This what we remembers and we had it Thursday night um Friday morning day sometime and waked up from it but not write it down but now we writings it down with help from some bigs even though we still trying to talk and use usz words as much as we be allowed.

Scenes we remember. Forget all the stuff befores and after.

Daddy wearing a faded washed lots white t shirt that he wears under his shirts for work. We thinkin he wearing his blue air force pants cuz it not jeans and it just got that certain blue color on them. and he walking towards us with his hands down by his side with the ickies and scariest and yuckiest smile and attitude that he got power and control and he coming at us and he kinda mad at us but kinda amused at us but the kinda amused in the icky way of knowing he in power and control and we gonna try to or we fightings back and he know it not gonna work or nothing. And he walk towards us and we punch him with the strength of an infant a baby, really it barely touched him but we were kinda giving it all we had and kinda not and while doing that we were saying we hate you we hate you over and over and then started telling him he was lots of bad things. the words we remember saying but lots more things was said to him but the words we remember when we waked up is: you are scum of the earth. you are a piece of snot.

and we thinkin maybe we waked up after saying stuffs to him or maybe stuff happen and we not remember and then wake up. oh and we be all sweaty and stuff cuz we had a bad dream and it like a bad dream but not a bad dream cuz it be good things we do in bad dream. we NEVER EVER that we remembers ever tell daddy in usz dream that we hate him and he is a piece of snot and scum of the earth and lots of other bad things to him. and we never ever hit him in usz dream. and it be all new lately that we be dreaming and see him in usz dream cuz usually it juts lots of bad peoples or bad men or bad peoples that we not know or not recognize or not can see good sometimes and it all new the last year or two or maybe three years that we have dream where daddy show up sometimes and we not like it at all.

even ifin it be good the bad people turning into people we know and daddy be in dream and even if it be good we facing him and telling on him in usz dream cuz we had a dream about that before a few or more months ago and even if we be having those good things cuz of what they mean it still be a bad and scary and icky dream and we still got all ptsd and flashbacks of that stupid dream cuz we see him coming at us with those clothes just like he in front of us for reals right now and that smile and face and it all big in us mind and memory and all blowed up so big and scary and we notta like it at all and we hate it and we are bad and scared and bad ands it just scary it all changin and maybe he know we gots this dream and he be mad and sad and mad at usz and we just bad bad bad bad bad bad

the other part of dream or another dream around same time or maybe we go back to sleep and then wake up with this dream but it bother us but not so much flashback like the daddy thing but it still really clear this scene we remember. something happened or was going on that we can’t remember and we can’t find sean or zoi and we needs them and we looking for them and then we finally find them. we see zoi first and we so sad cuz at least 3 of her paws and bottom part of her legs are wrapped up like they be hurt and she not can stand or walk even though she was sitting up when we find her and we hug her and as we hug her we see behind her that sean is there but our memory of that part of dream is blurry and hazy and we woke up after that.

