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Telling your story vs. learning to cope


Monika

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For me telling has been I nightmare the more I talk about it the worse the nightmares and flashbacks get. Also many of my memories are broken piece that come back to me in little chunks and the more I know the less I want to know. On the other hand while not dealing with it I have struggled with eating disorders and exstreme SI but when I tried to talk about it those didn't get any better it got worse... Its been over a year since I was willing to talk about the abuse in therapy but my T has been pushing the subject wanting me to open up again but I'm scared that I could not live threw that pain again....

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I used to feel there was a chasm in what I knew and felt, and what other people knew and thought about sexual abuse.

I felt conflicted when things happened to me, and it took a while for me to look at it from "a big picture" perspective. My initial attempts at therapy avoided this, and any dialogue on how violence had affected me.

Memories of the physical and sexual abuse were triggered by movies I would watch. More of the sexual abuse memories started resurfacing when I was 20, around certain people, who ended up being abusive.

I had trouble in relationships and that slowly resolved itself. I literally would try to block out things, and then I would stop sleeping at night.

The thing is, society, and what the professionals think are happening in my mind, could not be easily fixed by a pill. It's easy to say, "you're broken, now take this- you were never sexually abused."

This has been one of the more difficult conflicts to overcome. Silence can kill you. Therapy imposed silence is worse.

I would love for my memory to just go away but the problem is, it's worse to try to make yourself a blank slate.

Healing for me has been a process of coming out and just saying it, whether it be through activism (which is very important to me), or to another person in conversation.

My healing has come through expressing what I know, and sharing with others.

I can never give that up.

Edited by Lyla
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  • 7 months later...

While I'm sure it's different for everyone, I think the idea of telling my story is definitely helpful. I haven't found anyone that I feel I can trust with everything that happened so far, so in the meantime I've been writing about it. This probably isn't as good, but I think it's helping some. Maybe it's that I'm still trying to wrap my head around what happened - I don't want to say anything out loud until I know it's accurate, whereas it's easy to go back and edit what I've written. I think I'm also afraid that if I talk about it, people won't think it's valid, or they'll blame me for what happened.

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  • 9 months later...
Activebystander89

Hello,

Right now I am trying to help an important person in my life. She was ganged up on by 3 dudes, and it has been almost 2 months since the incident. From collective experience, I know that that reporting it can help to begin the healing process, but she refuses to talk to anyone else. Our organization has a ridiculous amount of support systems, and it would not be hard at all for her to get help. She is in a deep state of depression and I'm pretty sure she thinks of suicide daily. There are enough people keeping tabs on her to where that possibility is minimized down to an extremely small percentage of occurring. She is also experiencing deep insomnia, panic/anxiety attacks, and horrifically vivid nightmares, in which she has told me that she See's herself or loved ones dying, maybe reliving the attack. She freaks the second she wakes up, I am there most of the time to hold and comfort her and tell her its all right. It is quite apparent that she has PTSD, which she refuses to acknowledge. She has told me directly that I am the only thing in her life that keeps her from going past the point of no return. I love this woman very dearly, and just want to help her get better as much as she can so she can have some semblance of a normal life. I will not always be able to be there for her, due to my duties and responsibilities, and I desperately need advice on how to get her to start talking to the right people and hopefully begin the healing process, PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HELP ME!!!!!

- J

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  • 1 month later...
HopeRedefined

I experienced childhood sexual molestation from two family members and lost my virginity to rape. The rape happened when I was 16 and I overachieved and acted like everything was okay for years. I would get into relationships and force myself to have sex while fighting nausea the entire time. I tried counselling at 21, then again at 23, and again this year at 24. I was able to talk about everything in my life besides the abuse. My throat would close up, my brain would shut down. As hard as I pushed it wouldn't come out. I started cocktail waitressing earlier this year. I was getting touched on my breasts, butt, men would try to dance with me as I was walking by and refuse to let me go. It was awful and the bouncers wouldn't do anything about it. I started having anxiety attacks for the first time in my life, I would cry myself to sleep at night, and my personality totally shifted. It was like I was feeling what had happened for the first time. I managed to find another job but a few months too late. Now I come across as a zombie...I'm not sure if I lost my sense of self or if the facade I had been using for years finally crumbled. I DESPERATELY want there to be someone in my life who cares and is compassionate enough to handle this sort of thing. Someone who supports me, listens, doesn't blame me, and doesn't feel like this sort of thing is "too heavy". I am afraid that no man will be patient enough to earn my trust and don't believe that a man could handle dating a girl with so much baggage. In reality it feels like having someone there for me is the only way I'll begin to heal. Clearly trying to do it by myself hasn't been working. I told one counselor that I felt like my body was preventing me from talking about it. Like it knew that I would break all the way down and not be able to function well. I'm not sure where to go from here, but somehow going deeper into this seems like a huge risk.

