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Christmas therapy woes

It’s Monday. Therapy day. I’ve already tried to cancel. But Sienna can’t see me on Saturday. So if I don’t go tonight then there’s no therapy this week and I can’t tell if that’s a blessing or not.

Here’s the issues:

I feel a bit unwell. I had a stomach bug Thursday Friday and Saturday. So I am a bit up and down with my energy levels and my tummy issues.

I can’t decide if my current tummy issues are still the end of the bug ( which seemed totally gone from Saturday afternoon) or my usual upset tummy I get lately on Monday – let’s call it ” Therapy Tummy” 😁

I am emotionally EXHAUSTED. My body is still reeling from last week’s bodywork and trauma release.

I can feel how ready for this Christmas break I am. As much as I don’t like the disruption, I think I need some down time.

The trouble is, to get downtime, I also have to wrestle with the attachment/separation anxiety. Not that I have much choice- Sienna is taking the break whether I like it or not.

I need the break from therapy but not from Sienna. Can we not just have a day out somewhere together??? *Pouts*

Back to today… I am breaking under the strain of emotions this 2 week holiday is inducing.

The separation anxiety is there, yes. But it’s made so much worse by the rage and jealousy I feel over her daughters, who get as much as their mum as they want.

And big feelings drain me.

Rage and Jealousy and pettiness are not nice qualities to admit to. I understand that they’re just emotions and pretty young ones at that.

I guess it’s facing up to your own shadow side- that we are capable of not being very nice sometimes, or at least of thinking or feeling not so pleasant things.

And admitting my level of need, well you’d think I’d be more comfortable with that by now, but nope.

Though, it’s not particularly need that’s fuelling me just now. It’s horrible yucky plain old jealousy and inadequacy.

I really need to hear that our relationship is deep and meaningful and it matters to her.

I really need to feel her love for me.

I really need to feel our relationship as a real thing. ………………..

I really need to feel that I’m not less than her daughters… There, I said it.

I suppose the pain is knowing that she wants to be their mum. She doesn’t want to be mine.

She wants to be with them at Christmas, she doesn’t want to be with me.

They’re successful, I’m a fucking mess.

They’re a few years younger than me but still within the same decade, with the exception of one who is like 11 years younger.

And I wonder if I just look pathetic and pitiful compared to them?

Sienna’s already said that they’ve not had the upbringing I have and they don’t know the half of it ( ie how shitty a start some people have) She’s told me they’re far from perfect. She’s told me all families argue and have their issues. She’s told me that I probably have an idealised idea of what the perfect mother looks like – inferring that she is very much not a perfect mother who spends all her time cuddling her children and baking cookies and having heartfelt chats over cocoa. It’s far more normal and less emotionally intense than I’d imagine.

Because the truth is, her kids got all the intensity and heartfelt love and reassuring they needed in childhood – u know… When you’re supposed to get it. And now they have an adult relationship with her, which is probably more friendship based and “lighter” than the intense motherly attention I constantly need.

But still, the bottom line is, she’ll be with them not me.

And the pain this is all inducing in me is draining.

And I’m caught between wanting to runaway, close myself and my feelings down, close Sienna out -probably partly as punishment ( that she wouldn’t even feel or care about anyway)

And staying close, getting as much of her as I can before she leaves to be with the people she loves best.

Fuck this therapy shit.

Posted in blogging, dissociative identity disorder, Girl blogger, health, journal, lifestyle, mental health, mental health awareness, repressed memories, therapy, trauma, traumatic memory, Uncategorized, Wellbeing

Traumatic Amnesia

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Fear and Self-loathing comes fast on the heels of talking about sexual abuse memories or suspicions or flashbacks or whatever the fuck my brain thinks it’s doing.

I am ashamed of all of it.

The only reason I am writing this, documenting this utter shit-show, is that maybe someone will read some day and it will help them with their journey through amnesia but sort of wondering, thinking, feeling like sexual abuse happened but don’t have concrete memories of it.

I’m being upfront here. I am being honest when I tell you that I have no idea where the journey is taking me or how it ends.

Will I ever get my memories back? Partially even?

Will I explore my suspicions to death and never get an answer? – The worst outcome!

Will I explore it all, and come to the conclusion that sexual abuse was made up in my mind for some reason that I am not aware of? Is it the product of an over-active imagination or of things I’ve absorbed from tv and what I’ve read… I am very intuitive – could I have picked up other people’s stories sub-consciously and adopted them as my own experiences?

Are my experiences the result of a brain somehow wishing it had happened, so that I could validate the extremely traumatised parts of me… and excuse as to why I’m so broken at times?

Is it for attention? A need for pity?

Or will I find out that Yes it happened?

I don’t know.

Tonight, I do not know why any of this is happening to me. And tonight, I feel utter rage. At myself.

I hate my stupid brain. I am crawling with shame that I could ever think that abuse happened?

Why am I SO set on uncovering something there is NO concrete evidence for?

Why won’t my stupid brain give me peace? Let me just forget. LET IT GO!!