we just remembers that there another dream or scene we had too cuz we sleep and wake up and sleep lotta lots today friday during day and now it late friday night um saturday morning and so it confusing when we had what dream and what order but we think it lotta like this order we write. so we be in california on the afb we lived at and we going back there to visit as a grown up but still feeling little like a kid and the houses be all torn down and we remember that is what we found the last time we went back there. so the houses were like that and we were trying to remember or figure out what street was “our street” that we lived on b/c they had not only changed the street names when they destroyed the old houses and rebuilt entirely, but they also changed the layout of the neighborhood and so we were trying to figure out the approximation of where our old house stood and as we are doing that lots of kids of varying ages and military police began surrounding us but they were at a distance, like behind the walls of the backyards and just in general surrounding from various areas of the homes, streets, sidewalks, etc, but at a distance. more and more military police began coming closer to us in a surrounding formation and we were aware and yet trying to act innocent and stuff. i think we were sort of on a small kid bicycle or maybe a scooter or something, not necessarily just walking. and one of the mp’s got our attention and we stopped and we started to explain we used to live there and we were visiting and as we were looking past him and behind the walls of the backyards of the homes, we were trying to explain and tell him, see, this is the road to the main gate and this is the road to blah blah but in the process of looking and about to explain to him that we knew the area, things about it looked even stranger. we started to explain how it didn’t look right, the road didn’t look right and even the area behind the tall walls that were between the backyards and the road to the main gate that the grass was strange and that it was big and juicy and not grass but something else. in doing research for this, found out that it is actually Carpobrotus edulis (Hottentot-fig or iceplant). so we were trying to explain this when we were looking to our right (the opposite direction of where the main gate is supposed to be) and suddenly noticed water, lots of it, like the ocean was right behind the homes and it was moving as though it was stormy. then as we looked further to our right, we could tell that it was going to flood and overpower the homes and streets and that we had to move quickly to higher ground. we said something to that effect, hoping that the mp’s and the other people (mainly kids, teens, women) would start running quickly with us, behind us to higher ground, because we/i knew it was coming, this big flood of stormy ocean water and it was dangerous, but i remember thinking as i was running to my left and towards higher ground that suddenly appeared conveniently in my dream, that they didn’t believe me even though they saw it and it was so obvious and right in front of them and was going to head towards them. at one point while we were running and had reached the bottom of this huge mountain or cliff of dark brown gigantic boulder rocks that created a rocky, but climbable mountain that we looked back to see how close the water was to us and it was definitely heading toward us but we had a little bit more time to still get high enough for some kind of safety, although we knew time was seriously running out and we were going to get hit by the ocean/flood/stormy water before we reached the top, but we felt like we’d make it. i only remember in the dream focused on reaching the top, but i think there were others who eventually started running behind me and heading the same direction. i think (but not positive) that this is when we also started looking for sean and zoi and after reaching the top and then going into some kind of building, though the image of the building or any of that isn’t very clear… just i know it was some kind of enclosure that was very dark and it felt damp and cold, and then that’s when we found them and we were so relieved because we were missing them, needing them, worried, and wanted to be close to them for safety and security for all of us. i think we woke up shortly thereafter.

so some strange and intense dreams with lots of symbolism and some obvious or likely dream meanings to be found in them. We’ll probably write another entry about our thoughts on these things in a little while.

Time was spent researching and trying to find out what kind of grass or plant it was and when we discovered it was a type of ice plant that used to live behind the tall brick wall behind our house that separated our backyard from the ice plant, then the sidewalk, then the main road leading to the main gate and other parts of the afb. Anyway, now we are ‘bigger’ and that feels nice as we feel more stable being grown up at the moment since we’ve been primarily very young and struggling to be ‘big’ at all these last few days.

Julies, but earlier us, usz, and possibly some others

Someone/s inside started telling about a memory in a story format and 3rd person format and information was revealed that way when we laid down one night and started searching within and thinking about a particular memory we’ve had for a long time now and trying to find the truth about what really happened amongst tiny pieces of stuff. Basically we were trying to find out if we were a willing participant in a memory involving what we believed to be abuse and whether we wanted these things or was agreeable or something. Like to what degree are we responsible for this and do we really have the right to feel and think and believe it is abuse because maybe it wasn’t and we just had a reaction to it and need to believe it was abuse because it is safer to believe it was abusive than face the reality that we were some fucked up little kid at 7 and 8 years old that was willing and instigating and wanting intercourse and anal sex and oral sex and everything else adult oriented sex wise with some other kid a little bit older than us. Except in doing the 3rd person and someone inside recounting a narrative of what this part or that part saw and observed and was thinking and feeling, etc., we’ve learned (thus far) that we weren’t willing but we were definitely reacting in a trained manner of giving him what he wanted because “that’s what you do.”  (sarcastically) Why thank you father for all those previous years of training.  Why thank you to the others who were and had been abusing us, if ya know, we’re not making up that SRA and other crap. (end sarcasm) So we are coming to the realization that even though (thus far) we don’t recall specifically saying, “no” in this particular memory, the thoughts, feelings, worries, anxiety, and other things we recall thus far do indicate that we didn’t really want to do these things, err…sex acts.  Yet we also knew that he wanted these things and there was some sort of inner knowledge or belief or something that we didn’t think we could say no or that it would do us any good, or there were other reasons we felt we had to do this stuff, although we tried in other ways to get it to not happen. We were actually more focused on other things and the mother and our fears, anxiety, and so forth of some other stuff than over what we had to do with him. We’re not really being specific here. All of this is still hard to fucking write, which is so frustrating to some of us, because some of us want it to be no big deal, but it is a big deal.

