Anger

Well, I just came back from my therapy session that went a half hour extra.  I can tell that I am holding much of my anger in as my body is quite tight especially my throat, chest and stomach.  I ended up talking mostly about my anger toward my stepfather's mother who was a sick, fucking, bitch.  She used make me play with her and her with me and told me that she was teaching me about my body and what men will do.  She said that I had to have sex because I was evil and bad and that they had to put good stuff in me to purify me...I just really read what I wrote and I am horrified!!!  Manipulated and groomed me to have sex with the many men that came through her house.  I am so angry that she also told my mother that I was bad, evil and sometimes that the devil was inside of me.  My fucked up, asshole of a mother listened to her and reinforced it.  I am so angry that I want to do something physical, but can't because of my ankle and respiratory problems.  I would just love to slap her and slug her like she did me, but even that would never be enough.  I'm am so enraged that my stepfather's mother would say that and that my mother would believe her...shit heads the both of them.

My step-father's mother went even further to burn me with incense or to insert them inside of me saying, "that I was so bad that this was to help purify me."  Fuck Fuck Fuck.  These two women have cost me money, time, and twenty years in therapy!!!  No wonder it takes so long!!!  My thinking, my self hatred, suicidal thoughts, self-injury and eating disorder is because of them and my step father.  They fucking brainwashed me into thinking that I was evil and responsible.  Why would anyone say these things to their daughter...only a fucked up person with no maternal instinct...I was only an object.

If they were in prison, both would be some other woman's toy which is fun to think about.  Retaliatory fantasies are quite helpful.  I need to stop as my anger is really bubbling up and I need to stop.

Oh, one other thing.  I came home to a forwarded email from my uncle.  However, it was initiated by my mother and sent to the entire family except for me.  What a bitch I write my letter to my mother and she has not spoken to me since not even to deny or yell at me.  No response for almost two years even when I was sick with pneumonia and are continuing to have serious respiratory and immune system problems.

Well, Fuck off!!!

My sexual abuse

  TRIGGER WARNINGThis is a video that I put together about my sexual abuse and hope.  Monday, I will write more about my abuse and how it has effected me.

Sexual Assault Awareness Month: Facts

Trigger Warning!  Trigger Warning!! Trigger Warning!!!

Effects of Sexual Abuse ~ Part I

***TRIGGER WARNING**

I say that this is part one as I know that I will be writing more about it.  I've never really delved into the effects that my sexual abuse has impacted my relationship with my husband.  I need to do this in small parts. (I'm tearing up as I'm even just writing this).

In 2003, I began to have flashbacks and memories of repressed sexual abuse memories and I was having much difficulty sleeping.  (I still do, but it is part of my depression...early morning waking)  My wonderfully intuitive husband asked me if I wanted him to sleep in the extra bedroom.  I reluctantly, told him that it would help.  I was actually afraid that I would hurt him in bed or that he would harm me.  Not a good situation. 

The major part of the high intensity of the flashbacks took over four years which was extremely painful and impacted work to the point that I ended up quitting a job that I loved.  I was doing okay and keeping up and making all my meetings, but my concentration with intrusive flashes, body memories and just trying to numb out took a toll on my ability to complete my reports. 

The visits and needs were taken care of with my clients, but my documentation sucked.  It took much more concentration to sit alone in front of a computer than I had.  My work was willing to work with me due to my situation, but management and other requirements changed and it really became a toxic environment for me. 

Basically, I was going to be hospitalized if I didn't quit.  My therapist and psychiatrist told me that the environment and my supervisor was retraumatizing me.  The Union tried, but could not really help me and referred me to an attorney.  Obviously, I wasn't ready to do this and be dragged through the "mud."  (Sorry, for the little detour)

(On the main road again) My husband still remains in the extra bedroom. At the beginning of him sleeping in the other room, we barely had any type of touching or intimacy.  Sometime last year after my second hospitalization, I began to cuddle with him in the master bedroom and we have progressed to where we do almost everything, but actual intercourse.  We are both very happy with this.  I feel safe with him and he never does anything without asking me first.

My husband always has the week between Christmas and New Years off, so last year we decided to try to just sleep together in the same bed.  But, due to the major events of last year, I wasn't ready.  It had been too stressful a year.

However, this year seemed perfect.  He even had two and a half weeks off.  The session on the day that we were trying going to try to sleep together, I broke down in tears and realized that I was terrified.  I felt like I should be able to do so and that I was "bad" for not being able to as it has been such a long time. 

My therapist put me in my place!!!  He explained how normal this is and how severe my sexual abuse was, so he was not surprised.  I admitted that I was beginning to have flashbacks again.  He told me that it was great that I wanted to do this, but that he really wanted this to be a success.  I realized and admitted that I wasn't yet ready.  Even though I really trust my husband, it is soooo difficult to not have everything in me still react.

My therapist was proud of me that I told my husband that I wasn't ready.  So was I.  My sweet husband was so understanding and said that he didn't want us to do anything that I wasn't comfortable with and that he wanted me to feel safe. 

So, we still are not sleeping in the same bed, but the foreplay before we go sleep in our separate beds make us very happy.  This is HUGE progress.  However, we are able to take naps on top of the covers. This year's goal is still to be able to sleep in the same bed.  I guess, I was in denial about how big a deal our goal is...I'm still terrified.  But, I am working on meeting my goal.  I couldn't do this without such a supportive, caring and understanding husband.  I thank God for him everyday.

"It's Okay Not To Be Okay....For Right Now" ~ Dr. Mark Lener

Hidden Pieces: Sexual Abuse Continues

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Graphic Description of Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.] I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story." I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog. This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point. I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

[During my process of remembering, I began to have flashbacks about different work situations which I write about below.  Remember these occurances were from 1989 to 2000, but I am only making connections or remembering in 2007ish] 

I don’t think that my step-father stopped raping me when we moved to the our new house…After talking about the popsicle incidents, I keep having flashes of him surprising me when I opened my second room where I studied and he was in there…waiting for me to come home. When I went to leave, he grabbed the upper portion of my right arm leaving small bruises and dragged me back in closing the door. The next thing I remember was being on the floor naked and wet. 