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  • 2 months later...

Details are triggers for me, some stories are harder to tell than others, and I think that if it was fresh, or if I was feeling unstable in general I would not benefit from reliving the experience by retelling it. But from the point in my healing where I am, I think it isn't doing more damage.

I used to be more open to telling my stories. My roommates were all sex positive feminists and I thought I was safe sharing, particularly since they shared their DV and SA experiences. But I found when I landed in another situation of sexual assault, and yet another of physical assault that left me permanently scarred, my current day stories were not welcomed.

I can think of many reasons. All stupid ones. I eventually realized that they had no right to belittle my experiences. But ultimately I began with-holding those stories. I've got half a dozen or so so it's alot to with hold for a talker like myself.

But my friends now don't know my stories. The few who have an idea don't know the details, or that I have more than one story to tell. Just that something "of that sort" has happened to me. Right now my community is dealing with figuring out accountability processes for sexual assault and DV and it's a big challenge. I wonder now if my stories would help. I also wonder if I could get more healing from telling a story that helps others, silver linings and such.

Edited by ray1986
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  • 3 weeks later...

Hi everyone!

First of all I’d like to say that English is my second language so I’m very sorry about any mistakes I may have made or any grammatically incorrect sentences. But I’m wondering, when it comes to rape don’t we all speak the same language? A language of shame, pain and fear? We understand each other without words no matter where we come from, don’t we?

Last week I decided to share my story with someone and I’m not myself anymore since then. It’s hard to describe what is happening with me right now and I don’t know how to make it stop. I’m not much of a talker or writer but right now this blog seems to be the only thing that can stop me from falling and hitting the ground. So here I am. Blogging.

“A woman's whole life... in a single day. Just one day. And in that day... her whole life” (V.Woolf). You’ve been dreaming about this day for so long, haven’t you? About the day when you finally can break the silence. Remember how many times you tried to imagine how it would be like to talk about it to someone? To cry it all out? To share your memories with someone who you hope will help you fight your demons. And finally the day has come. After all these years of being silent about what happened you’ve finally found this special someone you think you can trust. And suddenly you start feeling better and worse at the same time. A freaking roller-coaster ride. You want to laugh and you want to cry. You don’t know what to do. Because you’ve already forgotten what it feels like to trust someone. And you don’t know how to talk about it, which words to choose to describe it. So you’re scared. And you have all these questions running through your head: Can I trust him/her or do I just think I can? What if she/he won’t believe me? What if she/he says it was my fault? Will she/he understand? Will she/he judge me?

To tell or not to tell, that’s the question. Before you decide to share your story with someone think about it. Think about it twice... and again and again. And then once again. Don’t hurry. Think. Your memories and your pain aren’t going anywhere. They’ve been there for years. So take your time. Because if you’re wrong you know exactly what’s gonna happen. Yes, you’re gonna get hurt. Again. Be careful. Secondary wounds can hurt as much as the original wound itself. So think. Are you ready to go through this again? Can you handle more pain? Words can be painful. Very painful. They can break you into a million pieces. They can knock you down on your knees. And who will help you to put yourself back together? Who will help you to get back on your feet again? That’s right. No one. So be very careful. This decision is gonna change everything. Forever.

It has taken me about 14 years to find her.