So the sadness we’ve been feeling is deeper than before. Perhaps it isn’t so much sadness as it is grieving or perhaps grief stricken sadness.

So okay, we’ve said this much.  We’re hoping we’ll be able to at least write a narrative or 3rd person viewpoint of sharing the memory and then after that, to write it more from the first point of view from others inside.  We’re doing all that we can to steadily keep working on these memories that we’ve had for many years but never gave them the attention they needed and deserved, and certainly minimized them greatly… until now that is.  Well, not minimizing them like we’ve done in the past.  We’re seeing now more than ever before that these “basic” and “bits of memories we’ve had for many years and thought since we’ve known about them for so long they don’t really matter that much and aren’t that critical to work on in therapy,” really do need our attention and there is tons of healing and issues surrounding them.  OMG, we totally realize the depth of issues and shame and things and deeply regret not having dealt with them on this level ever before this and barely dealt with them period the past 16-17 years of therapy, but we are dealing with them now.  We’re finally ready.  The negative repercussions of never having dealt with them and not being ready and not giving them the attention that these memories and this hurt and pain has deserved all these years is just really hard to take.  A lot of regret and a lot of negative feelings and thoughts to self/ves for having waited this damn long to finally look at this stuff and realize it needs a shit load of healing and that this is where we need to start with in regards to doing memory work.

So well anyway, this stuff sucks and is damn hard to do and to keep looking at and working through.  We’ve never kept our attention and focus on any one healing subject matter for so long like we’ve had lately over this.  It is never far from our mind or heart and even when we’re dealing with something else that comes up in therapy or life, we still keep returning back to this subject matter and that is a first for us.  We’ve always had such competing agendas in therapy and yes, that stuff is still happening in therapy and thus we keep jumping from topic to topic to issue to issue to blah blah blah in therapy and in life and what we’re focusing on, but the difference is that there is one overall riding issue that continues to remain in the near background or right upfront and that is the memories and issues surrounding the neighbor boy that abused us.  We haven’t even gotten into the stuff regarding his older brother.  There is one memory by one insider who has a sadistic memory of his older brother abusing him (insider) with the neighbor boy watching and there.  Uggh.  Not sure what, if any, other memories lie with the older brother of the neighbor boy.

We’ve got to get the courage to say first names.  Fuck it.  Why protect them? Why be afraid of this? Why does it matter so much? Why not just say the names?

So anyway, yah, whoopee, in some ways our system is agreeing (for the most part) and working hard to cooperate and to keep focused (more or less) on the memories and issues surrounding the neighbor boy.  We are trying really hard to work through these things and have healing over it so that we can let it go and move past it and for it to not have its horrific grip on us and for the shame, the utter and deep shame and badness that stems from his abuse and what we did, for it to be healed and for it to not have its tragic hold on us and on our life.

I heard inside someone say, “The End.”  Not sure what that is about but anyway, we’ve got to go.  We’ve said way way wayyyyy tooo much.

Us, US, Julies, others

It is shocking to me and sad and grief giving as to how many years we’ve been in therapy (17 years this August) and we’re just now really and truly talking about the memories of abuse by him and really making a concerted effort to stay relatively focused on this topic and the memories and feelings and thoughts that swallow us up in such misery. Hell, in many ways, I’m just now giving myself permission to realize how serious the abuse by him was and how much of an impact it has had on us. On one level I kind of knew, but we have consistently minimized it or avoided it like crazy to not really feel things about it or acknowledge the traumatic level it has had on us. Since we’ve known about these memories or rather basically pieces of various memories, we’ve really downplayed it as something to work on because we’ve known about it for so long now and we’ve mentioned a few of them to therapists in really generic terms before, but we’ve never really dealt with any of it on any real level. We are now. And it is so hard.

