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Believing (sorry, Got Graphic)

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Stickler

MyPTSD Pro
I repressed all memories of abuse.
...however, when my mom divorced my dad...I slowly started to feel this loathing and rage towards him.
Way more rage than would be accounted by what I remembered, and I began to suspect.
At 19 I got back a couple of memories of assault. These made sense. The two perpetrators in the memories? Yeah.
I could not pry out memories about my dad, though. Feelings? Yes, but no memories. I ended therapy and figured I never would remember.
...In 2011 the dissociation shut off...and I found myself to be not quite alone in my head.

Mom went back to work, at night, as a nurse when I was six. Until my maternal grandma moved in, he could get away with a lot at night.

Anyway...this last year? I got memories of being taken to a party and used to make a short film.
That was kind of the party opener? Then me and this kid I knew from school were passed around...
...After that I seem to have been sold. I am getting the feeling there are more memories on the way of getting rented...
Too, I did not think I was sold after age 8, as well. I thought the abuse ended at 8, when my grandma moved in with us
My grandmother did get sick, as in repeated small strokes... and my mom was working nights...

At that point I had ( on some level, deliberately) made myself enormously fat. Dad found that disgusting. Apparently he found someone that did not. Dad hated us, we cost him money.

But all this is really, REALLY bizarre.

...I don't know that I believe myselfs.

I think I found the man who was the other child at the party...
On the sex offender's registry in the old town my family moved from. Plus he's got some drunk arrests reported in the local paper. That in itself is kinda indicative? But attempts to contact this man by snail-mail with the intent of carefully broaching the matter got no response.
I might be able to go through old school records if I am able to go up in person, will do at some point, see what I can find.
I may contact the local FBI office around there, as the FBI child porn vault sent me a blank rejection letter...they don't help you figure out if your film is sitting there in their storage unit of horrors, apparently.
My dad's still alive, but I can't get around him because of my rage? Plus I don't believe that bloated weasel would tell the truth.

Thoughts?
Writing all this out has made me feel floaty, spacey, tired.
My inside people tell me we were just so, so tired that night...sadly, my dad liked to force Pottymouth et. al. to orgasm. Well, these guys at the party thought making my body orgasm, which it was trained to do easily, was fun, fun, fun. I was 6. I was also asthmatic, and they were smoking.
We were just so tired. We went through pain, disgust, terror, embarrassment, shame...to exhaustion.
Dad hit us all the way home, and we don't know why, he made us wipe all the slime off the car seat.
Sorry, I'm just the Front in here...do you hate us?
 
That breaks my heart to hear!! I'm sending you hugs if you'll have them.

I don't have have any advice, but know that you're not alone. I don't remember most of my traumas, and in extreme times of stress I won't remember my entire childhood. My mom used to rape me and had a sick fascination with poisons. And I saw a couple of really scary things when I was 5 that I'm still too scared to bring up.

I think it's very brave of you to do all of this detective work. Bravo indeed! I hope you find answers and closure.
 
I...saw that other kid, W, get his soul destroyed that night.
...I actually want to find him to see if I can help? They wouldn't let me help him then.
He wanted nothing to do with me in school...I didn't know why I was drawn to him, because of course I'd forgotten all about it. I had to.

I'm afraid he was ashamed and disgusted too, at what we were made to do...at the party, he looked like a zombie. W did not scream.

...That is...um...My dad had to maintain some kind of plausible deniability? So the guys at the party? They couldn't tear me up. No bruising. No anal raping-too much bleeding... Nothing extreme with me.
Apparently nobody was really looking out for W, whatever his home situation?
W kind of got tortured..not like, formally? But...well, I seem to recall someone kicking him in the crotch in cowboy boots once? Among other things?
...and W did not scream.
Meaning this wasn't the first time something like this had happened to him. He was used to not screaming?
At the end of the night he was curled up in this little ball on the wood floor, um...leaking. I remember marks on his back? Maybe I'm adding details that aren't true.
Maybe they were merciful enough to drug him? I hope.
I doubt it though.
One of the things I got back...during the filmmaking, he was crying silently.
...They made me perform oral sex on him while he and I were both getting raped by adult men...and it hurt him, and he was crying silently.
He came, too, and I don't...know if he hates me for that? I hope not, I was doing what I was ordered to do...but at the same time? I was trying to be kind, I was...agh, I dunno...it made my dad happy, I was six, so I wanted to make W...not feel the physical pain he was feeling? Or something.
His hands in my hair.
He had his hands in my hair, and he was the only one there who was not there to hurt me.
He was safe.
If nothing else, I want to find him and thank him for...just being safe. For gently stroking my hair. For hugging me after they turned the camera off, until they made us stop holding each other?
I think they had to pull me off him.
....
I had repressed what was going on, everything...so I didn't know why I kept mentally seeing this poor kid naked. Having intrusive thoughts of him naked while sitting in first grade class, even, and feeling very ashamed of such.
I remember the haunted, wary, tired look he gave me...I went upstairs to third grade for English, you see? I was an advanced reader. So, much to ( I'm sure) his horror, he had to bump elbows with me daily.
Such is life in a small town?
He didn't know I didn't remember any of it.