I do know that the moment I saw those eyes I began to go away…float away, like I was watching from above and didn’t feel anything. But, I am beginning to remember how it hurt when he grabbed me and pushed me to the ground putting his knee into my thigh which really hurt…I did have a bruise. I was terrified as he also was yelling at me to never walk away from him again or he would kill me.

He practically tore off all of my clothing…actually my underwear had been torn, so I threw it away. Then, he put his hands on my shoulders pushing me down with my shoulders as he penetrated me and with every thrust. I remember feeling really bad as the pain was excruciating, but sometimes it sort of felt good…hard to explain. I feel really bad that it partly felt good and even when I was younger it partly felt good sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I enjoyed it or wanted him to do it…it feels like my body betrayed me. [When my husband and I would have sex, when he had his hands on my shoulders…I would feel a little panicked and have a brief flashback which I kept ignoring until I started talking to you about the memories.]

While being raped, sometimes my step-father would dig his nails into my shoulders…I had some bruises on my upper arms, thigh, shoulders and scratches with some open skin on my shoulders. I remember the carpet moving under me. Sometimes, he would kiss me on the lips and stick his tongue in my mouth. When he was finished, he kicked me in the leg and told me to get dressed which was the next room over, so of course he watched. I quickly put my bathrobe on and took my clothes into the restroom where I cleaned up looked at my scratches and bruises before I got dressed. I felt so dirty literally and figuratively. I had some blood and semen on my legs, but for some reason I remember I was not allowed to take a shower, but I really wanted to do so.

I remember two other times and I think that he stopped then before 7th grade, which was the beginning of junior high school when I was only eleven years old. I think I almost immediately blocked it out as in Junior High school, I do not remember having any conscious memory of any sexual abuse other than the inappropriateness of some of his actions. I have a hunch it happened a little more often, but not much more. Each time, he surprised me when I opened a door.

Once was when I opened the door to my bathroom and he shoved me to the ground and raped me on my bathroom floor. I remember thinking I hope I don’t pee because I really had to go. My bladder and everything else really hurt, but I held it until he was through. Then, I had difficulty going…like now. The other time was when I opened the front door and he immediately grabbed me told me that he had been waiting for me, with that weird look in his eyes…the one where I knew he was going to do something awful to me. He dragged me up stairs into my study and again violently raped me leaving me with scratches and bruises…of course I could hide them.

I stopped studying in that room and moved to my bedroom or family room even when he wasn’t home. The room no longer felt like it was mine. Of course, everything was done with me making almost no sound, no crying, no resistance; I hid or cleaned up any evidence and never ever told anyone. I so much just feel like dying. After that I began to check behind every door as soon as I came home before I would begin to do anything or could relax some. I absolutely need to know where everyone was…like needing to know where my husband is at home.

“Relaxing” when you are constantly on edge, on guard and afraid for your life makes life very confusing. It is actually an oxymoron, but it was how I lived all the time. Even though, I don’t remember him raping me, I kept checking the house when I came home just to know where everyone was or to make sure no one was home…[I still do this. I always thought I was just trying to be safety conscious, but there is more to this.] I also remember being unable to breathe sometimes when I was raped, as there was too much pressure on my chest. I thought I was going to die sometimes. I also think that I immediately or very quickly forgot about many incidents especially these as I don’t remember much of sixth grade and did not remember these events in junior high school.

This just can't be the way life was...just can't...reality sucks!

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ Video

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Graphic Sexual Abuse Content)

This is a summary of my sexual abuse that I've written about so far in the form of a video.  The music is by Plumb entitled, "Damaged."  (There is no intention of violating copyright laws)

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ Subtleties

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.] I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story." I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog. This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point. I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

When I was a preteen and teenager, my step-father stopped raping me, but looking back there were more subtle things and in light of what I now know occurred it makes sense why I was so bothered by some of them. He was at least extremely inappropriate. He began to tickle me to the point where I would urinate on myself which was humiliating and I know it continued well into after I started my period as I remember being afraid that my pad was going to move or that I would “leak.”

One of the few times I had a friend over, she told me that his tickling me made her uncomfortable. He also teased me about my body including the size of my breasts and my pimples. I remember gaining weight the last two years in high school which was the highest my weight [except for now] has ever been and I didn’t care much how I dressed, jeans and a knock off polo shirt untucked which I owned in every color of the world. That is what I wore everyday, in contrast, my first two years and in junior high school I cared very much about what I wore and how my hair was styled. I wore dresses and skirts and went to every single dance in junior high school and none in high school. Maybe, partly a symptom of a major depressive episode?

Also, I never thought this was important, but when I was 18 and in college, I went for a job interview. By this time my-step father and I were barely talking at all. But, I was wearing a dress and heels. He stopped and seemingly checked me out, look at me up and down, and said that I “looked really good.” I don’t know if at this point I was just paranoid, but I remember feeling uncomfortable about it…still do. These things have always bothered me, but I thought I was making a big deal out of minor comments and incidents.

I remember, for some reason, I had to shower in my step-father's and my mother’s shower and came into the dressing room where they could see me because they were in bed. He began to tease me about my weight and about my breasts being two different sizes. My mother also began to tease. I felt so humiliated and realized that maybe it wasn’t appropriate for me to be seen naked by them. Even while I write this, I am extremely embarrassed and feel like I should have known better because I was older.

Also, my step-father used to change down stairs in the laundry room that was directly adjacent to the television. He would then run from the television upstairs naked. Sometimes, my mother would pull his pants and underwear down in front of me and tell me to “look at the naked buns” or some other euphemism. I was so embarrassed and they seemed to have fun with it. In writing this, I’m realizing that they were sadistic in these events as well.

He also insisted on using my restroom unlocked even though it was mine and there were two other’s in the house. I wouldn’t know he was in there and would often walk in on him, which was quite embarrassing, and made me angry…never realized that it made me angry. Maybe, because he was intentionally exposing himself to me…again…which is how it started when I was younger. I also remember him watching the adult movies late at night and sometimes into morning…I could hear the movie and hear him making noises…I’m pretty sure he was masturbating.