I want to let it go so badly. I am bored of it, sick of it. My brain feels tired from all the searching within for answers. Desperately trying to remember something, anything that can shed light on why sometimes I feel so much like there’s been sexual abuse in my childhood?

I can’t let it go. Even though I want to. My brain just churns it over and over but I never get an answer.

On Monday night after my session where I’d been so dissociated and feeling the full force of the fragmentation, I had this moment in the car, a flash image of me kicking a steel wall and shouting “ give me my memories back! GIVE THEM TO ME!!!”

Because it feels like I just have this steel wall that Donald Trump would be proud of, that is keeping me out from the missing pieces.

And I am furious.

I want my memories back.

I say I’m ready. I feel ready to know. I feel ready to deal with whatever comes my way. But I’m not. I know I’m not.

Because as ready as I feel… every-time I get a very real-feeling flashback or nightmare or partial (maybe) memory, I freak. I dissociate and I feel like I’m breaking and I need a lot of support from my therapist.

So, as ready as some parts of me are to start dealing with this shit-show, clearly I’m not as ready to cope with the outcome of knowing as I want to be. And maybe that’s why the steel wall remains.

I know I am saying different things in this post. I start by talking about disbelieving it ever happened and now I’ve reverted back to talking about knowing there’s a steel wall keeping me out from whatever the fuck is behind it.

Are you as confused as me?

What I don’t understand is this – I don’t CARE if it happened. If it happened and I didn’t remember.. then whatevs, if it isn’t affecting me then it doesn’t matter.

But this sort-of half remembering bullshit is driving me insane. That’s what’s hurting me.

I get why a brain would make you forget terrible things, but what’s the purpose of it letting you semi, sort-of know?

I am terrified that I am wrong about it all. I am terrified I’m right. I can’t win.

But I am more terrified of what it means about me as a person if I eventually find out that I’ve been wrong about thinking I’ve been sexually abused in childhood. The shame of being wrong, of leading people to support me and feel sorry for me when I have lied the whole time, makes me want to rip my own face off!

The shame is big enough to silence me. The shame is what makes me try to stuff it all away and forget about it. Because….. what if I’m wrong about it all…. What if it NEVER happened?


I had an interesting conversation with someone on Tuesday who’d read my blog and wanted to share her experience and corroborate what I was remembering as it was things that happened to her too.

The details she shared and the things I told her and she was able to say “yes,that’s a thing”. Gave me SO much overwhelming relief.

All I could think was “ THANK GOD! I am not mad, what it happening to me is normal (within the context of trauma and amnesia) and what I am remembering is something that happens in child abuse.”

I felt almost giddy with relief, excitement seems like the wrong word but I feel a rush of energy and the heavy black feeling of no knowing, not understanding left my chest – a weight so oppressive that when it lifted I felt an almost happy weightlessness.

I felt utterly validated.

It’s not that people around me doubt my experience. On the contrary, people seem to believe 100% that I am showing signs of repressed child abuse.

But without concrete memories or evidence, I have real trouble believing myself. How can this be real? How could this happen? Who could have done it? Who had access to me? Who knew about it? Are they still alive?

So, with the person’s validation, I felt like I had permission to believe myself, that I had a sort of proof… I had some information that pertained to circles of abuse.

I text my therapist to tell her what I’d learned. She asked how I felt? That it felt big to her?

I told her it was huge. I told her I felt huge relief, amongst a gamut of emotions.

And then I dissociated. Big time. I became young and vulnerable and paranoid that I couldn’t trust anyone – my therapist included… especially my therapist… that I was in danger. If I told “they” would know and they’d come get me.

“Who is they?” My therapist asked.

“ I don’t know… the people…” I said. It was hard to find the words, hard to find the trust to tell Sienna what I was scared of and who I was scared of because adult me was still watching this unfold and was remaining sceptical and aware that I would sound paranoid and like I was losing touch with reality.

My therapist offered me a session for tonight. But I couldn’t get there.

I really wish I could have because today I’ve gone full circle and am back to doubting myself and feeling shame and hate for myself.

I decided today that none of it happened. I am a liar and an attention seeking weirdo who wishes she’d been abuse to give herself validity for why she’s a fuck up.

Sienna text me and asked how I was today. I told her I didn’t know. Because I didn’t know.

I don’t know how I am feeling. That’s the truth.

Except that I feel exhausted with not knowing the truth of me.

And the shame of not knowing if this thing really happened, makes it hard to live in my own skin.

Sienna reminded me that we have a check in tomorrow morning.

I took the opportunity to tell her “ I don’t want to talk about the abuse stuff anymore. IT didn’t happen. Don’t let the parts talk about it anymore.”

Sienna agreed we could pull back from it.

Part of me felt disappointed that she’d let me. And part of me sees it as proof she doesn’t really believe me either.

The part of me that is fronting right now is a protective but slightly abusive part. Who is utterly furious with all the parts and how much we’ve openly talked about the abuse stuff. As far as she’s concerned, there’s not concrete memories, no proof, therefore it didn’t happen.

She also knows the young parts won’t stop talking about it and showing Sienna how affected they are by it and the only way to silence them is to get Sienna to do the silencing. Get her to not believe them. The shame of that will silence them for good.