I still don't understand, but I'm in pain again. I'm dying for affection, for love back, for careless hours discussing sunsets or laughing at silly jokes.

The hard part is realizing - there is something very specific I want from life, and I know exactly what it is, but - it might not be something that others want, no matter how hard I try to convince them. That means the differences have to be respected, they can't be changed. People select their own future, their own paths - and sometimes they don't align, for the best of our intentions. Sometimes no matter how much effort you put into someones's growth, it is not up to you to change them, it's up to them. And your idea of this change might be the wrong one. This truth is very hard for me to accept, but I learned the hard way the merit of it. I hated people giving me help, shoving it down my throat when I didn't want it, when I didn't ask for it. It felt degrading to me, it meant that something was wrong with me. Yet when I asked, then I received it differently - it made all the difference in the world. I am now trying to do the reverse, I'm trying to shove the help down the throat where what i really have to do is step aside and let it all be. Understand that it is not mine to change, and might not be in the near future, or maybe even never. More than that, my standing by might be perceived as rude, rejectionist, or even hurtful - but it is not mine, this hurt, I have to let it be, and it will be for the better. It hurts nonetheless! No matter how hard I try to reason, it hurts and hurts and hurts! 

Why do we form bonds, why do we want to stay forever with some people, but then we are afraid to commit for long? We know how it hurts when it doesn't work out - so better to be safe? Yes, better never to try anything, better to not feel, better to be closed off. That's how I was for the past 20 or so years, close off, numb for the most part, living off of joys of my children, living off of my business joys, but being hollow inside, covering it up with success, with scheduled dinners for birthday parties, with trips to stock up on clothes to make myself hopefully feel good. None of this matters to me anymore. People, only people, and the deep connection with them - that's all that matters. I noticed that if I plan a meeting with a girlfriend, someone I haven't seen in years, all day I'm happy. I have not had that connection in my life, I always wondered why people socialize, I didn't understand how they could spend time just meeting, where they could have been doing so many other useful things - cleaning the house, doing the dishes, cleaning their garage, making new business contacts. I could have never dreamt that one day these values would be lost to me. I could never imagine that having a friend over for a cup of tea would mean more to me than putting dirty dishes away, or even making money. I have to admit I thought I had life figured out - I didn't. I thought of it being cold and simple, it turned out it's vibrant and making me alive, like never before. 

What to do with this newfound knowledge is another thing entirely. The bonds, the restrictions of the past, the old habits are hard to break. We hold on to them for safety, for the fear of the unknown - what of it will turn out worse than before? What if we're mistaken? What if we will be sorry we broke the convenient and went for the dream? We all have those doubts, and sometimes life resolves them for us, as in having our house burn down or having us fired from a job or having us face death of those we love. We need that punch in the back, to step off the cliff, to jump. In the seconds soaring, looking into the abyss, we scream with fear, but after the fear is gone, we thank the chance. We are happy we got pushed, because we know we would have never found the guts to do it ourselves. Happy now we can blame it all on misfortune, we find the reason to fly and never hit the ground. We are happy because we don't doubt out decision - because there never was any. We got pushed against out knowledge, so it's easy to accept. That's why it's hard to make a leap ourselves - there will be none to blame except ourselves when all is done and there is no way back. 

I don't know if I have the guts. I thought I do. I did have the guts to face my past, to dive into it, to process it, and to shed it - to be reborn again. Will I have the guts to shape my future according to what I want? I don't know, and I cry over my weakness. I hope I was stronger - this proves to be a hard decision to make. I dream of someone or something to push me in the back, to make the step, to make the leap. To do it. To start the life I want.

Photo by Jaci Berkopec.

I've noticed that when I opened up to feeling my love to people and giving it away, the people on the receiving end first got very excited and opened up, only to shut down a few days later - due to suspicions, fear of commitment, emotional confusion, lack of trust, and sudden nervousness. What is that she wants from me? What if something will happen and she will ask me to return the favor? Why is she doing this? What's in it for me, and why would I trust this? Does she really have a hidden agenda? If she does, what is it? If I give in, will she then abandon me? Am I a plaything, or is this really a true friendship? What should  I expect, what does this mean, what could it mean in the future? Am I safer to not participate, to keep to myself, to stay on my own? What happened, why the sudden change? Can I trust it? Is this the same person that I knew, the one that my friends told me about, that business woman bent crazy on networking - am I part of her networking efforts now? And on and on it goes. 