I had to travel the whole world from the Northern to the Southern Hemisphere to find my person. She was my musculoskeletal therapist trying to figure out the cause of my lower back pain. The treatments started triggering my flashbacks and she said:”You know that one day you’ll have to tell me what’s going on” – and I just thought “Yeah right, forget it.” But it just got worse and I started to feel like a liar. She was trying to help and I knew there was still one piece missing. This one little piece - the key to the whole thing. It wasn’t fair and I knew it but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell her. And then one day she said: “If it’s something I should know just tell me.” And I did. I’ve had many therapists before her but I’ve never mentioned the incident(s) to anyone of them. It wasn’t even an option. But this time it was different. I don’t know why. Maybe because I was so sick and tired of my back pain driving me crazy every day or maybe because there was something about her imbuing me with strength and peace. Some inner quality that made everything in my world feel right. I trusted her.

Have I found what I was looking for? Has she reacted in a way I was hoping she would? While working as a translator for the police in Germany I talked to many rape survivors so I knew exactly what I didn’t want to hear. And I was scared. I was scared to hear what all these girls I met had to hear.

But I was lucky.

A week ago I was sitting there right next to her staring at my feet, trying to find the right words and fighting the voice in my head screaming: Don’t! And then I said it. I said “I was raped”. Three words. Just three little words like “I love you” or “how are you” but so much more powerful and filled with so much pain. I let it out. I felt exhausted. I felt naked. I was scared.

And she was great. I think she has said and done everything just right. First of all she believed me. Or at least she said she did. But that’s enough for me. She listened. She actually really listened to me. Wow. People like her really do exist. And she didn’t give me this oh-I’m-so-sorry-mercy-look I hate so much. Thank you K.

Finally she said that she was there for me if I wanted to talk, that if that helps she’s there. And in this very moment I felt like my heart was going to explode, I thought I’m gonna burst into tears. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full (S.Path). How could this happen? I’m a control freak so how was it even possible? I still don’t understand it. I’ve built this wall, so strong that nobody could ever get through. It was bulletproof. All these years I tried to learn to control myself, I learned to hide my feelings so deeply inside that no-one would ever be able to find them. Unless they’d dig deep enough. And she did. These words I was longing for all these years. These stupid words I was dying to hear: “I’m here for you”. “I’m here if you want to talk”. These few words so simple and so special. I hate them and I love them at the same time. I want to hear them and I’m so scared of them. They made me feel better, they made me feel worse, they made me feel weak. Yes, weak. Why? Because it took me so long to get back on my feet after being raped, to gain control of my life again. And suddenly I was ready to cut this wound open and let it bleed again. I wanted to tell this stranger everything, every single detail. I wanted her to hug me and say that everything is gonna be fine. I wanted her to hug me so I could cry me heart out. I wanted her to hold me in her arms and never let go. I felt like a little girl, hurt, helpless and so confused. Is it stupid to feel this way now when I’m almost 30? I mean it all happened so many years ago. Shouldn’t I have got over it by now? Can you ever get over it? And then I realized. It hit me so hard that I couldn’t breathe. Telling someone is not the worst part. It’s what happens after that. Telling your story is just the beginning. It’s a beginning of a very long journey through your painful past. After it’s out it becomes real. You think about it day and night. You have to face it. You have to stop living in denial and admit that it really happened to you. But do you know how to do this? Are you prepared for this? No, you’re not. And you never will be.

On my way home, after I left her clinic I almost got hit by a car and you know what? I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all. I yelled at the poor guy for no reason and it wasn’t even his fault, but I was yelling at him like a crazy bitch, mad, furious. Angry that (and here comes the funny part) he didn’t hit me! I was so close to shout it right into his face: Why didn’t you hit me you f*cker?! Why? I needed to stop thinking, stop feeling, stop existing for a little while, that was all I wanted. So whoever you are blue-ford-falcon-guy - I’m sorry! And no, I will not have dinner with you. Thanks for asking though.

As the life of the people you told about it doesn’t change a bit, your life is going to turn upside down. So did talking about it help me? No. It didn’t. It’s been 9 days and all I know is that the disclosure has shattered everything I told myself for years to keep going on with my life. 9 very long days of feeling horrible, frustrated, depressed and very alone. 9 days and still counting. I knew it’s not gonna be easy to confront the past. But I did think it would be easier. It’s not. It has left me devastated.

