I go back to counseling in the morning. I always get anxious the day before, always worried about what will happen after. Will I be okay? Will I freak out? Will I break down like I did a few weeks ago? Will it be worse?
I’m so good at working myself up. It’s amusing, really. I look forward to our sessions every week. In fact, I normally go on Tuesday mornings, but she was full that morning, which is why it is scheduled for Thursday now. It upset me to have to wait that long to go back in, but perhaps it was for the best and luckily I’ll be back in her office on Tuesday morning again, in case this session does cause another meltdown.
I constantly think about my abuse now. Mainly from my brother, but at times, I remember other abusers, even the physical abusers. Every time I think of sex or see or hear something sexual (or even innocent but can be turned around to be perverted) I flash back to one of the thousands of times I was abused.
The worst one was when I was listening to a guided mediation when I was anxious, trying to calm down. I was relaxing and feeling great, about to fall asleep, when the guided mediation said to “imagine this shadowy figure or this big spirit or something like that, over you.” “It’s touching you.” Well right away my anxiety spiked because I pictured one or many abusers standing over me, or on top of me. And when it said “Touching you” I automatically imagined a neck massage that turned into choking.
That invoked another memory of when my brother would do massages. He would want to massage me, then him. Or me first, then him. I always chose to receive first. My idea is that I would pretend to fall asleep and he would stop. He normally didn’t though. I can’t remember what would happen, but by now, in my memory’s timeline, he had already been raping me for a couple of years. I can remember him massaging my back or chest, then going down until he was in the middle of my legs and would touch me there. I imagine he would put his fingers inside me or even toss me around (as I pretended to sleep) to have sex with my “sleeping” 12 year old body.
I’m looking away now, because I pictured that as I wrote it and my mind wanted to make it go away; thus I looked away to distract myself from the feeling that that particular memory was causing.
I feel disgusted with myself. I think it’s so gross that I had shared moments like that with my brother. I feel sad for that little girl who didn’t know what was happening and tried to passively pretend it wasn’t happening in hopes of it stopping. My body is remembering how his hands felt down there and I don’t like it. It’s making me feel very disgusting. I can’t get it out of my head, can’t distract myself from picturing his hands between my legs.
I’m really saddened that she had to survive like that. That I had to survive like that. I wish I didn’t have to survive like that. I really wish that little girl didn’t have to suffer like she did. To grow up with a warp sense of what love was, what sex was, and what she was good for. She used her body to get what she wanted, and when rejected, it was a personal attack against who she was, inside. Sex came so easily to her after a few years. She dated older boys and routinely had sex with them, and put herself in situations where she would be raped again.
Ugh. I’m really irritated now and can’t think. So I guess I’m done.
Life isn't easy, but it's worth it. 