[The day following the session where I read the above.] This morning I woke up tearing up and almost crying. My feelings were hurt yesterday in session. I felt misunderstood, cut off and like I did not get a chance to explain myself because you started talking. I felt a little something in the session, but just ignored it and it went away until this morning. They weren’t such a big things. And, I know I’m being ultra sensitive and fragmenting. But, when I was talking about my mother and my step-father teasing me in more sexual ways and feeling that it was somewhat “sadistic,” I felt like you immediately cut me off and told me that was too strong of a word. You actually cut me off in middle of my sentence. But, to me, I thought about it for a long time as to whether to use that word or not and was proud of myself that I actually used such a harsh word.

It seemed to fit because the type of teasing about Gene’s behind and my body, I felt the same type of humiliation and shame that I did with the other teasing and I felt that they were teasing me just for their enjoyment and to hurt and humiliate me, which is why you stated that their teasing and taunting was sadistic. To me the feelings and reasons for doing it were the same. Sometimes, I even asked my mother to stop, but she kept teasing along with my step-father stating, “I was being too sensitive and couldn’t take a joke.” If I said anything, they continued to tease me more about my body and other things that they taunted me about before, so I stopped saying anything. The teasing about my body and/or exposing his rear to me happened at least two to three times per week and possibly several times in one day. I guess, to me if you called the other teasing and taunting sadistic, this word would also seem to fit unless I misunderstand the meaning of the word or what you mean. I’m feeling really confused and hurt and feel bad and wish I would not have said anything…like I made too big a deal out of it. Along with all of that the flashbacks with Frank and Richard [I write about this later] are really disturbing to me. I’m feeling really bad and the suicidal thoughts are increasing and I’m really wanting to cut or bruise. I just want to die right now. (What you actually stated was not what I remembered…you said that you were not sure…flooded with too much…fragmenting…defensives way up…normal…extra session tomorrow.)

I now realize that I was directing my anger toward my therapist and not clearly seeing or hearing things as I was fragmenting.  Welcome to Borderlineville.

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ The Garage

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Graphic Description of Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.] I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story." I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog. This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point. I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

Sometimes, my step-father and/or his father would lock me in the garage to rape me in the more sadistic ways…with objects. If my step-father was really angry with me, he would either beat me and/or rape me there. I felt so trapped and scared…you needed a key to get out of the garage and I just felt sick when I would hear the door lock…I knew that I was in trouble and there was absolutely no way out…I was being held against my will and it seems like some of the things that were done to me was a form of torture.

Sometimes, they would rape me vaginally and anally while lying on the concrete floor or while on the ping-pong table which I was always afraid that it would break and then I would really be in trouble. I remember the tool bench and everything being neatly arranged…I was absolutely terrified to even look at it. Even as I think of it now, I feel really sick and am closing my eyes. Even though it hurt, sometimes I would have rather just had a beating…sometimes I was both raped and beaten.

My step-father always did the beatings with his belt, ping-pong paddle or extra pieces of wood from projects that were worked on in the garage. He would hit until I started to bleed. Also, it really hurt when they inserted objects as they would clean them before and after with rubbing alcohol. The alcohol caused so much more pain…it felt like my whole insides had open cuts with the alcohol being poured on them. I have no idea if they even knew how much pain it caused. I usually went away the moment I heard the door lock…like I floated out of my body. I remember how much the whole process hurt and that I wanted to move and pound my fist on the ground, but I couldn’t…was too afraid that my step-father would hurt me more or kill me. As it was sometimes, he would hit my head on the floor or threaten to bash my head into the ground or to strangle me. I just remembered that…I’m feeling sick.

For several years, the men visiting in the house would also come and rape me with my step-father and/or his father watching me. Sometimes, my step-father would put a sock in my mouth or hold me down. At my step-father's parents, there were multiple men over several years including John who I thought was a friend because he used to take me places and bring ice cream just for me. He also raped me in his car during a trip at Magic Mountain. Felt like I did something wrong for him to turn on me.

During outings, there was also a day care worker that did the same thing. Special things, followed by locking me in a classroom with a friend of his and raping me and with his friend using a broom handle. The day care worker started by taking me out of sight behind heavy bushes or trees. First, he began just to touch my body and insert his fingers into my vagina and later began to rape me. Always, afterward he would purchase me ice cream or a popsicle. I thought, I was bad and did something wrong to change the relationship. Felt like I was bad to like the special treatment and still do.

This was again extremely difficult to write.  I can't believe this really happened, but it did and it gets worse.  One part that I journal about later was that on the floor I was held down, but on the ping-pong tables I was tied down.  I write about the garage later. Remember what I am writing was over a four year period  ending in 2007.  I am only now really sharing with others what I experienced.

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ Incense

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Graphic Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.] I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story." I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog. This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point. I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

.....I had new flashes during session and after that I don’t feel safe enough talking about. One is of my step-father's mother grabbing my wrist and forcing me to put it on my step-father's father's  privates and then moving my hand up and down and prompting me to watch because I kept closing my eyes. She was telling me that this is all she could do, but men needed more, so they needed my help. When he ejaculated, it scared me and I felt like I did something wrong.

She also had me touch myself and her privates including insertion of my finger and her's.  She said that this is what men are going to do to me and that I need to do to them.  It was part of "purifying" me of the evil within me.  I also have this flash of a stick of incense being inserted into my vagina and being told that incense keeps the evil spirit and the devil away that is why they had to burn it when I was around. I also physically remember being burned in my privates.  [I now know that she was grooming me and was actually coordinating my abuse in her home.]

My step-father's mother did tarot card readings.  Two cards that my mother kept leaving in my room were the death and devil cards. I don’t think I understood the meaning, but the pictures themselves scared me. My hunch is that she told my mother and I different things about the cards. The death card was that I need to die and the devil card meant that I was evil.

My mother used to light incense after a fight with my step-father and smoke.  Both calmed her down.  I hated the smell and was so afraid it woundn't work and she would come after me...I just stayed quiet in my room...the incense scared me with her. (I had a flash of her holding my left hand and taking it and burning the top of my hand.) When she would light it during neutral times, she would be listening to music or reading or cleaning.  Sometimes, I would purposely burn my fingers. [My first known incident of self-harm and burning would continue to be a difficult area for me.]