And by the way, how do you even know how much you should say? Should you just say “I was raped”? Or should you go into details? How do you know what’s better for you? How do you know what you want? How do you know what you need? And first of all how do you know if your person wants to hear all this? I still have mixed feelings about it. I feel like I’ve said too much but still haven’t said enough. I haven’t said it all. I feel like being stuck in the very middle between what I need and what I should or shouldn’t. And right now I can’t even look her in the eyes. What am I afraid to see there? Or am I afraid that when she looks in my eyes she'll see that there's nothing inside of me? Just an empty space.

Nevermind. No matter how much you decided to share, when you decided to tell your story who’s gonna be there for you? No one. Well I’m a grown up, so I have to suck it up right? I have to live through it because I have no other choice correct? I have to be strong for myself because no one else is going to be strong for me. I can’t cry. Tears are a luxury. Even if sometimes they are the best words the heart can speak they’re not for me, because “you should never give yourself a chance to fall apart because, when you do, it becomes a tendency and it happens over and over again. You must practice staying strong, instead." (E. Gilbert. So that’s what I have to do.I have to pull myself together. Get up. I have to open the door and go outside. Go and look life in the face. Remember The Hours and Virginia Woolf saying: “To look life in the face. Always to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it. To love it for what it is, and then, to put it away.” Remember? I do. And although my whole life is a one big PTSD/RTS over the years I’ve learned to control it, I‘ve learned to control my eating disorders, my obsessive-compulsive disorder, panic attacks, paranoia, flashbacks, hysteria, insomnia, workaholism, depression ... One day I woke up and said to myself: F*ck it. Enough. I was still hurting but the pain and the PTSD were manageable. I’ve been well trained to love my darkness.

But things change after you speak out. You lose this control. You have flashbacks 24/7 reminding you of every second of the horror you’ve been through. You feel pain, anger, hate and frustration. You are broken inside. And the worst part is, you have to learn to hide it from the world again. From your family, friends, from everyone. You have to go out there and play your social roles. You have to be a daughter, a wife, a boss, a friend. Do you know the song “Crippled Inside” by John Lennon? He sings: “You can shine your shoes and wear a suit. You can comb your hair and look quite cute. You can hide your face behind a smile. One thing you can't hide-is when you're crippled inside”. Well, I don’t agree. You can hide how badly crippled you are inside. Practice makes the master. So you go out there and you smile. You laugh. You know why we laugh? We laugh because it hurts and it's the only thing to make it stop hurting (R. A. Heinlein).

Oh, Mrs. Dalloway...always giving parties to cover the silence...

I remember Ed Harris saying in an interview: “That’s what people are doing. They are facing the hours of the day. Every day.” Well isn’t that what we’re doing? Facing the hours, days, months and years of our life trying to escape our new –selves and to become our old-selves again? I’m wondering, my life has been stolen from me when I was 15. Then again. And again. So can I be the same person I was before it happened? And which me exactly do I try to be? The 14-year-old teen full of beautiful dreams and hopes, always believing in the good in people? Or the 20-year-old woman always funny, happy and optimistic, with lots of friends, crazy in love and planning on having a family? Who am I? And who do I want to be today?

She asked me why I haven't told anyone. So why didn’t I? Why have I been silent all these years? Was I ashamed? Was I scared? Or maybe because I got my mouth super-glued, and even though my lips healed perfectly they never stopped hurting constantly reminding me of my past. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to talk about it? Well I do know why I didn’t tell my family. Because I didn’t want to hurt them. One person hurting is enough. And by the way I’m a huge disappointment to my family anyway, but that’s another story. I didn’t tell my friends because since my friend raped me I don’t believe in friends. I don’t have friends. I cut them all off, pushed them away because in the end everyone is going to hurt you anyway. And I don’t need a certified counsellor. I don’t need to learn how to trick my brain, I already know that, but it doesn’t help to relieve the pain. Will a counsellor be there for me to dry my eyes? Will a counsellor be there for me to hold me when I need warmth and compassion or when my wounds begin to bleed again? I bet he won’t. So what do we need? Who do we need? A well trained, certified counsellor who is a total stranger and has no idea who we really are or a good friend, a soul mate who can eventually betray us one day? And what if you can’t or don’t want to have either of them? What choice do you have then? Are we all alone? We are, aren’t we? I am.

