She (therapist) keeps saying: you need to write more, and more and more. I don't want to write any more. I don't want the story. I don't want it to be real. I have never talked about it. I had been good - and never told a soul. f*ck, how messed up is that. I don't even now how to. My lips pursed, nothing to say. Time passes so eventually I open my mouth and nothing comes out. So she says I don't have to tell - my brain tells me this confirms my trauma is too much. I am too disgusting. And if that is proven wrong. If I tell her the power is handed over. The room for betrayal just grew. But the pain of holding on is so great that I am inching to risk the betrayal for just a little room. I am exhausted. I came too far to quit. I will never be in this situation again, I am certain I will never ask for help to process this trauma again. So for my own sake I must - f*cking stupid and this totally sucks.
I was 5 the first time I met the perpetrator, the abuse - started at 6. It was every summer until I was 18 and finally able to never go back. I never knew how wrong it was, it started so young. It felt like a duty - just something that had to be done. He lived in the house, he was the golden boy. I was the awkward visitor every summer. My dad was drunk, he didn't like kids much. He was successful and took us on trips. It was the hideous, white middle class household. I was awkward amongst the 5 children, I was the only child that was my father's. The abuse was started with promises and intimidation - to the point by 8/9 I stopped fighting. At 13 it changed because my body changed. At that point I did my best to tolerate.
I really can't type any more. Just starting to admit this happened. Because even though the memories are real, I had never allowed myself to process. The memories are plentiful - pick a year and most any summer night and I would say - yes that was the night. But as real as they are, I cannot put them into words. I don't want to admit it is true. I don't understand why I have to embrace the memory to make it go away. I have been running for years and yet she/T says I identify with this memory - bullshit if you ask me but maybe there is some truth. She says I really need to disclose. How do I do that? Is it really necessary? I get light headed just thinking on it. Tears want to come but they never escape. I cringe at the word trauma. And my best efforts I have just learned I can type CSA. I glaze over when I read other people's stories. I do hope someday I will be let go of this - but I don't know if that will ever be the case. If all I learn is how to talk about it, this will be disappointing. If all I do is talk and then end a T relationship, only to pretend like that didn't happen either, that will be disappointing. I pray to understand "healing" - what the f*ck is healing anyway? I would not have even thought I needed to heal if there were not circumstances that took me back to that town 30 years later. Is "healing" necessary - why can't running and denial work? If I were normal would I think I need healing.
I was 5 the first time I met the perpetrator, the abuse - started at 6. It was every summer until I was 18 and finally able to never go back. I never knew how wrong it was, it started so young. It felt like a duty - just something that had to be done. He lived in the house, he was the golden boy. I was the awkward visitor every summer. My dad was drunk, he didn't like kids much. He was successful and took us on trips. It was the hideous, white middle class household. I was awkward amongst the 5 children, I was the only child that was my father's. The abuse was started with promises and intimidation - to the point by 8/9 I stopped fighting. At 13 it changed because my body changed. At that point I did my best to tolerate.
I really can't type any more. Just starting to admit this happened. Because even though the memories are real, I had never allowed myself to process. The memories are plentiful - pick a year and most any summer night and I would say - yes that was the night. But as real as they are, I cannot put them into words. I don't want to admit it is true. I don't understand why I have to embrace the memory to make it go away. I have been running for years and yet she/T says I identify with this memory - bullshit if you ask me but maybe there is some truth. She says I really need to disclose. How do I do that? Is it really necessary? I get light headed just thinking on it. Tears want to come but they never escape. I cringe at the word trauma. And my best efforts I have just learned I can type CSA. I glaze over when I read other people's stories. I do hope someday I will be let go of this - but I don't know if that will ever be the case. If all I learn is how to talk about it, this will be disappointing. If all I do is talk and then end a T relationship, only to pretend like that didn't happen either, that will be disappointing. I pray to understand "healing" - what the f*ck is healing anyway? I would not have even thought I needed to heal if there were not circumstances that took me back to that town 30 years later. Is "healing" necessary - why can't running and denial work? If I were normal would I think I need healing.