At first, I was hurt in return. I thought, should I close off too? Maybe I shouldn't participate in this whole thing called life, just live like I used to, nice and grey and clean and boring, but very productive work wise, and being a respected determined entrepreneur who doesn't waste time on going to parties, art walks, or seeing friends to talk about nothing in particular. Only I can't go back - even with all the pain that came with connecting to people, I'm alive and feeling myself like never before. To all of you with doubts - please have none. I have no hidden agenda, I'm not planning anything, and I'm not looking at gaining something - I'm just in love. In love with you all, with your ideas, with the sound of your laughter, with your silliness and smarts - I'm obsessed with connecting and hungry for life - because life is short and I want all of it now, after stumbling in the dark for so many years. I think after a while my hunger will subside and regulate itself, but I hope it will not. I'm happy simply from exchanging short SMS messages, hearing back a phone call, listening to outrageous ideas, watching a silly movie together, sharing stories over a cup of coffee, or watching the stars together. Why? Because it's fun. Because life can be enjoyed - a concept that didn't exist in my head before. 

You might be turned off by how direct I am - but this is only because I know what I want, and I know when I want it, and I don't want to waste time on being dishonest, playing games, or pretending to be someone to fit the bill - I've lost so much, and I've done so many things in my life that I regretted terribly - because they were not ME, not MINE - that I'm done with this approach. There was a time, not too long ago, this year, when I didn't want to live, I wanted to give it all up, I didn't know life could bring smile to my face. I thought it was over. I thought I was done. I didn't see that it was me being again 5, or 8, or 11 - after one of the abuse episodes - when the pain was so overwhelming, that life didn't seem worth living - because only more pain would come in the future. People ask me sometimes - why did you go back into your past? Why do you keep talking about it in the open? Aren't you afraid of your career, of your reputation, or how people will view you? And I say - no. I'm not. I've seen death, looked it right in the face, and nothing else in this world is scarier than that. I told it to go have a walk, I'm not ready yet, I'm not done with this side of it. I thought it's worth it being happy and bringing happiness to others. Just the other day a friend walked up to me and said that she is not feeling alone anymore, simply because I shared my secret and she might be having something similar that happened to her. She said about herself - I thought I was a freak. I said, no, you were not. I said, you were processing it - other people thought you a freak for that - that's their problem. This comment alone is worth it for me to bare my soul. I'm not just smoking the sky anymore, I'm digging myself out of a swamp, and, guess what, I'm digging hundreds of other people with me. Now that's worth going public about my stuff. And in case you wondered, living fully is worth it too.

I no longer have illusions about the future, or about the past. There is nothing, except the now. Whatever happened, happened. Awesome. It sits in my brain as a memory, but that's it. It doesn't exist in the physical world, nobody is standing with a knife to my throat. I can do what I want, when I want it, with whom I want it. I can make choices and be responsible for them, or not make choices and avoid responsibility. Everything is at my fingertips, and I can declare myself whomever I want, or I can change every day if I wanted to. I still have my fear left, but I'm aware of it now, and it doesn't stop me from charging ahead. If you want to connect, to share - hitch a ride with me - I promise it won't be boring. Let's shake up still water together - you won't believe how it sparkles in the sun!

Photo by Fe Ilya.

When pain and pleasure are combined, when the trigger for pleasure is forever connected with physical and emotional suffering, untangling the two can take years if not decades. Any sexual abuse victim can tell you that if they were sexually stimulated while being hurt at the same time, they choose their life in suffering in the future, being even somewhat disoriented if they have no pressure, no stress, no grief. As abuse survivors, we don’t know we can thrive. We don’t know we can love life, be happy, be content. We’re used to linking pain with pleasure, and sometimes making ourselves ache in order to get any satisfaction out of anything. Hard work, only hard work can win us relief.  Prolonged angst and misery are life. If everything is good, something must be wrong. Something must break loose and ruin the quiet, so we better be prepared. We better suffer ahead of time, just so that when it hits us, we won’t hurt as much.

But we can be. We can break from this twist. We can recognize that our suffering no longer is a must, it never was a must, it always was imposed upon us, without out consent, and we can shake it off. Be free from it. We can start with very little, by looking around and noticing things. By spending time to kneel down to the grass, because today it is a special brilliant green, and it needs to be admired. We can stick out arms while driving in the car, to feel the air flowing through the fingers, because today is the first day of the fall. We can chat away with friends about nothing in particular, simply because it makes us smile or enjoy the conversation - even if the conversation stretches for hours. We can grant ourselves permission to do these little things, without having to go through pain to earn them, without feeling guilty after, without stopping mid-sentence, to think whether or not we are right.