So when we say we want to be left alone, when we say that we don’t need anything from anyone are we lying? Are we just pretending we’re ok? And if so, why are we doing that? I can’t help but wonder, when it comes to getting help, what do we really want or expect? Do we want to show how tough and strong we are because we don’t want people to pity us? Or do we need someone to look behind the mask and take care of us and heal our hurt souls and hearts? Could K. possibly break down my wall someday? Well, I’ll never find out.

So many questions but no answers.

My brother (passionate soldier) would say: “What the f*ck sis? Get your lazy ass up and fight!” But after 14 years of fighting I’m tired. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything? Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut. How can I ever get up off my knees? Looks like I’m not as strong as I thought I was or as I used to be. But there is still something I can do. I can put on my pink-blue racing flats and go for a run. I can run. I can’t run away from myself. Everywhere I go I take myself with me. But I can run. Run the pain away...

So run Forrest! Run!

"I wish I could help you"- I whisper.

"You are" - she murmurs against my knee - "just don’t leave me, okay? Everyone leaves me."

— S. Elkeles

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EVH the way you write your thought processes here is incredible. I just want to say that there are so many things you say that I totally GET.

It's like - in part - you are reading MY mind!

Can't say anymore.

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EVH the way you write your thought processes here is incredible. I just want to say that there are so many things you say that I totally GET.

It's like - in part - you are reading MY mind!

Can't say anymore.

Thank you Soo! It's such a relief that someone actually understands the way I feel! Safe hugs to you if ok

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  • 1 month later...

EVH, I can totally relate to a lot of what you said. It's extremely hard to disclose. And you know what? When I disclosed for the first time to a friend (who was great), afterwards I felt bad, too. I had been denying it for months and living a lie. I wore a mask, I tried my best to be happy and to be 'me' and to forget about the past, and to go on with my life.

So I had really held the balloon down the water for too long, because some day it just slipped from beneath my hands and it jumped out of the water and hit my face. That's what happened. I got all this shit right in my face and I had to tell it, because I was having some kind of mental breakdown. And afterwards, I felt good and bad. Relieved and ashamed. But at least, I shared.

Afterwards, as you, EVH, described, I thought about it 24/7 and had plenty of nightmares and flashbacks and stuff. It was horrible. It was the beginning of a long journey that hasn't ended, yet. I still have a long way to go.

I told my full story once; to the police. I didn't tell it to my T, yet. But I told him a few details. And even though you could say it was extremely upsetting and maybe even retraumatizing, at least I knew afterwards that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Because if he knows about details, he could judge me, too. But he doesn't. And in the end, that helps me.

I truly believe that, if I wouldn't have gone to my T, or if I wouldn't have found Pandys, I would have ended up worse.

I believe that everyone should decide for their own whether or not to disclose. But I don't think any scientist has the right to tell survivors to shut up. We had a well-known legal doctor saying lately that therapy is doing more wrong than good, for survivors. He said that therapists make things worse by telling survivors that what happened was very bad. He said that CSA and rape is 'overrated' and stuff.

I think that this only adds arguments to the people who don't want to hear about all this and who are looking for excuses to keep it a taboo.

But again, I believe that it should be an individual decision and that everyone is different.

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Thank you guys for your replies! It really means a lot! Don't know what I'd do without you and your support :(

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  • 4 weeks later...

What an interesting thread!

Just to add from my own personal experiences: I am a rape survivor and a very wonderful therapist shared some wisdom with me. The act of telling itself can be extremely traumatic (I've had sessions similar to what has been mentioned here, where I felt overwhelmed etc.) because you ARE essentially re-living the trauma. However, HOW you tell and in what circumstances, and understanding the roles of the players involved is extremely important. For me it helped to envision myself taking the narrative role, so to speak, in reconstructing what happened (I have very unclear memories of much of it). In other words, I re-appropriated the story and reaffirmed myself at the same time in the safe place in which I was relating what happened. Turning the event into a fact of the past was painful, and in a lot of ways didn't take away the pain or the difficulty of dealing with the aftermath, but I think over time, practicing this strategy (which might not work for everyone) helped me come to terms with and lesson the effects the trauma has on my life now. I was able to firmly place the (unfortunately unchangeable) event in the past and focus on what I could change in the present and the future. (I realize that repetition runs the risk of becoming a memorized dialog, or of making the teller numb to what happened, so this can be tricky, I'm sure...)

