The first time I heard the song "Storms" by Fleetwood Mac, I fell in love with it. But for years, while I could sing along with all of it, when it came to the lines, "Every hour of fear I spent, my body tries to cry." I choked up. Maybe because I knew how hard my body was trying to cry, and I wouldn't let it.
There are things I know. There are things I remember (even supposedly impossibly early things). And then there are those odd absences and holes in an otherwise vivid memory that leaves an outline I can guess at but cannot quite see clearly.
I was born addicted to cocaine. I know this. I was not quite 4 pounds, though full term. For those few weeks my mother nursed me, her milk was laced with cocaine, possibly other things. I know she left when I was 6 months old. I know she left my dad for her dealer. I know my dad is a pedophile. I found his journal when I was 12 so I know I basically became second wife before I could sit up, crawl, or talk. So I know that in my first year I was an addict forced off cocaine cold turkey while being abandoned by my mother and sexually abused by my father.
I was diagnosed with PTSD, depression and anxiety at 18. I did not even then really understand what that meant except that my inability at times to force myself to leave a place I was at was not just "being lazy" as I'd been told.
I remember vividly meeting a friend's parents at a school function in second grade and I honestly thought sex was part of the definition of "daddy". I "broke up" with mine at 7, knowing what I was saying "no" to, knowing I now had to make him feel better as I was emotionally responsible for his well-being and I knew that he preferred me on top and had used his vibrator on me. I remember his hand in my panties. Beyond that there are odd memories of compulsively reciting the order of the colors of his shirts in his closet, the sound of the fan in the window and where my body ought to be in this memory is nothing at all.
I know that I spent my summers with my mother, often at my grammy's house. I know that she had a boyfriend that I loathed with every fiber of my being. I know I was often sent with him on trips that I cannot recall and that there is a darkened open door at the end of a hallway that I'm still too scared to remember fully. I remember vividly hiding in the dog's bed in a closet to avoid that door. I know that later my grammy broke up with that man after finding out he was actually a wanted serial rapist known for biting his victims.
When I was a young child my dad would tell me which other girls to befriend and have over for sleepovers. I felt guilty and ashamed but wasn't sure why. When I began to realize that I felt attracted to other girls I thought that just being attracted to a girl was to do something horrible to her.
I'm in my forties and I have still yet to let a woman touch me intimately. It's too scary. Too complicated.
I'm on SSI disability for PTSD et al and have been since I was 23. I've been hospitalized numerous times for suicide attempts or temptation. I'm still in therapy and on medication. There is much more, but that's my intro...I was born in a blizzard and I have loved storms all my life. Only now, I let my body cry when I need to, though I'm fairly certain we have an awful lot of crying to do for "every hour of fear I spent."
Thank you for listening.
There are things I know. There are things I remember (even supposedly impossibly early things). And then there are those odd absences and holes in an otherwise vivid memory that leaves an outline I can guess at but cannot quite see clearly.
I was born addicted to cocaine. I know this. I was not quite 4 pounds, though full term. For those few weeks my mother nursed me, her milk was laced with cocaine, possibly other things. I know she left when I was 6 months old. I know she left my dad for her dealer. I know my dad is a pedophile. I found his journal when I was 12 so I know I basically became second wife before I could sit up, crawl, or talk. So I know that in my first year I was an addict forced off cocaine cold turkey while being abandoned by my mother and sexually abused by my father.
I was diagnosed with PTSD, depression and anxiety at 18. I did not even then really understand what that meant except that my inability at times to force myself to leave a place I was at was not just "being lazy" as I'd been told.
I remember vividly meeting a friend's parents at a school function in second grade and I honestly thought sex was part of the definition of "daddy". I "broke up" with mine at 7, knowing what I was saying "no" to, knowing I now had to make him feel better as I was emotionally responsible for his well-being and I knew that he preferred me on top and had used his vibrator on me. I remember his hand in my panties. Beyond that there are odd memories of compulsively reciting the order of the colors of his shirts in his closet, the sound of the fan in the window and where my body ought to be in this memory is nothing at all.
I know that I spent my summers with my mother, often at my grammy's house. I know that she had a boyfriend that I loathed with every fiber of my being. I know I was often sent with him on trips that I cannot recall and that there is a darkened open door at the end of a hallway that I'm still too scared to remember fully. I remember vividly hiding in the dog's bed in a closet to avoid that door. I know that later my grammy broke up with that man after finding out he was actually a wanted serial rapist known for biting his victims.
When I was a young child my dad would tell me which other girls to befriend and have over for sleepovers. I felt guilty and ashamed but wasn't sure why. When I began to realize that I felt attracted to other girls I thought that just being attracted to a girl was to do something horrible to her.
I'm in my forties and I have still yet to let a woman touch me intimately. It's too scary. Too complicated.
I'm on SSI disability for PTSD et al and have been since I was 23. I've been hospitalized numerous times for suicide attempts or temptation. I'm still in therapy and on medication. There is much more, but that's my intro...I was born in a blizzard and I have loved storms all my life. Only now, I let my body cry when I need to, though I'm fairly certain we have an awful lot of crying to do for "every hour of fear I spent."
Thank you for listening.