I also remember if it was after a fight, I would peek around the corner to make sure my mother was okay and that the incense or cigarette hadn't fallen because I didn't want anything to get burned or for a fire to start...because sometimes she would fall asleep because she had taken something or was drinking either beer or vodka.  I knew not to try to interrupt once she lit the incense because she just went into her own world. The one time that I remember trying to comfort her like I did during other times, she burned my hand, but not to badly because it healed quickly.

This was extremely difficult to rewrite as I don't want to remember and I am projecting that you don't believe me and that I am making it up.  I also feel sick to my stomach and buzzy.

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ Continues

***TRIGGER WARNING*** ***TRIGGER WARNING*** (Graphic Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.] I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story." I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog. This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point. I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

Somewhere during first or second grade, I began spending more time at my step-father's parent's home. Neither worked, I know she had a neurological disease and was paid as a psychic reader, so there were a lot of “hippy people” in and out of the house. The radio or the television was extremely loud to the point that you could hear details before you got out of your car. My step-father always liked the radio or television loud and spoke very loudly. There was so much noise at their place between the television, radio and the number of people speaking loudly it was really overwhelming and hurt my ears.

Along with that was too much perfume and cologne that my step-father's parents wore along with the smell of incense and marijuana. At home, it was hidden cigarettes that my mother smoked and incense and sometimes marijuana. I wonder if that is why I am so sensitive to odors especially the ones mentioned. Marijuana makes me really nauseated and I have thrown up before. [Currently, I cannot be around anything secented with out getting sick. My allergist said that I just need to avoid almost everything. This creates much anxiety when I have to be in places where they are people. At the very least, I get a sinus headache and migraine.]

At first my step-father, began raping me at home and in his van when my mother was not around. He was quite rough and seemed like he just really wanted to hurt me. It was almost like all of his anger and hatred of me went into every thrust he made…felt like he was actually trying to physically cause me as much pain as possible. He was assaultive and sadistic and raped me numerous times.

While in the van, my step-father would sometimes forcibly hit my head on the windows and the engine cover. It was like the more pain he thought I was in the happier it made him. I was really afraid he was going to kill me or that I would die. Sometimes, I wanted to die it hurt so much and I just wanted it to stop. But, I still never made a sound, cried, fought back, said anything to stop it or told anyone about it.

Soon after, my step-father and his father began raping me in a much more sadistic and humiliating ways. They began to penetrate me both vaginally and anally with their penis and objects including a hammer, screwdriver, brush, broom handle, kitchen utensils, and maybe other items. Sometimes, he would have me stand which was more painful as it seemed harder for him to insert either himself or the objects. Some of the time, he would have me lie face down on the bed with my legs hanging from the bed. I can feel the tearing of skin and blood especially at first.

At home with my step-father, I remember feeling the pattern of the bed spread on my face and sometimes, I would bite into it because it hurt so much I wanted to cry, scream and tell him to stop, but I would not dare to do so…too afraid that it would just enrage him more and that he might kill me. At his parents’ house, sometimes it was on my step-father’s bed with the blue comforter that didn’t have a pattern. I remember in both settings that I not only bite into the bed covering, but I also dug my nails into it. It just dawned on me that maybe this is why I dig and dug my nails into my own skin…it makes it easier to endure even just talking which is extremely painful at times.

Also, I wonder if this has to do with my arm being grabbed by my father, my mother, my step-father or his father  either while being verbally or physically assaulted, beaten or sexually abused? My mother says that I have always had problems with constipation for which she never took me to the doctor. My first exam regarding constipation was when I was an adult and completely responsible for my own health needs. I also have never been able to urinate if I am not comfortable with the environment no matter how much pain. (After sharing this, I immediately felt bad and angry at myself for letting them do those things to me…you said that I was forced, not a willing participant…also, that sometimes you just cringe knowing what I am going to need to say next. Felt comforted and understood.) [Currently, I do not blame myself most of the time. I am beginning to accept that there was nothing I could have done. Yes, the reality of possibly being killed is real.]

Hidden Pieces ~ Sexual Abuse ~ The Beginning

***TRIGGER WARNING***  ***TRIGGER WARNING***  (Graphic Sexual Abuse)

I decided to begin retelling what I wrote to my therapist and I in the Winter/Spring of 2007 after four years of intense flashbacks and repressed memories emerging. [Current commentary is in brackets.]  I wrote my seventy page "biography" because I needed to write out what I remembered and what I experienced to make it more "real" rather than a "story."  I am ready to take the next step and putting more of it in my blog.  This was the original reason for starting my blog and using my journal as a starting point.  I am still struggling with believing that the following is the truth of my life:

When my step-father began living with us, he started to molest me. At first, he used to purposely leave their bedroom door open [when I opened my bedroom door I looked directly into their room].  I would see him sitting at the end of his bed masturbating. At the beginning, he made me touch him until he ejaculated which scared me and he would say, “see what a mess you made”.

Then, my step-father started to force my head down, and tell me to open my mouth and put it (his penis) in my mouth as he ejaculated into my mouth. He would hold my head there until I swallowed which he demanded I did. I felt so nauseated as I do while writing this. [Currently, the idea of oral sex or my face coming toward my husband's penis triggers flashback and really freaks me out.  Sometimes, I feel nauseated thinking about it or when I smell something similar.]

When my-stepfather bathed me, he would put his fingers into my vagina and sometimes would come into my room and do the same at night or after my mother left for work. By this time, I was so terrified of him that I would do anything he told me to and not tell anyone and definitely did not cry and tried not to make a sound. [Remember the death threats.]

I wish I could say that it ended at that, but my step-father only grew more violent and sadistic, at times almost verges on torture. [my therapist says it was torture.] There was an incident when he wanted to play Monopoly, but I didn’t. I wanted to play with my Barbie’s. He began to scream at me and called me spoiled and that I need to do what he tells me to do. He pushed me to the ground and pulled my pants and underwear off and shoved one of my Barbie’s feet first into my vagina and then removed it and shoved the second one in…it felt like he was intentionally trying to hurt me and like he shoved it in as far as he could while turning it. I felt like I was going to pass out it hurt so much.