In my case, I didn't speak about what happened for three days afterwards, at which point I went to the police, filed charges, went through a medical exam, etc. and called my parents (I was abroad at the time) all within a matter of hours. This left me utterly wrung out and numb, and for months I was in denial, not wanting to repeat the "telling" again. This went on for a year or so until I felt ready, and comfortable telling and seeking T. It wasn't until that point when I really began to heal.

Thank you everyone else for all your comments! I'm so happy to find such a supportive community!

Edited by Pinkie
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  • 1 month later...

To be perfectly honest about things, I do feel that there is something almost scopophilliac about this need that people apparently 'helping' have to wallow in all the delicious, juicy details about other people's trauma. I have shared my own stories (plural - I have been raped twice, two years apart) and both times told only two people - my mother and an ex-boyfriend. I felt no need to add details, I just mentioned the fact that the barest sketch of the circumstances. They were sufficiently intelligent not to force information from me, and sufficiently objective not to try to arouse in me feelings that I didn't have. I have never felt, and will never feel, broken or robbed of anything by these incidents. They are facts of life; I have no anger. And I certainly have no need to wallow in 'details'. I feel sure I can't be the only person here who shares these feelings. We are all different, and I am sure that what is healing for one, is poison for another.

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I've just had a conversation about this with my T. It was good to hear her say that there's no 'right' way, or 'right' balance to this. I knew as much, but I needed the confirmation.

For me, it's gone in little steps, and very slowly (infuriatingly slowly, most of the time). And most of it has been more to do with me engaging with what happened, than about me telling somebody else. But I feel like I'm a good way down my healing path now.

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with what was happening. But equally, I couldn't think of it, not the details, anyway. I so wanted to tell. I'd practice in my head for hours about what I could say, I'd gear myself up to say it...but I never managed it. I could never really imagine what would happen afterwards, though, even in an ideal world. I became a nervous wreck.

I had the opportunity in my teens to talk to a child psychologist about it, but as he could barely be bothered to remind himself of my name, let alone my case details, I couldn't disclose anything to him at all.

For ages, I couldn't think about it. Like literally, I'd try and think about it, and my mind would just shut off. I'd end up thinking round it, or more often than not, just switching off and zoning out completely.

By the time I was in my late teens I had every PTSD symptoms going, I was a mess, too paranoid to go out, never speaking to anyone, terribly agoraphobic. And I was getting psychosis with my depressive periods. I'd get totally fixated on little flashes of it, over and over again for days. Ugh. It was hard to tell what was real then. I spent a lot of time drinking it away. I cried loads, deeply and often. I think people knew that stuff had happened to me, but I could never admit any of it. I acted like the suggestion was almost funny. I was like this all through my twenties and early 30s.

When I was raped I tried to tell my mum. She didn't believe me. I didn't tell the police, I couldn't face it, and I assumed they wouldn't believe me either. I still regret this.

I saw psychs and MH staff periodically and accidentally but never admitted anything. They mostly acted like if I couldn't tell, then I was weak and silly, and that I deserved every bad feeling that I had. Ah, the caring profession......

Once a nurse asked me directly if anything had happened (I was haven't some trouble letting her do my smear). I was too shocked at being asked to tell her the truth. She was quite cross with me. Other girls, she said, have REAL problems. I felt for years that I'm missed an important opportunity here.

When I could think about it a little more, I started getting tics (saying No loudly, grunting, turning my head sharply) - the clearer the image, the stronger the tics were. I still get these, sometimes, but less so now. But it was important for me to get to this stage...

...cos the next one was actually being able to put everything (or at least, a lot of it) in the right order, in my head. I had some very bad MH episodes during this period, and for many months I felt completely obsessed and quite consumed by it. I really felt that that was all that was in me.

A couple of years ago I felt ready to get some help. I spoke to my pdoc - no details at all, just said that the CSA and R had happened.