We can have fun for no reason. And then, when we plunge back into darkness, as it inevitably stretches its fingers to tear us out of happiness, then, we can look back and see how having fun was just that - having fun. So that next time, when we manage to climb out of depression, we can try it again, little by little, each time getting better, each time allowing ourselves a little more. Each time celebrating life by living it now, fully, together with people that love us, and whom we love. The more we do it, the stronger we become. The harder it is for the pain to return, the easier it is for the pleasure to remain present. Until one day we return to how we were before we were abused - innocent, happy, laughing children - maybe 3 years old, or 4, or 5. Before we had any fear of anything, before we thought that making sand castles is a waste of time and kicking stones into the river is not a desirable past time for proper girls and boys. Before we lost trust in those close to us, before we experienced the shock of our abuse, before we dove into a little corner of our souls to protect the broken pieces. Remember that time? Remember how laughing was just that - laughing? How anything could be silly? How chasing birds was the most important task on the daily agenda? How getting wet in the puddles was a highly sophisticated art - and how we didn't feel wet even after completely soaked from the rain? How snails and butterflies were fascinating, and how picking apart a broken mechanical toy was the best past time ever? How we could forget in minutes when someone hit us with the book on the head? How all regret for anything vanished as soon as there was a new thing to do - which could be as simple as glancing at the sky and seeing a dinosaur instead of the cloud?

I returned to being 5 today. I blasted music in my car on the way home and danced at the wheel, despite cautious glances from other drivers. I slurped sauce from my fingers. I felt pangs of love, love for everyone - I wanted to hug every single human being, every tree, or simply drop on the ground and hug it - for being there. I walked on the street just to hear my boots clanking - one, two, one, two - making a silly rhythm. Today was the happiest day of my life. I think today I fully healed. I've separated pain from pleasure, for the first time since I can remember myself - which is probably around 5 years old. I did silly stuff and I have not felt guilty, or ashamed, or wrong. I didn't care. I lived. It was a glorious feeling. I'll never forget it. It felt like being born again, like falling in love. With life. For life. 

Photo by Sam Howzit.

Imagine walking into life blank, as in blank canvas. No expectations, no regrets. Whenever someone reaches out to you - there is no history in your mind, no thoughts, no hidden feelings - you just receive what you've been given. Be it love or violence, you receive it as is. You defend yourself if you have to, or you give yourself fully if you want to. You make no meaning of what you've been given, and after it's over, you return back to the blank canvas, ready to give or receive more. Your memory retains what happened, minus the meaning, the drama, the pangs of guilt, the wish to turn time back and do something differently. Imagine seeing the people around you, knowing that what they do is only their own actions and they don't mean anything about you. You are a blank canvas, and you only fill yourself with what you want, when you want. You can discard it at any moment and renew yourself.

What would love mean in such world? It would be the paint. The paint applied to your canvas, filling it with reds, blues, yellows, lavenders tones. Creating beauty in your heart. Others who would be giving you love would be the artists of life - your family, your friends, your neighbors. People who smiled at you on the street, people who told you thanks for letting them pass through the crowd, people making you your favorite cup of coffee. Little by little, your canvas would be filled with love. It would be your choice to shake it off and start each day new, blank again. And if someone would slash your canvas, poke a hole in it with a snide remark, tear it with pain and anger, you could simply stitch it back up, to a smooth sheet of fabric, taut on your frame, and you could paint on the scars, so that the next day you look like new. Without regrets, without expectation, imagine you would enter life blank each day. Give yourself to it fully, give yourself to others fully. Never asking for anything in return, never shaming yourself for mistakes you made, never looking back, always moving forward, always knowing, believing, that the happiness is in the now. That there is no past or future. That the past only stays so long on our canvas as we wish, and we can just wipe it off and cover ourselves with new paint. 

What would living in such world mean? It would mean being a family - always, with everyone, bonded, together, without any expectations, without wants or haves or musts. Simply being. Giving. Receiving. Living. Being one even when being separate. In complete harmony. Naive. Back to being children. Back to reaching out to everyone and everything, with open heart. With open arms.