Someone is mad and saying I’m exaggerating about all of it, but I’m not. I don’t feel anything right now about it, but I know there are kids inside with immense pain about all of this. They were there in therapy today. I don’t remember much, but I remember they cried and crying comes easy to the ones who showed up in therapy.

This Wednesday is the last day we see Cec and so we will be saying our final goodbyes to her and we are still completely unprepared, but hopefully we will sit down and write a letter to her or at least set up an outline for ourselves to make sure we tell her the things we need to tell her, etc.

Therapy with Kathy is going very well. We are moving along with her relatively quickly and are very focused on trying to make the most of the time we have with her each time we see her. We are also working on trying to stay focused on our therapy issues and the things therapy brings up for us and trying to problem solve stuff like that in the background while dealing with the shit that comes up from facing memories and our past.

It sounds like we’re working our ass off. I’m not entirely sure about that. It helped that Kathy said we worked very hard today and I think she’s made inferences that we’ve been working hard with her. It also really seems like we did some releasing of some toxic stuff inside and some deeper processing and release of emotions and things like that…. the kind of stuff those inside…especially those from the us and usz groups… are always needing and crying and desperately craving the time and chance for…. and today a few of them were brave enough to come forward in therapy and do some of that work.

I’m surprised we wrote this much as the exhaustion is pretty strong right now. We haven’t really had a chance to take our usual nap after therapy or any real downtime until now. We just needed to say something, even if it isn’t really saying much of anything and is so general… at least we are making ourselves write something. I honestly thought we’d only write one or two sentences, but once we got past that first hurdle, we ended up writing this much.

Really need to go for now.

Julie/s

She knew she was taking a chance, but she tried to be aware of when it became too much for the system, and yet be unaware of the abuse, as though she had no ties to it and it binding her to the past that she so desperately didn’t want to acknowledge as being hers and owning her.  She smiled and giggled at the control of pleasing and teasing him, and at the idea that she may have conquered this sex act after all, instead of it torturing her and forcing her to surrender.  She continued onward and continued to push away those thoughts, those intense feelings, those memories that kept creeping toward her.  She wasn’t going to let them take over and win.  It was 2008, not 1986, not 1978, nor 1988.  But she had gone too far this time.  This time she was succumbed by a new visual memory instead of just sheer emotions and young children tossed forward in a triggered state unaware emotionally of what year it was, their safety, the reality of today and an adult’s body, etc.  All they knew then and still know is that anything sexual is bad and that they are inherently bad, dirty, and disgusting.

The memory involving her father came and she knew she had to stop the oral sex.  To this day, it remains a blur as to how it all swelled forward in an overwhelming fashion–she who thought she had it under control, but didn’t.  Once again, the past controls her, owns her, tortures her with its indelicate right.  So she stopped, whilst trying to believe this new memory.  She held the feelings, the newness of the memory within her.  She knew it was safe to tell him, to seek comfort, and yet she felt it was bad to do so.  The timing of it was off.  For just the night before, he had his own flashback terrors, nightmares, and support needs.  It would be bad of her to freak out now with her own stuff, especially the night after his difficult time and also knowing he was still struggling with his own new flashback.  She knew that keeping this memory and struggle to herself was unhealthy and a relationship issue to analyze and discuss together, but she couldn’t push herself past it, and so she remained silent– something she knew she could do well.  She tried to not show any problem to him– only that she was “done” with oral sex on him even if he wasn’t finished.  She tried to show her love to him by laying close to him.  To this day, the time after the memory is a blur.  She doesn’t know what really happened in regards to lovemaking or if it stopped.  She only knows she stopped the oral sex.  The next thing she recalls is laying next to him dealing with the memory flashing over and over, and turning on her side to fall asleep, though she didn’t fall asleep.  It wasn’t unusual for her to be on her side because of her back issues and her natural sleep position anyway.  She just silently cowered within herself and her/their system began to process the new memory in the mostly shared memory space.