I also remember the green carpet and my trying to dig my nails into it because it hurt so much. I remember the feel of the shallow pattern on my hand. Then, later on my face, I could feel the carpet. Then, he had forced me on my stomach and began beating me with his belt. I wanted to die…felt like he was going to kill me. When my mother came home, she immediately began yelling and hitting and slapping me. I was assaulted and raped by my step-father with my Barbies and then assaulted by my mother. [To this day, I absolutely hate Monopoly and I am triggered.]

I remember being in bed at the duplex and was inserting my Barbie into my vagina. Also, used to push ice into my vagina or anus, but it wasn’t to soothe me as it was so cold that it actually hurt, but I made myself hold it in while holding onto a pillow or blanket, sometimes biting into it. I don’t know why I used to do this.

I think, I know why…When my step-father and his father used to lock me in the garage with them, sometimes, they would insert a Big Stick popsicle into my vagina or anus, turning it occasionally. It hurt so much because it was wider and longer than the other popsicles and his father seemed to shove it in as hard as he could. I always thought of him as gentler than my step-father, but the things that he did in the garage was just as aggressive and could cause the same degree of excruciating pain.

My step-father's father would always insert and my step-father would hold me down pinning my upper body to the concrete floor, which made it seem even colder. And, always that look in his eyes. I had to lay on the concrete floor on my stomach or back completely nude, so not to soil my clothing…so, I was told. It was so cold or hurt so much that sometimes, I felt as if I were going to pass out.

Sometimes, ants started to crawl on me, the puddle and the popsicle, so I was feeling really creepy and was afraid that they would get inside of me. I had to stay still and not touch anything; otherwise, my step-father said that after he was done doing what he wanted to me that since I disobeyed him that he would give me a spanking. This meant with his belt or a ping-pong paddle and that he would hit until I bled. I had to leave the popsicle in until it completely melted…sometimes they would then leave me alone and let me lay there, but always eyeing me and periodically coming back to push it in further and to turn it. Turning it caused more pain as it made it feel colder. But, sometimes they would touch me all over my body, rubbing me. Sometimes, either one or both would straddle me and make me put their penis into my mouth and swallow when they ejaculated. [Today, when we have problems with ants, I can't handle it.  I have to leave the room and my husband takes care of it...I have such vivid flashbacks still.  My therapist said that I need to deal with my rage in order for them to stop.]

I just realized and feel really bad, but I liked it when they did other things because it was warmer…I hate myself for it and feel like my body betrayed me. There was always a sticky puddle and they would wash it up and hose me down with the garden hose. Needless to say I would “disappear,” so I didn’t feel the pain all the time and it helped me to stay still. Sometimes, it seemed like I could float above myself and watch it happen…really disconnected. I wanted to die. I felt humiliated, enraged, terror and excruciating pain. I was also afraid that my mother would find out and that I would get into trouble for doing such a bad things.

Sad thing is that Big Sticks were my favorite popsicle, so I would always get it from the ice cream truck. I liked the flavor and it had a different texture when eating it. I stopped getting those, but knew if they purchased one that they were not going to eat it…I just hoped that they would use it that day rather than waiting several days with my anxiety growing. Sometimes, they purchased one that I was unaware of, so I was taken off guard. I started getting Bomb Pops. Thank God, they didn’t start using that because that is even wider…hurts just thinking about it. It wasn’t as bad as some of the other stuff as it happened less frequently. I’ve never told anyone…I didn’t have enough to say. At least, I thought I didn’t, but as I begun talking and writing I remembered more details.) I really feel sick to my stomach and remember some of the physical pain and terror and wanting to die. [This was the first time I wrote it and the first time talking about it to my therapist.  With each flashback, it was if I was reliving all over again. My therapist said that it looked like that to him.]

Also, my dolls were physically abused, raped and suffocated. Also, in playing house with my friends, we would act out being beaten and locked in a closet. Sometimes, we would actually give each other real beatings with usually a piece of wood, belt, a switch or whatever was lying around or at the house we were at with no parents home. I’ve always been embarrassed to talk about this. [and still am...I wanted to delete this part.] Although, I do realize that children who are abused often reenact their abuse in play, which is what I used to do when I was alone. But, I still wonder if something was wrong with me and am extremely embarrassed to tell this to anyone.

I am becoming more anxious as I get into more of the details of my sexual abuse because there is much more. I hope that you will continue to "listen" even if you do not leave comments.

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY: 6/18/07...filling in the gaps

Trigger Warning!!!

I am feeling panicked and almost terrified to share this with you.  I can feel myself start to go away...my fingers are tingly, things are beginning to become echoy.  Coleen, just stay here, stay here.  I actually wrote a story about my life of abuse using excerpts from 2007 forward when the flashback really became intense and I was still working full time.  Although the following is out of sequence from my past journal entries, I think that it will help explain what was going on in the last entries.  This was written on 6/18/07 when I remembered what occured.

Gary...I was surprised by my reaction to talking about “the medium on the hill” church. I remember it was an evening service (I think a Friday, I don’t remember going to school the next day) in a small church on some sort of residential or resort grounds. In the front was a podium and two kneelers behind. I remember being able to get candy and maybe a word puzzle book at the liquor store just before the turn off PCH. I had to wear a dress even though not all women did. Maye went with us most of the time. I remember, I was the only child there because my mother and Maye made special arrangements because usually children as young as I was did not stay. There were some teenagers there.

The woman’s voice scared me because she was almost shouting and quite flamboyant. Sort of like the Pentecostal churches. She would give a “message,” there was music and time for prayer. During most of it, I sat on the floor coloring, completing the puzzles or reading, so I really did not hear much of what was going on. It seemed like I blocked it out because I remember that I knew the reason that I was there was to receive prayer. Prayer for others, I saw included laying on of hands and what must have been some type of tongues. It scared me. I also remember that I did not want to go up there. I felt like I knew I was going to be hurt physically. Felt like I had to be dragged by my mother and Gene gave me that look. I felt absolutely terrified, panicked and wanted to run, but I knew that two of the men would run after me. Having all those people encircle me and touch me to pray really freaked me out and what they said scared me especially since I did not understand much of it.

