Trauma Memories and Hangovers

Whenever I relive the trauma of my childhood there comes a day when I have an emotional hangover.  Do you know what I mean by that?  If not, let's see if I can get some help explaining it.

Trauma is defined by Webster's dictionary as "a very difficult or unpleasant experience that causes someone to have mental or emotional problems usually for a long time."

Usually we think of military personnel who suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and rightly so.  We think of people who have been kidnapped and held prisoner for several years.  There are horrific automobile accidents, shootings and torture and these are just a few.

The atrocities of what happens to children makes my blood boil and my soul cry out to God.  I pray for God's vengeance on the perpetrators, I pray they find Jesus, I pray the child or children are given to someone who will show them God's healing and love and I pray they will make a bold statement for Christ's forgiveness as they, too, show forgiveness to the wicked ones in their life.

But then there's me.  There's what happened to me.  There's hearing my mom being raped when I was just four years old, standing outside her bedroom door, afraid of what I was hearing, not being able to do anything.  The monster was making her cry and not just any cry.  He was hurting my mom and I hated him.

Then he came after me.  Sexually and physically and verbally.  I learned how to shut down all of my emotions.  All of them.  I learned how to stare into his bloodshot eyes even when he shoved me into the wall.  Even when he busted into my bedroom.  Even when he crept into my room.  I was storing up the traumatic events but I didn't know it.  It's what I did to survive.  It's what I did to protect us - myself, my mom and my sisters.

So the last few days more of this has been pouring out.  It's been uncomfortable, it's been hard, it's been draining and I think some sadness had leaked out of my eyes.  I hate these times because it's when I want to isolate the most and not talk or see anyone the most.

The reason trauma memories are like hangovers is because both of them are experienced only by the person who is having them.  I haven't had an alcohol induced hangover for many years but I remember them.  I felt sick in my stomach, very drained and tired, headachey and just wanted to be alone.  The same can be said for the trauma memories.  I've been feeling sick to my stomach, very drained and tired, not headachey but definitely want to be alone.

I know this will pass when it's ready.

Until then, I will write and take care of myself.

Sexual Abuse and the Forever Scars

Forever Scars.

They tell me that one day the memories will fade,
The shadows of my dad walking across the room,
And the touches of he and others on my body will go away.


They say those memories are kept alive until I
Let go of the pain they caused,
Let go of the emotional sadness I felt,
Let go of the physical trauma I couldn't stop.

Forever Scars.

They make it sound as if I'm the one causing it to linger,
I'm the one wanting to relive it,
I'm the one who doesn't want to let go
Because it's familiar pain that somehow comforts me.

Forever Scars.

Sometimes I wonder if they are right.

But then I look at my life and this is what I see:

A strong woman who fought a legion of demons to stay alive.
A young girl who stood up to an alcoholic beast and did not back down.
A teenager who chose recovery instead of living with more abuse.
A twenty year old who gave her life to Jesus, trusting Him for everything.

Just because the intensity of having been sexually abused by multiple perpetrators resurfaces doesn't mean there's something wrong with me.  There's nothing wrong with me.  Just because someone thinks I'm doing this to myself doesn't mean they're right.  It's just their opinion.

These are Forever Scars.

Nobody has the right to tell me what is right or wrong for my recovery.  Unless I have asked someone what they think, even then, it's only their opinion.  God is the only one whose opinion I ultimately consider and believe.  He speaks through prayer, my writing, His people and His Word.

Sexual abuse leaves scars at all levels on a person's body and mentality.  Love them just the way they are.  Don't try to fix them.  Listen when they want to talk.  Don't rush to hug them.  Let them initiate touch because for them touch was often times hurtful.

Forever Scars.

Sexual Abuse and Self Protection

I wear a black veil that covers my face.
I want it to protect me from the human race.
Protect me from perpetrators who look at me with their eyes,
Who want to do harm to me regardless of my age or size.

I hear sounds from someone being hurt.
I am too small to help, all I could do was stand helpless.
I was told I was four years old when this attack happened.

I new the attacker:  It was my Dad, it just so happened.

The monsters that hurt me, including the one above,
Found their way around the veil which I hoped would protect me.

But instead of trying to use something physical on this earth,
I used my mind instead and transported myself someplace else.

It's called dissociating.
I took myself above the bed when I was being abused.
I could see myself and the perpetrator.
I hovered over the bed at a safe distance.

There was no way to protect myself from being abused.
If there was, I'd have done it.
Today I have rage inside of me which is the measurable amount of sadness.
There's a lot of sadness.

Now I use the veil to cover my tears.
I don't feel safe showing them to people.
They are mine and mine alone.
My tears.

Sexual Abuse and Crying

The body memory that's being relived in my bathroom suddenly has emotions tied to it.  Not only fear and embarrassment but a depth of sadness that was inducing crying as I was prepping the walls for painting.

I was tearing off the border when underneath the sticky squares I used stayed attached to the walls.  I knew they were going to need some elbow grease so I used a putty knife.  They were not as easy to remove as I hoped.  Some popped right off but most took some muscle.

Being in the bathroom with the walls bare, the shower emptied, the floor stuff removed and now the border stickies being scraped off caused a feeling of emptiness.  It was weird because in the pit of my stomach was this feeling of sadness.

And then was the sensation of crying.

And then my eyes started to tear.

What was I crying about?

I'm not sure.

Part of me felt like I was saying good-bye to the last memory of my Dad.  As if the sexual abuse memory was the last feeling I had for him.  If I search my past, I think this might be true.  I wanted to be close to my Dad but the only way to be close to him was through physical or sexual abuse.  Even when he stopped drinking there was never a way to get close to him.