Then I found PA! And read, and read, and read (I could hardly stop), and was totally overwhelmed by so many people trying to hard to work through their awful experiences. And I was more relived than I have words to express, to find that my feelings, my reactions, the things that had changed in me were not unusual at all. And I started posting, and received so much fantastic support. Honestly, this is what made the biggest difference to me.

Then I found a T. I've been going for about eight months now. I believe I have been lucky this time. I was very apprehensive at first, and distrustful. But I feel a thousand times more relaxed there now. My T knows my quirks. She knows never to touch me. She talks to me very clearly. She explains why she says things. She accepts what I tell her and never makes me feel bad or guilty about it. She looks for ways to move forward instead of dwelling on the past. She pushes me to be kind to myself, and teaches me how when I don't understand how this can done. she never compares me with anyone else. I needed all of this, but I didn't know that when I started seeing her.

First I talked about how I am now. And how I've coped so far. And then about the guilt. And then the anger. And sort of worked backwards, from the R to the CSA. And more recently, about other bad stuff that happened, that 'd not even thought of in that context before. If it's hard, I type it out and give it to her. Sometimes I give her posts I've made on PA. I think I'm finally able now to put the CSA away for now, which is a massive weight lifted from me, and inspires me to continue with T. I still have never told the gritty, revolting details, and I flit between thinking that I need to, that it's essential, and then thinking that it's unnecessary. If I ever choose to disclose, I will probably start by writing everything down and posting on here first, before sharing with my T. Actually, I think I'm starting to do this today....

I told a nurse, very recently. She was kind, and angry on my behalf. I had never thought that someone might react like that. If I did physical contact, I'd have hugged her.

I have no intention of telling anyone I know in RL. It's too late to tell my family now, and I think that just very recently, I've come to terms with this. I would never share it with anyone else. I can't think of a single reason why I would ever want to.

Edited by Wil
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  • 3 years later...
DaughterNoMore

It seems important to understand how we got where we are today, to be heard. At some point, it becomes retraumatizing to voluntarily put myself back there. I don't need endless psychoanalysis or talk therapy: I need hands on skills for living life today after what I survived & to learn that was in the past & how not to be a victim again in any way whatsoever. I need to learn how to be at peace & make room for the better life I deserve. I need to stop grieving for over what was & what I wished for, but wasn't. I still have a life. It's over even if it doesn't ever feel the over.  I'm not a hostage now. I need to to start over without that stuff I didn't ask for & im don't want to keep reliving it. I've had enough of it. There is no such thing as closure. I actually experienced what some might see as closure at my bpd/npd very abusive mom's suicide bedside. The truth is she was afraid of dying & knew this time she lethally miscalculated her way of manipulating, and who knows... If she had survived, I know nothing would have changed. I told the story of my upscale dysfunctional, abusibe family of origin in therapy sessions which I recorded & realized both therapists let me repeat myself ad nauseam & I was feeling worse and worse & kept asking for a focused treatment plan with skills to empower me again (I left home most my life & lived my own life, but had to return for medical care & thought they were better when they were actually worse and I was weak, easy prey). so, I escaped twice (and I developed trauma bonds.. I'm working on that). To the person who mentioned heart problems, I'm the poster child. For me, repeating my story only induces a quasi-flashback at this point & I understand how I got where I am. I now believe it is not helpful unless I have an "aha moment." Even then, I'm not sure how helpful it is cuz the facts are the facts & they were the facts of my daily life. I'm trying to be a survivor like I was before but this time, I don't seem to know how & want skills to take back what no one had a right to take from me. I'm not gonna give more to them & less to myself anymore even if they are only present in painful (that's an understatement) memories. Those memories are too present as it is. I want to learn to let go and live today. That's just how I feel. I respect people who feel otherwise & am open to rethinking my thoughts on this topic: thank you & sorry for any typos 

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  • 4 months later...
Guest Newlife78

