My blog title has two purposes. 1. Abuse is not my secret to carry 2. The shame put on me by abusers is not mine to carry either.
I have been brutally honest about the things that have happened to me, that were done to me, the things I did after as a robot going through life mindlessly with PTSD. I have shared the secrets that were put upon me. I have shared the shame that I did carry but that I let go.
I have moved through many areas of recovery from abuse from anorexia to attempted suicide to therapy, then more therapy, then more therapy, medications, hypnosis, etc. A year ago I embarked on a new phase in my recovery which was seeking out joy and beauty to balance the bad memories and flashbacks.
I’ve shared triggers, reactions, coping. I’ve shared my mindfulnesss pictures. I’ve shared my fears, vulnerabilities, abandonment, and more.
Last night something happened.
I experienced a triggering memory that did something.
I encourage and ask anyone who has experienced this to please share in the comments.
As I am currently feeling extremely alone.
I remembered an event.
As I remembered it I heard I high pitched noise in my ears. Then it was like there was a suction in my ears and I went completely deaf. I could see. I could see my daughter. I could see my room. I knew exactly where I was but I could not hear anything. I have no idea how long it lasted. I last looked at the clock at 4am. I still could not hear.
This morning the residue of last night slapped me right in the face. I could hear. I felt the weight of so much though. Almost as if I am in shock. I tried to shake it off. I went to visit the animals on the prairie. I watched the sunset. I played music. I was completely dissociated though.
It was not until I saw a cow. She reminded me of my sweet Jess who passed away a year or so ago of cancer, my dog. Something about this cow’s eyes and the way when I talked to her, she pinned one ear back. I immediately showed my husband when he got home and asked him who she reminded him of. He said Jess.
Jess always made me feel seen.
He alerted me to seizures but was far more than that. He was my constant companion for 14 years NEVER leaving my side.
Seeing this cow look into my eyes made me feel seen. I became present again. I blew her a kiss. I don’t know that I’ve ever blown a cow a kiss but I did.
I came home and the residue slowly seeped over me like this thick tar or sludge smothering me.
I’ve always told THE secrets of abuse. I’ve always talked about the secrets of my life. I want to share this memory.
Not because of shame.
I am just mortified at the additional memory that my body went through. I thought the first time I experienced PTSD or dissociation was much later. This memory took me to a mirror where I was looking at myself. I’ve seen myself looking in this mirror before but never knew why until last night.
I didn’t tell my husband other than that I lost my hearing. He thought perhaps it was my brain that wanted to stop input, protecting me.
It’s just so odd. I have come so far with removing the layers and layers of hands that were on me that I did not want. Layers of men. Layers of abuse. Layers of years and years I have removed. Then one memory has made me feel worthless. Useless. Pointless. Dirty. Disgusting. Unsaveable. Uncleanable. I wish I could cut off my own breasts so that I never knew what it felt like to have them touched again. I wish I could remove all female attributes especially my vagina that has been penetrated so many times unwillingly that I wish it no longer existed. I wish it was not even part of me.
I am logically aware that it would not erase the feeling my body has or the memory that is stored.
This memory though, it makes me think there is really no hope for me.
No hope for true recovery. There was just too much in my life. Too much done.
Here I sit knowing I can never utter these words.
Here I sit in my bed alone wondering if anyone ever went deaf with a high pitch ringing at a memory.
I sit here wondering how I will survive the past that won’t leave me.
While dealing with my fingers painfully typing since this lyme disease flare up.
While dealing with this muscle disease that has had me almost paralyzed for days.
I just don’t know how I can do it.
I still have to get up and fix my daughter food somehow.
I still should check on so and so and so and so as I know they are suffering and need someone.
I sit here feeling like I’ve been raped all over again.
Thinking no one would understand.
Feeling no one understands.
Feeling incredibly alone.
I wish I had that cow…think I will just look at her for awhile…it’s really all I have right now.