Apparently, my mother had spoken with the woman before because she knew what Maye, Gene and my mother wanted her to pray for me. She called me evil and that my family stated that I was evil because I did not follow my parents’ directions and rules and rejects father. I remember feeling angry that she referred to Gene as my parent and father. She added that she also knows because of her special gift from God that I was extremely stubborn and something to the effect of defiant. I don’t remember what was exactly said, but this is the gist of what I remember, but I am using adult terms.

After what seemed like a really long time of prayer, in which, I was sore from kneeling and my neck being pushed down as someone put their hand on my head and as they got tired they began leaning on my head. She stated that the devil was inside and was stubborn to leave, but needs to leave so that the evil inside of me would leave too. To me that meant I would no longer be evil. (I’ve had lost of slide show type flashbacks the weekend which have been quite disturbing and I feel like I really need to talk and really don’t want to because I keep thinking that I’m making it up…like I can’t believe that they would be involved in a cult like church. Also, that there has been so much that I’ve remembered already makes it hard to believe that something happened here too. I do know that I felt extremely terrified when we talked about it at the end of session on Wednesday. Every time, I think about the church, I get spacey, dizzy, buzzy and numb.)

After the prayer, I don’t know what happens next, but I know I am going to feel physical pain, where I don’t know. I kept thinking I’m going to get hurt after they pray. I remember thinking of running, but knew if I ran they would catch me and the pain would be worse. I remember wanting my mother to protect me, confused that she was allowing this, even made arrangements for it and being really angry at her for being a part of this, having no one to turn to or to explain things. Gene and my mother even helped them hurt me. I don’t know how. All I know right now is that I felt a lot of physical pain, but I don’t even know where. But, I can remember being inside the church, some of what people including myself was wearing, the odors especially of the incense (and perfumes, colognes, candles burning, and the wood of the building and pews), can hear the crickets and frogs outside, etc…I am absolutely terrified. (I’ve been having nightmares about the church and have not slept the last two nights very well. I had difficulty falling asleep, which is not the norm for me. I’ve been falling asleep around 3 am. I really don’t like not knowing.)

Flashbacks include: There is a table with a purple cloth covering it. The “medium” is wearing a long purple and black dress. I’m on the table naked…someone holding my arms down and someone holding my feet and legs to the table. A choice was given for me to either be held down or tied down…I don’t understand. I don’t know who got to make the decision. I’m extremely embarrassed…exposed…buttocks healing from bruises, various stages…Everyone in the church can see me. At first I could leave my underwear on, but the “medium” sees some of the bruises showing from my white lacey edged underwear. The “medium” says that my mother and Gene did not do enough…and this is such a difficult case that the whole church needs to help…rejection of parents is the same as rejecting god. she wanted me to cry and then I would stop being hurt, but I couldn’t and I was trying…so I need to bleed…don’t know how, where or with what…who is holding me…suggested salt to absorb and protect me from evil…basin of water…

(just vague flashes during the weekend and as I am trying to fall asleep. Could not even nap even with my PRNs. Somewhere in the middle of the events, I go completely away and wake up at home the next morning hoping it was a dream, but it wasn’t. Feeling really overwhelmed, panicked and terrified to talk about this, but I do want to know more. Feeling really crazy and in disbelief…I’m sure I’m making this up. I’m really quite terrified and don’t know what to do or what is going on. Feeling really crazy, flooded and overwhelmed.)

Remember these are events that I remembered in June of 2007 and are not currently occuring.

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY: JANUARY 5, 2006

Past journal entry

January 5, 2006 – Saturday/Sunday Morning - 3:57 AM & 12:05 PM

Gary-

You were right about it being loud and my being more depressed and wanting to act out. I’ve really been wanting to injure myself…it is louder than it has been in a while. The forewarning was helpful. I’ve also been having additional flashes of stuff and nightmares where I wake up screaming. I’ve also realized more about Maye [step-father's mother].

All of the flashes occur in Maye and Bill’s [step-parents] bedroom. Some have to do with the makeup, tarot cards or both of us being naked. She showed me her privates and made me touch and had me show her mine and she inserted her fingers. Felt creepy and icky. I also remember and feel bad because a part of me felt ashamed, but another felt curious and wanted to learn.

I also liked the extra attention, just someone spending time with me. Makes me realize that I so wanted attention, but did not because it usually got me into trouble. Very confusing. I also am having flashes of Bill standing on the left side of the bed in a blue shirt and nothing else. He was erect and Maye was sitting on the bed with me. Also, at times, feeling absolutely terrified, enraged and in physical pain.

I really hate her and am having homicidal thoughts again about burning the whole house and garage. The things she said I did not believe her at first, but I feel bad because I believed what she said was true. I also think that my mother putting the tarot card of death in my room did not help. I never did like Maye and Arleen [my aunt] told me that everyone always thought that she was odd and it was not the psychic stuff, just her personality. She could really be mean to my mother. Gene was always right and always perfect.

Maye used to call up my mother and yell, call her names and cuss at her until my mother was in tears. I used to tell her just to hang up or take the telephone from her and hang up the telephone myself. Sometimes, the telephone would ring again after it was hung up, but we just let it ring. I’m assuming that it was Maye…before answering machines. I just realized that it took a lot of effort to do that as Maye and Bill never had a telephone. They always had to use the pay phone a few blocks away.

Just little thoughts and flashes and feelings. I kept thinking of leaving a message, but I got ridged again even though it would have helped. Everything is bad and I seem to feel ashamed about everything. Even so, I asked Adrian to take time off to take me to my mammogram this Tuesday.

Self injury makes a little more sense. Usually, it is about anger or feeling like I deserve to be punished or I have to hurt myself because I feel bad or evil. That is what she made the sexual and physical abuse into.

[No obserations on this journal entry as it has triggered me...sigh!]

Past journal entry

What is this unfamiliar feeling? Hatred!!!

I thought that I was going to be able to do a journal entry on today's session, but it was too much. I did a Wordle instead. Today, as I was talking about "the garage," I felt something that seemed familiar when it was homicidal rage. But, then it became something unfamiliar, hatred. I am trying to figure out what it is, so that is part of the Wordle. Careful it maybe triggering!! And, click on the picture to see a large image. I feel very strange, but I know that it is intense hatred toward my step-father and his father.

