Posted by deirdrehbrt on April 27, 2004, at 22:01:05
I have loved words. In school, I loved writing. At work, when there was a project that required writing, I took it on. I wrote songs for church, I write poetry to relax. I have loved words.
Some words have had a special meaning. Daughter, loved, proud, Thank you, joy and others. Other words have been just a bit frightening: gone, abandoned, lost, forsaken, and again, others.
Today though, another word was added to my vocabulary in a new way. I have been in therapy for a while now. At the beginning, I went in for a very specific reason, as a requirement for a particular purpose.
A while back though, other things started coming up in our sessions. I found that what I thought was absent-mindedness was someting else, dissociation. I've been dealing with that for a while, and thought I had a handle on it. With the exception of some injuries that I never understood I sort of thought I understood myself. I had a few suicide attempts, but 'knew' that it was due to the things I already knew about.
The injuries that I've had, and the diagnosis of MPD / DID though were striving to make connections.
Recently, my alters have been a bit more demanding. They have wanted me to write things. The other day, I did.
I knew I had been abused. I remembered lots of things, but nothing that could account for the injuries I had. The other night though, I did some writing, a sort of dictation.
There it sat on the paper. There it sat in MY journal. It was there and I couldn't read it. I knew what it said. It told me how my hips were broken. It told me why I am so afraid of so many things. It told me it was real. It was terrifying.
Today, I had therapy. I took out my journal, and my therapist just waited. Everytime I tried to talk about something else, she gently told me that she was waiting to hear what was written on that page. I started reading it, and it was without a doubt the most difficult thing I have ever done.
Then we spoke about it. What happened to ME, when I was so young. And then came the word... She looked at me, and said "Dee, you were ra*ed, when you were about three years old".
Even the memories, even the flashbacks, none of it did as much damage as one single word. I was sick after writing it. Now, after the session, after the one word, I'm sick, I'm frightened, I'm afraid of remembering more.
It's strange. I was a ra*e crisis counselor. I still knew about my injuries, but I never put it together. Is that stupid or what? So now, I know that when I was called 'absent-minded' in school, it wasn't my fault. I wasn't in the classroom anymore. I was afraid of going home. Whether or not my parents were responsible, they certainly couldn't protect me. They managed to do a great deal of damage on their own.
I don't know what's going to happen in the next month or know. I hope very much that there isn't much more of this. I'm not ready to handle it. Some things are just too much. Some words weren't meant to be said. Some words shouldn't be used, especially with people, especially with children.
So, here I am, a trained ra*e crisis counselor. What can I tell ME? Even if I called the organization I used to work for, I went through the training. I know that the words they use have a purpose. I know what that purpose is. I've, at least from them, inocculated myself, I'm immune to that help.
I'll see what happens.
Thanks guys.
Dee.
poster:deirdrehbrt
thread:340801
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20040422/msgs/340801.html