I'm trying to be a blank canvas. I go out and trust people, but as soon as I feel a connection, I close off from fear, or I binge on connecting, at all times - also out of fear. What if I won't connect like this anymore, what if this will pass? Or, what if I will be slashed into pain again, just like that one time? I'm in the future, or I'm in the past. I'm struggling to be in the now, to enjoy the now. To have no expectations, to have no regrets. I've been blank many times, when a little girl, but the slashes to my fabric have been so many, I couldn't repair them fast enough. I left them torn, crying, not being able to have strength to lift my arms once more, to put the needle through one more tear, to stitch it all up. Even when it was torn to pieces, it kept being torn more, threads were being pulled out, one by one, until I was left bare, wooden frame. I covered myself in rags, to pretend like I'm whole, but never really making an effort to sew it all together. I knew it'd be violated again, so what's the point? I moved on through life, and my rags covered up with a mixture of love from here and there, they even looked decent, and at one point I forgot it was not my canvas - I fooled myself completely. For the last year, I've been ripping the fake rags off, one by one, exposing the bare frame, and now I'm naked. Now I'm growing my blank canvas anew, thread by thread, from love around me, from love to myself. The fabric is not fully restored yet, and the winds of guilt, regret, and self-doubt still blow through me, but the base is strong, and one day I'll receive my first dose of paint, then another, until a beautiful painting covers my soul. With love, without expectations, without regrets. I hope I'll be able to walk into life blank then, and renew myself each day, and live in the now.

Photo by Sharon Pruitt.

There is a golden middle, of course, but it's unknown to me. Since the advent of my abuse at age 5, my body has been living in the constant state of stress. Stress from fear, pain, inappropriate sexual stimulation, shame, guilt, anger. My adrenal glands constantly threw a dose of alertness at my body, saying, run, run as fast as you can! Don't sleep, you might get eaten or killed! Don't stop - if you're too slow, you'll be caught! Do everything fast - tomorrow you might be dead! Go, go, go!! My immune system was suppressed by this surge of chemicals, and I didn't feel much pain or pleasure or anything - all feelings were effectively blocked. So that I could survive. And I did.

Now, 20 years later, I still run at break-neck speed, by virtue of habit. My body is used to producing an insane amount of chemicals to keep me going, no coffee needed. Because I am in final healing stages, all of this bent up energy is now loose, streaming out and away. I could barely sleep 4 hours a night for the past several weeks, my eyes close now as I type this. But as soon as I'll lay down, I'll jump up again. On top of that, my hormones are kicking their way up as well, being released after years of suppression. My testosterone boils out to raw desire that keeps me awake no matter how hard I try to concentrate on something else. Even when my brain is already tired, the body still wants more. I could shut it down only with a tranquilizer, since no attemps to quiet it down naturally has helped so far. Or it did, but only for a couple hours. Imagine you're walking around high on drugs - except the drugs are your own chemicals, except the drugs make you want sex, except the drugs are unpredictable - you never know what dosage you took. I wish I had a button, an off switch, a balancing out lever - to position myself against the wall and level out. Just like that, by stretching the arms to the sides, by straightening the back, by looking ahead. It's so difficult to fight - this idea. It would be so easy to do, why do I have to go through trials and errors, why do I have to operate among real people, hurting them, or pleasing them, or leaving them indifferent, brushing past them, meeting, leaving, exciting, disappointing. I'd much rather trained on fakes. 

I want something, and it seems I have too little. I want more I get more, and then it's too much. I;m overwhelmed, exhausted, and hurt. I shrink to the "wanting little" idea, try it out, and the cycle repeats. My emotions swing from up to down several times within one hour. A moment ago in ecstasy, I'd be sulking in the corner, thinking my life is over and what I'd done was irreparable and I'll never ever fix it. I've broken myself, I've broken other people, my body, their bodies. Next day all seems normal again, until the wave of hormones hits me again, and the roller coaster starts all over again. My doctor says, my body is getting rid of help up sexual energy in layers. One layer off, then another, then another. I'm not sure I buy into this game anymore, I want it all off in one go! It's exhausting enough swinging back and forth like a maniac, wanting more one moment, wanting less another. Why does it work like this? Why do I have no patience to deal with this? How much longer do I have to suffer to stabilize? Should I have chosen a nice suppressed stable life? Not remembering anything? Nice and quiet? Proper? Never regretting anything? 

Impossible. I've tasted freedom, I rolled in happiness, it smells like honeysuckle on a warm summer afternoon. Nothing is more glorious than that feeling, than that moment. I know I can have more of them, I know I have to battle through my own impatience to get there, to trust that all can be as I want. All can strike a golden middle, if I want to. And if it doesn't, it's ok for it to spill at the edges - one way, or another, too little, too much. It's emotional, I feel it. I'm happy that I feel. It hurts to be smack in the middle of feeling all of a sudden, feeling naked and raw, and yet I'm feeling. I'm not suppressing, I guess there is a simple word for it all - being alive. I'm alive after being buried under years of internalized pain, though smooth and composed on the surface, always torn and bleeding on the inside. I'm alive despite being close to taking my life. I'm alive. I live. I want more. All of it - too little, too much, or in the middle. All in its own time. Slowly. With patience. To savor.

Photo by Yewenyi.