Today's session ~ Childhood, sexual abuse & torture

I don't really know why I'm writing. I guess, I just need to say that I am feeling a out of sorts. I'm really hypervigilant, emotionally achy, have a headache, feel like crying and am dissociating. I had my second 1 1/2 hour long session today. We talked about my mother and yesterday and blogging. Then, I told him about flashbacks that have been occurring for about two months now.

They have to do with my being tied to the ping-pong table and being tortured and sexually abused with spiders, bugs in the garage and snails. I don't want to really write anything else, but it is very disturbing to me. I'm glad I told him, but I think that I am realizing that it really did happen and it was horrible. I think, I just need a little bit of comfort right now. I'm really tired. I've been awake since 2 am and the little bit of sleep that I did get was filled with unknown nightmares. My childhood was a nightmare...I want to fully wake up and get away from its hold.

I think that I will take both of my PRNs and take a nap.

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ September 29, 2005 ~ 12:50 PM, Part III ~ Terrified Raped Again!

Continuation of PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ September 29, 2005


TRIGGER WARNING VERY GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF SADISTIC SEXUAL ABUSE!!!

[I can't believe that I wrote all of these memories down in one entry. I just felt like I needed to get it out. I've broken it up because it seems like too much for one entry, but that is what I did...I'm feeling sad.]

Felt trapped one day when my step-father's father took me into the garage and locked the door which immediately terrified me. [I still hate the sound of someone locking a door, but it is okay if I do it. It was also a double cylinder lock where you need a key for both sides.] I felt my stomach drop and wanted to run away, but I felt so trapped and panicked and was scared to move. Hearing the door locking really terrified me. I felt so trapped and helpless and I didn't know what he was going to do or how far he would go. Then, he pushed me to the floor and pulled my pants and underwear off.

[This was the first time being raped in the garage. The one by the tree was the first time that was not in the bedroom and did not involve any other men. However, it was much more terrifying and I trusted him and thought that he was nicer, but he increasingly became more violent than anyone else.]

I remember the floor being hard and cold and worried that a bug or spider was going to crawl on me. [This did occur and I've been having flashbacks of feeling and seeing the bugs crawl on me.] Then, he forced himself on me. [When I wrote this I could not use the word rape to describe anything that happened...now I can, sometimes.]

He seemed really angry and was not as gentle as he had been in the past. I wanted to scream and cry. [Of course, I didn't.] I know that it really hurt, but I kept focusing on how the floor felt, worried about the bugs and focused on the shelving which was painted brown. I looked at the spacing and which ones were warped or uneven.

After that time, I remember an incident where my step-father took me into the garage and locked the door. I felt so panicked, terrified and trapped. Just hearing the door lock made me feel sick. He put me on top of the ping-pong table and pulled my pants and underwear off.

I though that he was going to do what he usually did, but he didn't. I had my eyes closed most of the time, but the few times I opened them he had that "look." I was terrified, wanted to run, scream, cry, push him away, but I wouldn't dare do that as it would have made the situation worse.

I heard him walking to the workbench and heard two clunks on the table. He first inserted the handle of the screwdriver really hard and it hurt. At that point, I remember listening to the cars go by and trying to count them. Then, he took the screwdriver out and shoved the handled end of the hammer into me. I hurt much worse and I really wanted to scream because I felt like my insides were going to rip apart, it hurt so much and I was terrified. I really thought that he was going to kill me as he had always threatened to do.

I had thoughts that I wanted to die. He took it out and shoved it even harder back in. I think, that was when I started to bleed. Then, he twisted it around which hurt even more. I felt like I was going to die. Thought that he was going to kill me or hit me with the hammer. I thought that he was done.

But, he wasn't. Then, he pushed me further up on the table, but my head hit the net and he became angry and moved the net and pulled me further up on the table. I was in a lot of pain at this point, so I covered myself with my hands and crossed my legs which just made him enraged. I kept listening for cars.

I was terrified of what he would do next. Then he got on the table and it was a little wobbly and I was afraid that the table would break and then I'd really be in trouble especially from my mother. He grabbed my arms really hard and moved them away. I didn't dare move or say or utter anything. Then, he pushed my legs apart with much force with his leg/knee.

Then, he began to rub my legs and body and under my shirt with his hands. I wanted to scream for him not to touch me. I really, really wanted to scream and scream and cry. I felt so trapped because I was scared to move and he had locked the door. I kept listening to the traffic.

Then, he forced himself on me and it hurt so much more than any other time. I knew I was bleeding some and felt like I was going to die. When, he ejaculated it really stung. I was really afraid that he would kill me.

When he was finished and left, I put my clothes back on and went to the restroom and tried to clean myself up and saw the blood on my underwear. I go really scared because my mother got really angry with me last time she found blood on my underwear. So, I tried using a wet paper towel or toilet paper to blot it off. All the time I was scared I wouldn't stop bleeding. I was so afraid of my mother being angry again. I even thought of throwing my underwear away and hoped that she wouldn't notice one missing.

It was so awful and I really thought that my step-father was going to kill me. Thought he might hit me on the head with the hammer and that he was never going to stop hurting me. I was in so much physical pain and so scared that my mother was going to find the blood and be angry and/or hit me like before. I wanted to die, scream and scream and just cry.

Observations: Unfortunately, this is only the beginning of things that were done to me in the garage. I will be including journal entries of what I remembered. Although three years have past, I currently am "stuck" in therapy regarding crying, rage, talking about some of my current flashbacks of being in the garage, talking about my mother and generally accepting how bad things really were. As a result, my depression and suicidal ideation has increased. But, those are defenses against feeling what I really am feeling which is sadness. It is so difficult for me to go there because I know I need to just cry.

PAST JOURNAL ENTRY ~ September 29, 2005 ~ 12:50 PM, Part I ~ Rape!

Geoffrey,

Well, I haven't written down any of the memories that I've talked about in the past couple of weeks...maybe, I don't want to actually see it in print, but I'm thinking that it may hep to reduce the flashbacks. Really hard to believe that these things actually happened and that it happened to me. Most of the incidents we've talked about occurred at my step-father's parents house.

