Well, I am officially a badass. I had one hell, whopper of a migraine last night after I got off the phone, so my sleep was very shallow and troubled. But I got up and went to group anyway. And that is when I was awesome.
Trigger Alert:
I told about the memory I had 3 weeks ago. The memory of being orally raped by a male when I was an infant. Yes. Part of me still has a somewhat hard time believing we can remember something that happened when we were an infant. But most of me believes it. I have read enough research about traumatic memory that I know it's possible. And it happened to me. This is not the first memory I have had about sexual abuse, but it is the most complete and concrete. It was all senses at once. Other times I have had body memories, but no visuals, or visuals when I was high that I discounted because I was high. This happened dead sober, when I was least expecting it, meaning I wasn't trolling for a memory. It just came.
I don't understand someone who would do that to a baby. It is so foreign that it seems almost impossible. But my body memory was real. So I believe myself. I just am devastated. Devastated that I was hurt before I could even walk, made to dissociate before I could even communicate. It is a wonder I'm still alive. I think some seriously terrible things happened to me in that house, and I know seriously terrible things happened to me in the other house. I know my mother beat me, emotionally abused me and terrorized me my entire childhood until I was 21. I told her she couldn't hit me anymore at 21. Twenty fucking one, and she was still in such utter control of me. 37 and the control is just finally waning, after three years of intensive, intensive, intensive therapy. Almost 4 years now. Wow. I don't like to think about it. It feels like it shouldn't be taking me this long.
But fuck that. I was one of the most defended people ever. I was in total unreality about my childhood, because it was never safe before to truly understand how bad it was. It took me 2 years to truly trust the therapeutic process.
I am so sad, but it is a good sad, an authentic devastation about my childhood. I had no one safe, ever. Ever. So, I am a badass for making it through. Yes, I am. We all are.
Trigger Alert:
I told about the memory I had 3 weeks ago. The memory of being orally raped by a male when I was an infant. Yes. Part of me still has a somewhat hard time believing we can remember something that happened when we were an infant. But most of me believes it. I have read enough research about traumatic memory that I know it's possible. And it happened to me. This is not the first memory I have had about sexual abuse, but it is the most complete and concrete. It was all senses at once. Other times I have had body memories, but no visuals, or visuals when I was high that I discounted because I was high. This happened dead sober, when I was least expecting it, meaning I wasn't trolling for a memory. It just came.
I don't understand someone who would do that to a baby. It is so foreign that it seems almost impossible. But my body memory was real. So I believe myself. I just am devastated. Devastated that I was hurt before I could even walk, made to dissociate before I could even communicate. It is a wonder I'm still alive. I think some seriously terrible things happened to me in that house, and I know seriously terrible things happened to me in the other house. I know my mother beat me, emotionally abused me and terrorized me my entire childhood until I was 21. I told her she couldn't hit me anymore at 21. Twenty fucking one, and she was still in such utter control of me. 37 and the control is just finally waning, after three years of intensive, intensive, intensive therapy. Almost 4 years now. Wow. I don't like to think about it. It feels like it shouldn't be taking me this long.
But fuck that. I was one of the most defended people ever. I was in total unreality about my childhood, because it was never safe before to truly understand how bad it was. It took me 2 years to truly trust the therapeutic process.
I am so sad, but it is a good sad, an authentic devastation about my childhood. I had no one safe, ever. Ever. So, I am a badass for making it through. Yes, I am. We all are.
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