So...see? It all makes sense, I guess?
...If my dad would do that, selling me to interested parties isn't that much of a stretch, is it?

...But at the same time, it's just absolutely bizarre, right?

But if it's not real, why am I sobbing? I mean, do I make this stuff up just to f*ck with myself???
 
I think with repressed memories it's easy to be in denial when they come to. But your memories are so detailed.. And don't quote me I'm not a professional.. I wouldn't think that they were false memories. Are you able to see a therapist? Or do you have to work through this on your own?
 
I am playing tag with the therapist, have online and some IRL support.
It is detailed.
...I was about to say..." but I can write fiction...". But i wrote horror, and my short horror pieces were sort of grimly fun to write...
( I have a plot for a horror novel floating in my head, and the plot points I literally chuckle over, you know? )
I wasn't crying and spacey...the fiction is not at all triggery, even though it's gruesomely warped stuff, but it's ...not real...

So, good point. Very good point.

...I still want the evidence, though. I want corroboration. Dunno if I will get it. I don't guess I need it to heal, but I WANT it.
 
I am playing tag with the therapist, have online and some IRL support.
It is detailed.
...I was about t...

Ohh.. You're creative!! have you taken the Myers Briggs?
And perspective is everything. I wish no harm on anyone, nor would I joke about it. And people say my humor is dark. But if you've seen some real shit you're just not gonna be sensitive, you know?
 
...I re-read this because I forgot what I wrote...and reading it still makes me feel spacy.
...Wanted to add that I got more. Basically another bit of the party...my asthma had gotten really bad and nobody cared.
It's incredibly lonely to be a thing for people.

Right at the moment I feel really ashamed for having posted all this? Even though I KNOW that (A) this stuff was not my choice and (B) talking about and dealing with trauma is the point of this site?

The shame got wiped off on me, but it isn't mine. A bunch of adult men gang-raping a pair of schoolkids? They deserve that shame, it's theirs.
But I still feel it.

...I believe this happened now. I believe more happened than just this party.
 
Stickler, what helps you chew smaller bits, & then digest them well, in trauma terms?

I found trauma and what it does with people afterwards is un-fun type of fun enough, add in blurriness & monstrous shit people just better drop off memory for a time because other way lies insta-madness no one can afford.

So: what helps you regulate what comes, how fast, and how it alters your functioning in the present?
 
Dunno. I'm DID...and not the one in charge of timing.

I can mentally box it by literally visualizing a box and boxing it until better prepared and situated, if needed.
...I am getting way better at grounding ( and fronting ).
 
Can you talk to who is in charge?

Because if there's a chance to not flood you / whoever handles outside life, and dose things in a way you can physically handle and function with, I'd take it.

Priorities; keeping of the whole safe coming first.

Another one: Do you know grounding strategies for each of you, at least those you that are most around?

They may not be the same, yet if you can incorporate something for everyone, there's a chance the stress you're whole feeling will lessen.
 
I'm always out. The Front. I put on a face to meet a face. I keep the wheels on the pavement.

But I'm a bag they fill up, a conduit?

We are SOO functional :confused::sour::hungover:...

I am actually managing...um...ok. Not bad. Given the practical circumstances.
At least firing on four out of six cylinders ATM.

...Nobody said healing from repressed memories of child sexual abuse, or dealing with DID, was going to be unicorn farts and rainbows...
 
I thought I was alone in my head until 2011, BTW. Uh, not so much.

Edited..oh hell, I said that already upthread.
 
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