She desperately sought ways and ideas to disbelieve the memory.  After all, she knew that giving oral sex was a very triggering thing to do and she knew she had to take heed in being aware of her limits and the system’s limits.  Therefore, her mind could have simply “made up” without her knowledge a reason and a memory as a way to “make sense” of the trigger and having pushed past the limits.  She wanted to believe this and yet this memory was specific.  It was in her bedroom in Arizona and her bed was in a certain position (she rearranged her room there from time to time).  But then she tried to reason and rationalize that a lot of her memories with the father are from Arizona, so perhaps the brain just resorted to the room in Arizona and her bed in that position.  Yet, she had to acknowledge that Arlena (or so she thinks it is her) had written a few years back about her attempts to prevent the father from getting her, and the bed was in a different position in that room along with an entirely different comforter set.  The bed in this memory was located elsewhere with a different bedspread on it, although she fought hard to point out that the memory is very dark and only shadow outlines, though very clear outlines. Yet she had to acquiesce that the sexual abuse happened at the time in the middle of the night, and hence, darkness would shroud the memory.  Though she would like to argue that we always had a nightlight working all those years growing up.  Even still, she eventually had to realize that none of this negated the truth of the memory with the father.

Along came the need to expunge this memory from its gripping terror and constant reminder upon her soul.  The children inside were beside themselves, especially without any therapy, no therapist really to rely on.  They decided they would mention it at their support group and see where it took them.  The children ended up telling the memory in group, complete with emotions and switching commonly held and allowed only for one-on-one therapy with their therapist or when the body was alone.  They received necessary support from their fellow survivor friends, from their partner, Sean (and all), and the Julie and the Julies who wished the memory to not be real or true, they slowly began to realize the depth of the emotions and how wrong it would be to deny those children within their truth, memory/ies, and feelings.

And alas, we are here at this point.  A point at which we seek to find (and know we own) a photo of our room at that time revealing the bed, the bedroom of Tucson, Arizona many years ago.  We are also at the point of telling the memory and sharing the thoughts of those inside that have thus far shared their thoughts and feelings.

Until later…

*** (in very small writing and a small voice) i’m very terrified of being wrong.  i don’t want to accuse him of doing something he didn’t do.

*** This particular memory or visual picture(s) is the only thing that equates to what some inside view as “real sexual abuse” and not just “inappropriate behavior.”

Basically many inside discount and minimize the other stuff that we recall and know for sure happened–we do not doubt those things at all.  Although if I was real with myself, I would recall that when these memories (the ones now referred to as not real sexual abuse) surfaced about my father, they were very distressing and I/we had a very hard time believing them.  If I allow myself to go back in time and try to remember what it was like to just have those memories surface, and the unrealness about any of it, and difficulty believing it, etc., etc., then really what is happening now isn’t all that different.  Those memories that we had flashbacks of years and years ago (that we now just give little attention to as though it wasn’t that big of a deal– fucked up, yes, but not distressing to the degree it used to be and to the degree that other flashbacks or memories other kids inside have about other stuff is for them).  Anyways, those memories sparked huge PTSD stuff in me/us and it just about broke me in trying to come to grips with it and believe it and realize what my father did to “me.”  And now I give such little credence to it.  I forget that those flashbacks weren’t readily accepted as truth either, just as we’re dealing with this now with this new flashback.  Everytime I write “we’re dealing with this” and use the plural form, someone inside pipes up and gets annoyed and ??whatever the word is that I’m looking for?? and basically lets me know that it is me and plural doesn’t completely apply here.  That the usage of plural signifies the majority of us and that isn’t the case as they know it and knew it and didn’t have the issues that I had.  And frankly then I want to get snippy back and say that it wasn’t really “me” back then as it was Jillie and Julie-In-Pink, but I don’t know where Jillie is now and Julie-In-Pink (J.I.P.) is merged with me (although I think she split again, but I think she is merged back with me… not sure totally).  Anyway, so technically if J.I.P. is merged with me, I suppose that still makes it ‘me’ in a sense and applies more directly to me, even if it doesn’t feel like it was me back then first experiencing all of this.  At the same time, on some level, I know it was me, whilst on another level, I don’t feel as though I was part of that time.  That I wasn’t the main fronter at that time.  For that matter, I’m not sure if I was even around at that time.  I think I may have been created later, but not wholly positive.  I feel stupid for not knowing for sure my origins, but I’m just not sure that I’ve been around all along.  Sure– I take on the “Julie” identity and that is my name, but that could easily have been incorporated into my being and creation as an adult.  I guess really I don’t identify that much with having been around as a child and I don’t identify with it as my childhood or having a childhood.  Yes, intellectually I do and intellectually on an emotional level when it seems like I’m supposed to, but not really, and even that (intellectually on an emotional level) it really just isn’t there at all.  Okay, I side-tracked here.  I have to go look and see where my original thought was that I was trying to write about and tell.  Uggh, so hard to tell and describe the flashback stuff.

