Things bothering me:
(1) I remember a long period of time as a child when I couldn't wipe. Not front nor back. During time with kidnapper, I guess? My panties were disgusting. I was filth and I was disgusting. Who teaches a child that?
I remember my mom noticing the panties and asking if I was in that just-before-first-period stage of life, with the brown discharge. I guess I could have been.
(2) my mom getting angry at me for not telling her what I couldn't voice.
I was in the car with her and I don't remember what we were talking about, but I said that I had tried to tell my dad that the kidnapped hurt me and he didn't even react? Memory wasn't service me quite right?
My mom immediately got into her pity-me mode and said, "I'm the last person anyone yells about anything," like she was guilting me.
I have never told her a thing since. She thought I was lying a lot anyway. Accused me of trying to get attention when I was scared I had schizophrenia.
That's why, when she asked, way too bluntly, "Was it really the neighbor who raped you?" I shut down. I was scared a court would never believe me anyways -- I was trying to tell her that I didn't put things in the police report right. Couldn't report what happened right. She asked if it was because it didn't happen.
It turns out, she was certain my father had done it. She was trying to ask me if I was protecting my father by accusing someone who was unable to be prosecuted, like the opposite or To Kill a Mockingbird.
I still cry about this. I feel like a scared kid who is sure no one believes her. Because even though she believed me, I felt she didn't trust me. I guess.
(3) I complained briefly at the start of this diary (no, don't go back there, there's a lot of words that I'm hopefully over) that I was having a weird mini-PTSD thing about my trip to Iceland. As in, I kept having flashbacks to negative or uncomfortable moments -- especially a couple of dissociations I had in front of colleagues/peers.
@Freida helped me notice that some of this was actually very positive -- like being able to discuss certain parts of my life and open up to people and even rely on them.
But my therapist noticed something else. While I was in Iceland -- despite my very careful planning literally months in advanced to prevent this -- Brandi was texting me, but mostly as Fungus.
This might be the entire reason my brain started having the problems it did, and why my brain is seeing Iceland as a dangerous place, despite it being an amazing trip (besides the dead guy in the river I guess, but that's obviously a very different story, that yes I am sad about... we dealt with that as a group and it was not nearly as traumatic as you'd think, because of that; though I wish he hadn't died but i promise it was impossible to live through what he went through -- probably a near-instant death).
(There is a lot of deadly death stuff in Iceland. The exactly 72 ambulances (did I remember the right number?) end up dealing entirely with only tourists at some point in the summer. That was part of what I wanted to study while there, except I did not because getting in the way of a busy paramedic is not wise.)
but anyway -- Brandi was depressed and was having a hard time without being able to unload her emotional baggage on me. She reached out to Fungus in the middle of our trip.
About then is when the worst of me having problems recognizing people and staying present started. Possibly.
I did not have service dog with me, because in Iceland the legal definition of a service dog is a dog who herds sheep. N does not herd sheep. Herding sheep does not grant access into restaurants or grocery stores.
Also, N would have have to be in a 30-day quarantine period... enough to do some serious harm. Not worth it at all.
I tried to remind Brandi about her coping skills, and reminded her other things. See, my phone was dying. It's battery was (and still is) having problems. I knew I had to wrap things up. I also needed to cook dinner for the 13 of us (I take cooking seriously).
She noticed. She went, "I get it. You're in Iceland."
Fungus was confused... yes, a part of him is everywhere. But it f*cked with my brain, too, because I was in Iceland.
My therapist pointed out that Brandi could not have believed it was real, AND known I was busy because I was in Iceland.
But maybe that's half of what was bothering me, and why memories of Iceland that aren't PTSD-level traumatic keep coming up.
My worried professor coming into the girls' room after being summoned by my peer because I was acting confused and fell unconscious for two seconds, while I was in a shirt and panties? That's hardly life threatening. I was confused to see him there, yes, and pointed out he normally shouldn't be, yes -- but I wasn't even frightened! So why does that memory flash up?
Must be something to do with Fungus? Worth exploring.