I remember his father pinning me down on the dirt/grass in the backyard and my focusing on the ant crawling on my leg. I was terrified and my head hurt and back hurt because the ground was so hard and my head was on a root or rock, so every time he went in my head and back hurt. He took my pants and underwear off. I kept thinking about the ant and how I didn't like the feel of the grass or dirt.

I remember hoping and being scared too that someone would walk by the chain link fence and see us, but the tree could have been blocking the view. I was also scared that my mother would be angry because my clothing was getting dirty.

It hurt so much when he went in...he wasn't as gentle as he had been in the past. I hurt so much that I wanted to scream out of pain and wanted to cry, but didn't dare do or say anything. I remember him ejaculating and getting wet, then the dirt started to stick to me. After he was done, I remember trying to clean myself up, but could seem to do enough. I was so afraid that my mother would be angry because I got dirty. I wished that he would have done what he did before which was just in bed. It was more comfortable and he seemed angry and much more forceful that day.

Observations: Even though I wrote and talked about this three years ago, it is still palpable to me. I can feel myself fighting not to go away. Also, I feel incredibly sad. I think, I was five or six years old. It has caused some flashbacks in writing this, but mostly emotional ones and really wanting to cry. It feels like I want to cry for the tears I didn't cry then and for the sadness I feel now for that little girl who couldn't do anything to stop him and only added to her self-loathing and confusion. Oh, how much I wanted someone to talk to and comfort me. There was also a sense of more betrayal because he was rougher this time and I thought that he was gentle.

I don't want to believe, yet I already do. So much that I want to tell...too much to tell. Can't push it down anymore...need to accept what I experienced. Defenses don't have the same effect...the walls have too many breaks...I can go all the way through. Why so sad and not be able to cry. I just ache, feel empty, alone, and want to withdraw into myself. Truth is difficult. I wish there were another way to be free of my past. I know too much to stop the process. I have to press forward or, at least, try. I want to do this, yet I also want to curl up and die.

Depression seems to have taken a firm stand, but is it a defense or a natural response. Is it my security blanket, my comfort, my friend, a place to hide or a necessary place to cope or a dangerous friend? Or maybe, all. It is an ambivalent place where there is always two sides in a tug of war inside of me. The tension puts me on edge and even more hypervigilant.

Will I ever really know what it is like not to feel depressed. It has been my friend since I was born and has infiltrated every system in my body. Can it be extricated without destroying me? Right now, if I can let it go and just feel...I would be extremely sad...I don't want to go there...I didn't want to be there in the first place.

My Truth ~ My Childhood (Director's Cut)

When I completed the last slideshow, I felt that it was incomplete as I had to edit out too many of the pictures and what I wanted to say out of it. I am using a different program and have more room for images, so this one feels like it reflects my childhood until therapy began at 21 best. At the end, is a picture of God's promise to me...I'm not there yet, but I'm working on it...excuse me, WE, all of those who support me including God, are working on it.

This program allows for pause, back up and forward. It also does not automatically start, so it is not running all the time. I like that part because you can choose to run it or not.

Trigger Warning as usual. Shows graphic depictions and triggers of verbal, physical, and sexual abuse. Do not watch it you are not in a safe place and if triggered take care of yourself. Remember, don't push yourself.

My Truth ~ My Childhood Slideshow

This slide show will be triggering, so if you are not in a good place do not watch it!!! Don't even try to push yourself!! If you are triggered, please go to your safe places and people. You can also blog or write a long comment. I don't mind and Blogger seems to take it. Be gentle with yourself.

This particular slideshow has been in the works on and off for a couple of weeks. I felt compelled to put it together and at the same time it repelled me. I did not want to deal with the content. I do note that there is some lack of emotional words, but the pictures speak louder than words.

I am very apprehensive about posting this one and there is shame at what I experienced and what I have done. Again, is it really okay to share what is really inside. Also, I don't want to believe that it is about me and I am afraid of how people will respond because it is difficult for me to watch. Yet, another step of telling my truth ~ my childhood. And, the fears that come.

I also really did this slideshow for my process which also means that there are some things that won't make any sense, but to me. Don't worry about not getting it. Thanks.

Feeling overwhelmed ~ Gap in Time

I'm skipping over a huge period of journaling in 2005 which is most of the month of August 2005. Going over it was too overwhelming and had a lot to do with working, my relationship with Geoffrey and my continuing to self-injure. It was getting worse and I was feeling really disconnected and fragmenting a lot to the point where everything he was saying was "critical" to me. Some of it was, but most of it wasn't.

Geoffrey had become frustrated with my increasing frequency and intensity of bruising. Sometimes, it was everyday and several times during that day. It escalated to my hitting myself from my thighs to the top of my buttocks with a wooden spoon over 200 times at a time leaving welts and bruises. At times, it would also include taking a plastic hairbrush and removing the nubs and hitting myself at least until I was bleeding all over the area and then 100 time more once the bleeding started.

Right now, I am feeling so ashamed, embarrassed and in shock that I actually am going to post this. I actually feel kind of sick from anxiety of potential reactions. The only thing that I could tell you is that I wanted to numb out, I was feeling like I was bad, and like I needed to be punished partly for talking about the sexual abuse more. It was like I really wanted to injure myself to the point of thinking of breaking a bone.

Geoffrey says that my symptoms were/are severe which matches the abuse that I describe. It makes the puzzle pieces fall into place. This is hard for me to really take hold of and admit. Which is also where I am stuck in therapy right now. I don't want to admit how bad things were or how sick my mother is because then I have to deal with that reality of it was that bad.

I feel like every part of me wants to scream, "no, it was not that bad." I'm not really sure why. I think, part of it is because I don't want to feel the pain of how bad it was growing up. After this afternoon's session, I also think that I am angry that I have to learn how to comfort myself now because my mother never did that for me. I comforted her.

I just don't really understand there is so much in my head right now that I feel like I'm spinning and really need to talk with Geoffrey, but somehow I stop myself. Today, I heard what he was saying as I wasn't doing enough and I was purposefully resisting treatment. A part of me knows that wasn't what he was saying and the BPD part is in "I'm bad," so everything is getting filtered through that. I want to curl up and die. I think, I'll take a couple of my PRNs and take a nap.