*** There’s been very little of any flashbacks of actual sexual abuse acts involving my father.  Years ago, I had 2 separate flashes of what I believe were moments just before an actual sex act happened and I’ve always struggled with believing what I just “knew” happened afterwards in a very broad manner.  I guess I’ve always pushed back hard against the visual stuff that ever crept forward in connection with those 2 particular flashes.  Aside from definite sexually inappropriate behavior (but no touching) involved, and aside from the seriously inappropriate and disgusting kiss he did to me in broad daylight in broad view of any neighbors when I was between 11-13 years old, there just hasn’t been any flashbacks involving actual sexual acts.  There was one very general flashback that a poem was written about from it, but I’ve really never considered it a memory as it is just so very far away from me, unreal, and just different than the other flashes.  So this particular flash is significant in that it involves sexual abuse in the form of a sex act by him.  And it is specific in a way.  It isn’t as far away as the poem memory is, but it isn’t as clear as the other flashbacks of sexually inappropriate behavior are.

There’s been a fair amount of other things that have led me to believe he sexually abused me.  Just saying that makes me want to put quotes around the “me” part because it wasn’t me, because I just wasn’t around during the time he was abusing us, me, whatever.  Fuck.  Insiders have had their own distress and referred to things, said things, etc., but at the same time, not a lot has been actually said in any detail about the father.  There’s been a lot of focus from the time that we lived in California and the neighbor boy/s and cult (if applicable to us).  I know my father abused me during that time too, but there’s been virtually no memory identified (that I’m aware of) with that state with him.  It’s been the states before and after that one.  I sure as hell know that he didn’t just stop mid stream.

So I guess we will try part three in trying to actually say it aloud in words.  I don’t know, maybe we won’t be able to do it.

Julies and others around

It’s this other thing… flashbacks I guess or something my brain made up… that is troublesome. I can’t even remember how it ‘came to me’ last night. It’s now just there in my headspace and whenever I think about it or come close to it, it just flashes over and over at me like a slideshow of the same snapshot picture. Every now and then the picture might move just a fraction or show another angle (like as an observer of both the father and child) and show another angle to what appears to be the same moment in time. But I just can’t help worrying that I’m wrong about this. That this particular thing I’m seeing didn’t happen to me. That my father really didn’t do that to me. That my brain just made this up and showed this to me because if X sex act ends up with a distressing reaction at some point during or afterwards then that must equal my father and my brain must determine something to make sense of why it was upsetting and so it just makes up some picture memory and shows it to me. I don’t feel in control of this or my brain. I feel like my brain is its own entity. Hmm… I thought of it as my brain is its own entity against me. Then I heard or had a slightly differing opinion and rephrased that in my brain to “This brain of my brains is its own entity against me.” In other words, there is my brain that I normally think of as “my brain” and “own it” more or less and sometimes respect it for what it is and other times detest it simply because of self hatred, low self esteem or some other thing, such as replaying old tapes or negative programming (naturally or otherwise) that is active and disruptive to my brain. But all of that still feels like it is part of my brain. However there is this other brain of mine that is separate and against me. This seems to be the one that holds “so-called” memories. The brain I don’t have any control over. The one that seems against me, determined to make me seem like and be a liar. Determined to make me believe that horrible things happened that actually didn’t happen. My fear is that I will believe what this brain is telling me or showing me and then it will transfer over to ‘my brain’–the brain I will accept ownership of, and when it transfers over to my brain, then it will become (eventually, sometimes immediately other times a bit more gradually) to being truth. So then I will believe these visual memories and declare them true, speak of them, tell others about the horrible crimes my father or the neighbor boy(s) or the cult (if that is true for us) did to me/us. And the greatest fear is that ultimately down the line in the future, as we’re more healed or further along the healing journey and more pieces to a completely amnesiac life (more or less), that more of those pieces will come together and I will have a better idea of what really happened and then I will find out that it is all wrong, false, untrue, and that I’ve been super, horrifically bad, can’t possibly live for the lies I’ve believed and lies that I’ve told, and so absolutely MUST DIE. And I couldn’t bear to live and be around others that I love and care about because they will then know just how truly and horrifically bad we are and how disgusting and just not enough words could describe the sheer depth of badness, filth, dirtiness, unworthiness, for taking one breath of life all along. They would believe that we lied on purpose or somebody put this shit in our head or something and we would just be crazy and just again, horribly beyond words bad and unworthy beyond words to even have drawn one breath in the past and most certainly from that moment forward. And it would all be this “other brain’s fault” that was against me all along and did this to me/us and I/we believed it and made the wrong decision to believe it, and even worser (i know that isn’t a word or proper grammar but that is the word I heard from inside) to tell about it, speak it, and even worser than all of that–to tell about it and speak it as though it were really true and as though we really believed it and as though it really and truly happened.