Speaking to others, especially newer friends does not help me and certainly does not help our friendship. They distance themselves and seem to immediately take away any opinion of inner strength they thought I had. I lose ground quickly and one thing I dislike most when around others is them seeing me anything other then a strong independent leader. Not only that, all the hard work I've put into being a good person, an outstanding mom, a hard honest working employee, a sober human living an honest clean life is out the window. I'm suddenly viewed as someone with potential outburst, a possible drug habit, a flight risk, or worse; an abusive mother. Yes, I feel pain, hurt, sadness, but since I know where it's coming from I know it's not true to the moment. The moment, this moment is what I continually focus on. I'm constantly lifting myself out of that deep dark hole "they" held me in for so long. I'm not in hell anymore. I've even decided that if I ever successfully find a lover again I will never go into details of what once happened. They can't change it. They can't "save me". They can't get revenge. They can't make my pain go away. I don't think anyone can. I'm in a new state now. None of my friends know. My children don't know. And things are finally moving forward. I'm not rubbing my friends back as she cries for me late at night. We laugh, play with our kids, eat good food and say a happy loving goodnight early enough for me to go home and watch an episode of a favorite tv show. Life is so refreshing this way. I get more compliments about my strength and courage when people don't know why I'm strong and courageous. Yes, that in itself is a little sad. But trust me, I probably would have lost my kids to the foster care system if I kept trying to spread the word of surviving child abuse. Had I been a soldier whom came home after a bloody battle I'd be showered with care and seen as a true survivor. However, it is hard to explain myself when I have to walk away from conversations that are deeply connected to things I've experienced. I wish I could just find a mate I can tell I'm down and he fix me a warm cup of tea then kiss me on the forehead and say, "Tomorrow is a new day." That's what I tell myself everyday. Start everyday with a smile. Look at everyday as a chance to succeed at one more thing. Big or small. And if I fail, I will not blame it on the past. The past memories try to tell me they beat me down and took my soul. I will never stop looking for it. 

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  • 2 months later...

Telling the story is important in various aspects.

I will firstly start off with the basic fundamental principle of what would be seen as reasonable:

. If you do not tell your story how is one able to be heard. It can be a very sensitive time to disclose matters in relation to a survivor, however, survivors are the models of what can be achieved as far as recovery. It is understandable that there are strong survivors and weakened survivors. Weakened survivors just need more support and assistance with coming to terms with recovery. The strong survivors are the one who push back hard with regret because an injustice has taken place and in no was it acceptable at any point. Injustice is the very notion that is the driving factor in most cases. It is not the fault of the person who has endured silently the effects of unnatural incidents. Survivors need to tell the story to encourage others to progress and overcome the thought processes that entrap the person experiencing the effect of unnatural self blame and guilt. It is no easy task to action this. Therefore, others need that source of strength to draw on. 

.There are countless of unreported and unassisted cases. In order to assist in helping others, survivors need to share the story because it is more than relative to resolving those unassisted cases and those who seek recovery. The system and the processes have let them down in some form or way. Speaking up and telling the story is more powerful than what it appears. It raises awareness and understanding in grasping the true nature and extent of the real issue. It is understandable to be frightened by the consequences of this. Nevertheless, it has a bigger impact on the true picture at hand. It is not easy nor is it simple. 

I have told my story the first time and I am about tell the story a second time. I understand there is consequences as a result, however, telling the story gives courage and strikes fear towards those responsible for their actions that went undetected. Promote safety and wellness. Tell the story. 

 

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Guest SickGirl

I feel like a lot of it just depends on the individual. For some, talking through and remembering the full events of a past trauma can absolutely feel like reliving it. At least, it is for me.

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  • 6 months later...
frostylemon

I personally have never been able to reveal my full story, because of sensitive details and controversial decisions on my part. Revealing my past could destroy me. 
I crave the ability to talk about the abuse I suffered, but my long story is sordid and because of this website's well-intentioned policies, I cannot divulge any of it. Legally, I cannot go after my rapists without landing in hot water myself. Because I put chose to myself in morally "risky" situations, society says I deserved to be raped. 

So I buried it. I never talked about it. I still haven't talked about it. I went 5 years in bliss without thinking about the damage and suddenly I was afflicted by nightmares and crying spells, and flashbacks, and it's steadily eating away at me. While talking about the effects of the trauma instead of the abuse itself has many merits, I've still got this pent up feeling of needing to get it all off my chest. But I literally can't. And unless there are some significant cultural and legal shifts, I will never be able to.

So to those survivors who still have their voice, I think you should use it. Use it while you can, for all too many have been silenced by circumstance.

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