The Fight

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We are bound together. She to I, her to me. Her experiences, my demons.

Last night ranked up there as a bad bad night. A really bad night. We had our first fight. It is so hard to tell which voice is mine and which voice is hers. Let me explain.

Though I have alot of gratitude for being able to live without knowing, there is a stigma attached to repressed memories. Are they real? Did the rape really happen? I have no way of proving it. My rapist is crazy now, cannot question him. Even if you could, would he admit to it? Why do I feel so overwhelmed that I need to prove it? Sharing some of my most intimate and painful details, needing validation, not from myself, from others.

I have no doubt of the reality of my memories, and though my first screams after the initial flashback were, “Please do not let this be a real memory”. It was was more of a plea to stop the memory, fear of what else might be remembered. When you feel it and see it, you have no doubt. You want it to stop, and pray that it never happened.

Others lovingly acknowledge the memory, perceived by them as possibly a false memory, as a real feeling and experienced as real to me. Lovingly is not used in lightly here, it was truly in love, and in honest support. They want me to heal. However, to me, I only heard “I do not believe you, it did not happen.” That is not what was said.

For me I only see it in black and white. Either it happened or it did not happen. If it happened I need to deal with it and heal, if it did not happen, then I AM crazy and where do I go from here? How do you heal from a rape that never happened? With a broken mind that plays games on you? How do you live like that? That would push me closer to the edge than I have ever been. I am already teetering and it scares me. I see the fear in my Mother’s eyes too. I guess that is why I need them to believe me. I NEED THEM TO BELIEVE ME!

This is when The Fight happened. Like I said I do not know whose voice was whose. This is all so new to me.

I wrote a letter in our letter journal. Angry, oh so angry. If she had only told back then. No one would doubt the memory. Why didn’t she tell!!!!! I know she was a child she was scared and hurt. But my life is hell because she did not tell!! I am having to fight these battles alone because she did not tell!! I hate myself because she did not tell!! No the abuse as not her fault, but she should have told!! That is her fault!! I need her to tell me why she did not tell!!

Today, I have promised myself that we will try to make amends, and be gentle with each other. There is so much blaming going on. I am going to Books-A-Million to get a workbook on working with your inner child. I am also going to go do something that I have not done in a long time. I am going to buy a stuffed animal. Hey, I might even make a trip to Cold Stone. I do not know if that is for her or me. But I think icecream is in order.

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About Hope

I am forty year old survivor and a five year old victim of sexual abuse. I live with severe depression and anxiety, and in 2013 was diagnosed with DID and PTSD. My journey is to reintegrate my alter and the adult me into a whole person, healthy person, and one that can empathize with others.

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