He called me his pal.  We'd share a can of Mug root beer.  I'd come over to his place and we'd sit at the kitchen table and talk.  We worked at the same company for the same part-time job but different shifts and we'd chat a bit before I went home.  Sometimes we'd go fishing together.  But I never felt close to him.

There's a lot to cry over with that man.  I still haven't cried over the last three years before he died.  He stopped talking to me.  For no reason.  Or at least no reason he ever told me.  And when he did die, I wasn't mentioned in the obituary.

Can you believe that?????

I have a birth certificate with his name on it but I'm not listed in his obituary.

Too bad the perpetrator's private part doesn't leave a stamp on my private part to identify them.  All six of them would be identified and maybe then I would give myself permission to cry.

Sexual Abuse Body Memories

I purchased my mobile home from my dad who was also my abuser.  No abuse of any kind was done in this home.  I never expected to have abuse memories of any kind when I moved in.

The sexual abuse memories are the hardest.  For months at a time I could not sleep in my bed.  I had to sleep on the couch.  Even then I did not sleep.  I felt his presence and I awoke startled.  I would be breathing hard sitting up in the dark.  I'd have to catch my breath and reacquaint myself with my surroundings.  Eventually I would settle down.  I would lay down, on my back with my covers pulled up to my chin and my eyes staring up at the ceiling.  Sometimes I fell back to sleep; sometimes not.

During this time my body was on full alert.  It was on super sensitive overdrive.  I remember being in the bathroom a few years ago.  I started running the water for the shower.  I removed all of my clothing.  I was standing in front of my mirror with my hands resting on the counter top and my head down when I felt a man's presence behind me and his breath on my neck.  Instantly my head shot up, my eyes wide open and I saw no one.  My skin had goosebumps all over and my stomach felt sick.  I knew someone or something had been in that room with me.

I was frozen.  What just happened?  Did a memory take on physical form and repeat itself?  Did God allow a sexual abuse incident to pass through His hands so that I would know my Dad had abused me in the bathroom, too?  Was Satan given permission to freak me out with God knowing I'd still come back to Him?  What was this all about?

At the time it happened, I was in therapy with Carol.  I don't recall if I told her or not.  I remember feeling embarrassed and responsible for this perpetrated act upon me.  I felt it was a secret I wasn't supposed to tell because it sounded too ridiculous to be true.  After all, what grown woman can feel the presence of a man and the breath of someone who isn't even there?  Someone looney, that's for sure.

Fast forward to now.  I try to get myself ready to paint the bathroom where that memory happened and something inside of me is frightened to death.  I tell myself the new color will make that memory go away but that doesn't work.  Instead, that memory gains momentum and causes a heavy burden of pain and sadness.  Feelings I never felt when this happened a few years ago.

I talked with my friend, Kim.  She listened as I explained what it was like to experience that abuse all over again.  How I felt naked and exposed and unsafe if I took a shower in there.  Why I don't take showers due to the above.  What it would take for me to reclaim the bathroom as my own and remove the abuse from that room.

First, I have to come face to face with the feelings the abuse caused.  If I don't acknowledge those feelings and put them into my lock box that I learned in EMDR then I won't be able to move onto the next best thing God has planned for me to do.

Second, I have to paint and make some changes to the bathroom.  I need to replace the tub because of the color and possibly put in a stand alone shower.  I have friends that can help so we'll see what they can do.

Third, I have to do what I can when I can.  Being gentle with myself and asserting boundaries are the best ways I can take care of myself.  I opted to not go to therapy because I simply cannot think straight to talk (writing is much easier) and I'm planning a day of rest so that I can feel a little bit better with each passing day.

Even though I'm not talking to God (except on a friend's behalf for her husband) it doesn't mean I don't love Him with all my heart.  I do.  It's just hard to be with him when the sexual abuse is starring me in the face knowing He let it pass through His hands.  But you know what?  He understands and I know He hasn't turned away from me.

That's all for today.
Thanks for listening.

What's Real for Today

I haven't felt like writing.  I haven't filled out my food/mood log.  I haven't been taking my blood pressure.  I haven't done any of the things I'm supposed to be doing to show how I'm taking care of myself.  I've hit a brick wall and I don't care to show anyone the details of the crash.

At first it was because I didn't have any more copies of my sheet.  Then it became I didn't have the desire to write things down.  Then it moved to not wanting to write things down because  I knew I was slipping.  Then I didn't want to talk about it so I ignored having to make the copies.  Now I still care but I'm not sure the answers are in the details.  I think they're in the big picture.

I'm trying to get to the bottom of why I can't take a shower.  My sister gave me two gallons of paint.  One is a primer and one is white with a very subtle hint of cream.  My bathroom now is sage green.  We think if it's bright in there it will feel better and induce showering.  Now I just have to paint it and see if it works.  It''s just that I need the energy to paint.  That's something to do today.

I have no desire to talk to God.  No desire to listen to the Bible.  No desire to check in with Him.  I feel angry and don't want to be around Him.  I know he is with me.  I'm stuck with it.  I don't want to interact with Him.  I know He understands where I'm at so I take comfort in it.  Someday I will wander back but for now that's how I feel.

I'd rather eat or starve myself.  I'd rather drink than talk about what's stirring up inside.  I'd rather run away to my safe spot than stay here and face what's bubbling up to the surface.  I'm very tired.  I'm sleepy early at night and stay asleep most of the night through.

I'm taking my medication as directed.  I think I'll lay down and rest.

Thanks for listening.