ShodokanJenn
Platinum Member
So I had an appointment with my therapist today. We went back to work with the exposure therapy. I talked, out loud without writing it first, about when I was six. I was so swollen down there from all that my grandfather had been doing, that when the cult leader tried to force himself inside he couldn't. So he got a knife. As soon as I saw it, I started to dissociate. I felt it as he cut me open, but I was far enough gone that it didn't really hurt. I remember a brief flash of pain as he pushed his way in, and then nothing until I was laying in bed that night.
As much as I hate how intrusive it is now, sometimes dissociation is a real gift. I don't think I could have physically survived some of the things that happened to me without it. And I KNOW I wouldn't have survived with my humanity intact without it. Anyway, two weeks later I went back to my dad's. I was still bleeding from the cut. I was scared he would see the blood when he washed my pants, so I begged him to teach me to do my own laundry. I never let him see the blood. My grandfather always said if anyone ever found out what *I* did, I would never see my mom again.
And despite the fact that each trip out there meant a maximum of 24 hours with her and the rest with my grandparents, as well as the cult leader and the rest of the group, to me those 24 hours were heaven and I couldn't imagine losing them. So I did everything I could think of to keep my secret. The scar from this incident was jagged and painful until it was surgically reconstructed at the same time as my first endometriosis surgery.
I can't believe how lucid and calm I was as I told my therapist about this. I am not calm anymore. My heart is racing, I am dizzy and sweating and I am terrified of nothing and everything at the same time.
As much as I hate how intrusive it is now, sometimes dissociation is a real gift. I don't think I could have physically survived some of the things that happened to me without it. And I KNOW I wouldn't have survived with my humanity intact without it. Anyway, two weeks later I went back to my dad's. I was still bleeding from the cut. I was scared he would see the blood when he washed my pants, so I begged him to teach me to do my own laundry. I never let him see the blood. My grandfather always said if anyone ever found out what *I* did, I would never see my mom again.
And despite the fact that each trip out there meant a maximum of 24 hours with her and the rest with my grandparents, as well as the cult leader and the rest of the group, to me those 24 hours were heaven and I couldn't imagine losing them. So I did everything I could think of to keep my secret. The scar from this incident was jagged and painful until it was surgically reconstructed at the same time as my first endometriosis surgery.
I can't believe how lucid and calm I was as I told my therapist about this. I am not calm anymore. My heart is racing, I am dizzy and sweating and I am terrified of nothing and everything at the same time.