I don’t remember what brought this on last night and possibly one other time before that. Something triggered the memory of having bruises on our legs sometime between 10-12 years old. I’m sure there were other times and ages that there were bruises, but I only recall this one particular memory and thoughts and fears and have some intellectual knowledge that we kept noticing the bruises and having no idea where they came from.
I remember hanging out with our next door neighbor, Nadine, and she was telling me about this book she was reading about a girl who had leukemia and she had bruises on her legs. Anyway, somewhere in all of that, I noticed that I had unexplained bruises on my legs. I have no idea how obvious they were or not and maybe (just flashed on something I’ve never seen before and not sure if it is real or not, but may also be another explanation of how the bruises came to be)…maybe they weren’t as big and real of bruises as the way that I saw them on my legs. I do recall very clearly noticing that I had these bruises and I had no explanation for them and saying something about them to Nadine. I also recall clearly thinking and worrying that maybe I had leukemia since I couldn’t explain the bruises and it fell in line with what Nadine was reading. I’m pretty certain that I asked to borrow that book when she was done and then read it.
But the sadness comes in with this dreaded suspected explanation for the bruises. Years later these bruises that made an indent on my mind come back as a piece of the puzzle and a plausible explanation is attached to them… that wasn’t there when I was younger and wondering how I got them. Ah, dissociation.
I think (and now want to write so little and be almost invisible and hidden…and then after a pause and breath, some other part gets angry and wants it known loud and clear…and then someone else is trying to stop it from being said or making a big deal about it, etc., and the internal battle ensues)…anyway, I think that the bruises are from my father being on top of me raping or abusing me and then the other flash that came through while writing this was him laying down sort of and holding our legs down sort of and doing something to us, I mean, abusing us. Us isn’t entirely true because not all of us and yet us is true cuz there would be us that got abused not just one of us and then there is the whole me thing that Julie doesn’t like to write or say and it didn’t really happen to her and yet it did and we just hate having to give a me or us to things like this. Just wanna say girl or her or it, anything that doesn’t attach a close identification to us.
So now we have to stop. We came here to say this thing that was triggered and has been on our mind since. It feels so stupid that something so small as unexplained bruises as a child would trigger such enormous inner sadness and grief. And the screams inside of it isn’t true and that’s not why and stop thinking that and stuff is so strong with it. And I really don’t know for sure if the explanation of the bruises is true… I mean maybe they weren’t because of the father and maybe some other reason why. It’s just somehow the father is now attached to the memory of having unexplained bruises on my legs as a kid. And I remember I had them for awhile because we suddenly started looking for them and paying attention to the body and was secretly scared we might have leukemia and not know it. I think though at some point we forgot to keep looking for them, but there was a time where we were secretly concerned about them. I say secretly because I’m really quite certain I didn’t say anything about them or my fears to my mother or father.
I don’t know for sure why I had those bruises as a kid…maybe because of the father or maybe because of something else. I do know that it made a big impression on me and it was one of the few memories that really stayed close to the memory recall if enough was triggered to bring the memory up. I also know that deep sadness comes with thinking about it or whenever something triggers it to flash through the mind, and as hard as it is to say, what immediately follows the flashback of the memory and sadness, is the possible explanation that has to do with the father. This brings even more sadness.
We are trying to write more in our journal and this was something that was specific that we could write about. I thought it was going to be a short paragraph… boy was I wrong about that. But at least thinking it was going to be a short paragraph helped make writing not seem so overwhelming. But now we are tired and fighting sleep and have to get ready soon to go to a doctor’s appointment.
Julie/s
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