At some point earlier in the above paragraph while we were writing it we debated on whether to change the title from “The Belief Factor” to “My other brain is against me.” I’m still not sure what we will ultimately decide upon.

This has really gotten long and so we’re going to make this a “part one” series of another part.

Julies and whomever else

for talking about it and proving it isn’t true for saying too much about it. for being a baby about it. for making too big a deal out of it and so it just proves how untrue and unreal and how much we just want attention and we’re being melodramatic about it all. for just again, for just being. for just everything bad that pores from our cellular body and just spreads everywhere around us.

for just.. just… oh how i must stop now. try to express this and precursor it so that people know we know. so that we have said it and that those of us that are going to say it, so that the others know we know it. that we haven’t forgotten. that we know it. and we’re going to say it and be bad anyway.

just this memory has gotten a hold of us. a hold ahold what is the spelling and word we’re looking for. and shit, i said, “memory.” it’s not. it’s not. it’s just a stupid fucking story. nothing else. but yet tears escaped. emotion escaped from nowhere or i guess really somewhere.

we can’t just cry tears anytime we want. we can’t. we can’t even cry or have tears come even when we want to or need to. and yet there are those times where tears escape from some place unexpectedly and they are there. so there must be something to this story. more than just empathy. or maybe it is empathy and just sadness for a story that isn’t true about this body, about “us.” but that’s stretching things and denial a bit i guess. but how can you say you’re in denial if you’re really in denial? does that make sense to anyone?? so of course if you say you’re in denial (which means you can’t really be in denial) then of course it isn’t really true and it didn’t really happen and it’s just some whacky fucked up thing your brain is screwing with you on because your brain is just screwed up and has some need to fuck with your head and try to make you believe something is true when it isn’t.

it’s just this knowledge of this story has seeped so far inside to what seems like so many inside. it feels worse than a “normal” memory in a way because at least if it was a “normal” memory it would be ‘forgotten’ again and lost within again. it would seep back inside with the insider who holds the memory and the insider will probably be that much harder to ever access again. maybe. like we can think of a few insiders who’ve shared their pain and memories and stuff with Wendy over the years. but so much of what’s happened to them is forgotten, is lost inside, or rather it has disappeared back inside with them when they went back inside somewhere. what’s left is mostly their name (if they gave one) or some vague awareness memory that someone was there and shared something, but what was shared is so forgotten. it might be somewhere in some letter to Wendy about it or some journal or some email to our email group about it. but where it is, who knows. of course it is on a therapy tape recording some where, but who knows about the quality of it–if it can be deciphered.

