Triggered

The floodgates have opened. So many men and women are standing up and coming forward with tales of sexual trauma as adults and children.

It's a good thing that perpetrators are being unmasked.

It's damned disheartening to discover exactly how many of us are out there.

And it adds to the pain and anxiety of fellow survivors. Acknowledged and unacknowledged.

It's much like coming out of a closet.

The shame and pain we hold inside for so long is a shared one.

Until we disclose it doesn't feel like it.

It's a lonely road whether we travel it single file or as part of a mass.

If you have been sexually assaulted at any age, you don't have to expose yourself to details. Just extend your empathy and solidarity.

We are together in this but don't risk further damage to your mental health and recovery.

Unplug when you need to. Check in witg a mental health profession if you need to.

This flood of disclosure isn't abating anytime soon.

Be kind but be gentle with yourself too.

Was I better off not opening this can of worms?

Feeling lately like I've been taken off the high wire and now I can't find my footing on the ground.

Not sure if I need a different medication or a different dose, but the panic attacks are worse and I'm finding it hard to cope.

Free fall at work.

Making mistakes.

Can't focus.

Poor judgement. 

All I want to do is run and hide.

But hermiting doesn't pay the bills.

I know logically that the process has barely begun.

But logic doesn't keep demons down for long.

I didn't think of myself as broken before.

Now I wonder if I can be repaired. 

Light bulb moments

It's been a few weeks and I'm processing. A follow up visit with my therapist gave me much food for thought. The voice in my head that keeps me down is the voice of my father who wanted me subservient and quiet.

Seems simple enough but it's a game changer.

We all deal with trauma differently but this seems to be a common thread.

We are programmed to be victims and until we seize our inner monologue back, there is no chance for change and healing.

I'll admit I used to pooh pooh therapy as endless whining and no progress.

But....

The more I tell my story, the less power it has. Between treatment for anxiety, and airing out my wounds, I feel my power.

I can tell the voice of my father to Fuck right off.

The sexual violence and emotional abuse in my family started generations ago.

My father was a victim at the hands of his step father. So was his siblings. So was his dad. So were his aunts and uncles. He and his brother chose to molest.

He choose to be vicious.

He choose to be domineering.

He chose to rape myself and my sister.

He choose to rape my mother.

Our family was a house of lies. Pretty enough from the outside. But inside...

I choose not to forgive but to start to let go.

I thank my mother who pulled us out when she realized we were at risk. She suffered herself to keep us together but until she saw, she wasn't ready to give up.

My mother has her own history. She and her siblings were molested by a priest. She was primed to be involved with an abuser.

She choose to rescue, not to allow the cycle to continue.

My sister was abused in an early relationship, but her husband is lovely and hangs in there with her through her recovery.

I went through good relationships and toxic ones, but I'm really good at sabotage or walking away. I'm good at no. I'm good at the abrupt end.

Maybe one day I can be open again to love, for now I'm working on loving myself.

The person I was meant to be is still here.

I'm trying to unearth her.

I'm staring to see fat as danger not safety.

I want to be strong.

I want to turn the urge to build a human  fortress into a fighter. I don't think it was ever anything but a prison.

I did the best I could at the time with the tools I had but now I'm ready to strip down and start over.

Baring myself is exciting. At one time it was scary.

I'm seeing food in new ways. I'm seeing me in new ways. I'm starting to believe in myself the ways others who are in my life see me. I still have a long way to go. The first 9 1/2 years of my life have decided the path of the last 37.

Year 48 will be something new.

I'm trading anxiety for anger. I'm aiming for hope and happiness.

Anger will drift away and will be something more constructive.

I drive. I steer. I decide the route.

The journey begins...

So today I started therapy. 

At the ripe old age of 47, I'm choosing to exorcise some childhood demons.

A 50 minute hour never seemed so long and yet to go by so quickly. I demolished about half a box of tissues, but walked out feeling at peace and excited for the future.

Telling truths and being validated for them is something I should have done a long time ago but I don't think I was ready for it until now.

Ripping open old wounds that had only partially healed was painful. But it's a start. My psychiatrist doesn't believe I have aspergers as has been suggested, but that my anxiety is far worse than I had ever allowed myself to acknowledge. Today I join the ranks of the medicated.

I can't compare my experiences or how I cope with anyone else. And I marvel that pharmaceuticals will help unravel coping mechanisms I learned as a child. They no longer work for me. But it was the best I could do at the time.

I had some hard truths affirmed.

My mother rescued me. She had tried to rescue herself 5 or 6 times before, but when she realized how I was suffering, she became a superhero.

I am not to blame for what happened or breaking up our family. It wasn't really a family until we left. It had the potential for a good life until my father chose to let his demons run the show.

It's not that I blame my father for all my mistakes and faults anymore than I credit him for my strength or ability to survive, but...

He set a chain of events in motion.

None of this is my fault but what happens from here out is up to me.

Group therapy is going to be part of the picture. This journey is one I've been alone for far too long.

As damaging as incest is, the volatile and violent nature of my father caused just as much damage. As did his negative programming. I learned to not relax. To not believe in my self worth. To not enjoy. To not trust. Hypervigilance is zero fun. It's exhausting. I've been on edge all my life. It was the only way I knew how to live.

I never knew how all this anxiety was harming me. It's why I'm obese. It's why I can't sleep at night. It's why I panic. It's why I'm depressed, sometimes to the point of suicidal thoughts. 

I've been carrying part of this load since I was 4 when it started. Some since 10 when we left. More since I was 19 and I started to remember.

Now it's time to stop. The weight of other people's lives is hindering my own. A family history of incest, abuse and mental illness has decided the course until now. 

Now I get to steer. Now I get to be my own navigator.  I'll have a crew that will get me into fair winds and blue skies... I hope.

Finally after decades of just getting by,  I have hope.