She knew she had to tread carefully, for the anxiety and memories lay near the surface, and yet she pushed herself onward, to give the love and teasing she desired to embrace as a woman without a history of sexual abuse. She longed to be that woman, with no fears and no ill feelings at the mere idea of anything sexual, and so she pushed herself to be that woman. To do that, she focused on her love towards him, the enjoyment she had in just being near him, and she delighted in giving him the pleasure of oral sex. She pushed away the old thoughts, the disgust that was of the past and not the present, and pursued a moment in time where she wasn’t a survivor of sexual abuse whose past haunts her everyday. She hated herself for having those thoughts and feelings, that surging rush of throwing up, and children being triggered towards the front while trying to control the body from contorting itself in frightful and sheer terror convulsions and shakes to rid itself of the emotional pain, visual memories, physical tissue memories of the abuse.
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 et al, 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…