as we’ve written the last 3/4 of the above paragraph, i noticed the right eye spasming. weird. wonder if it means anything. stuff like this half the time i don’t notice. don’t pay attention to. but trying to be more aware of the body. little things like this– seems like maybe it is important or might mean something or maybe not.

so really why are we writing this. we’re writing to say that this story, this memory, this whatever it is, is just really encompassing the brain. yes, it’s in the far reaches of the thoughts. but it’s there. it feels like it is there constantly in the back of the mind. the area where factual knowledge resides. like the sun is out today. stuff that often is passed along with many inside for awareness purposes if they come near the front. it doesn’t happen that way for everyone. i guess really it depends– it depends on whether they have an awareness of “today” or not and how far seeped in trauma and a memory they are in as to whether they know. but even still, sometimes it seems like if they come outfront, even after their disorientation, that something inside works to orient them to some of this shared basic knowledge info. i don’t know how it all works really. i just know that somehow this info has been placed or stored or is sitting in a really shared area that holds the basic info that we’re all “supposed to” know in order to “pass as normal and singleton and not bring attention to ourselves for not knowing.”

and this memory, this story, this whatever is sitting on our heart so deeply. it also is in the further depths of the heart and emotions, but yet, it is still there, constantly weighing on us.

yes, it can be pushed away to some degree, dissociated to some degree, but it hurts like hell and it’s there and we don’t know what to do with it. don’t know how to cope with it. too many of us know. it keeps staying with us. it isn’t going away anywhere. it sits there with the knowledge info that we’ve accused the father of sexual abuse. that we’ve confronted the father in the past. that we say (sometimes at least and some of us at least) that we were ritually abused by others. that we also say none of that is true at the same time. all that knowledge, that information, those words. that’s it. it doesn’t matter that there isn’t any real true “normal memory” with this info of visual, hearing, emotion (or selected emotional segments). it’s just words. knowledge. facts. things believed. things not believed.

it’s just not the same as other insider’s memories that stay with them only or maybe with them and a few select others inside. this is system wide in a shared knowledge base and it isn’t going away and what the hell do we do with it, how do we cope with it, how do we heal with it, how do we really accept it or not, how do we do whatever it is we’re supposed to do with it. how do we keep it from trapping us into a deep depression. from causing the dying impulses and needs and everything from skyrocketing. from triggering those inside to need to do that. from self-harming the body by cutting or anything else.

i want to scream and wish i didn’t know. and yet i know i need to know in order to heal. and at the same time i want to know, so that i/we can heal. i don’t want this to drag on forever. if it is true, i can see why i/we need to know. what we’re trying to work on inside is something that goes system wide and greatly affects our functioning and working together as a system and well, having a will to live. i/we can see how this information is a huge piece in understanding why things are the way they are, why it needs to be dealt with, why we need to heal this and work through this in order to get to our goal. it’s just so hard at the same time.

see i told you we’d whine over this, make a big deal over it. how many times have we said the same thing over and over in this stupid entry but said it in slightly different ways. so repetitive. fuck being succinct. we’re trying to figure this shit out.

oh g-d, here comes the tears. okay, enough. gotta go. can’t fall apart today. it’s a Noah weekend and our house is a mess, we still have a few other things we need to take care of today, aside from cleaning. it’s already late in the afternoon. we’re bound to hear from them soon and it will be time to go spend time with Noah and family. and of course we want to spend time with him. it will help because we will get joy from being around him. and we’re getting to know Hunter too and it’s good to do that as well. and we’re trying to not feel guilty for not calling and trying to plan to get together sooner today. it’s just we’re trying to cope, to pull things together, to manage things without getting too overwhelmed. to be able to be present when we do go see them this weekend. uggh.

keep feeling like we need to write more. like we’re still trying to process everything. need to post that story, but password protect it. and then send out the password to people. but also want Cec to know and want our email group to know, except it was somebody’s bday in our email group and so we have to wait to share that story. well, we don’t have to, but it only seems right to wait. and some inside don’t want us to tell anymore anyway. so we have to work through that too. we read the story in our support group thursday night and it was hard, but we did it. so now if we can tell it again.

julies, us, others (really not sure who’s here right now)