Disassociation

How do I talk about this? 

One night a couple months ago, I told Brian I needed to speak with him about something.  I sobbed as I spoke to him about a secret I had alluded to before, but never knew what or if anything happened. I questioned what was even real.  I was in a state of crippling anxiety and sadness. I had developed fibromyalgia from stress and PTSD from not only my husband's near-death but something further back in the recesses of my mind.  All of this had flowed into my work life as well and I had to admit to my manager - I might need help with information on our EAP. I had been doing covert research each night and obsessing over minute details in an effort to jog my memory.  I was putting myself back into a place I never wanted to be again for the sake of obtaining answers.  Unfortunately, I still don't have them.  I may never.

I've had to share this with many people lately in an effort to explain my recent disappearance from my church, specifically. A place I loved.  A place that became a stranger to me for many reasons while I wrestled with this knowledge of childhood trauma that arose after 38 years. It has been incredibly painful.  My purpose is to recover memories, however horrible it may be, and if not, to find healing.

Let it be known,  have always had an excellent memory, I remember my mom having to leave me in the old apartment we lived in and I was probably one or two years old to move her car because we had heavy rains and flooding. I can even remember when my sisters were born when I was 4 years old, going to the hospital to visit them as preemies.  I have always been able to recall the smallest details, but I have lapses from one moment in my life.

It started sometime last year.  I was triggered.  I adore a good crime show, but this one I had been watching, brought back images of a time when I was 5, just turned 6 years old.  The visual spark or me was a man abducting a sweet knee-socked girl in a white dress in his late 70's brown sedan. I remembered the familiarity and was gripped with fear.

My parents took me to counseling at 5 years old because I was considered, "bossy," as it was called in the eighties, but now many call this ADHD.

Sidenote: Children with ADHD may have difficulty picking up on social cues, which can lead to being bossy or pushy. They may also have trouble relating to peers, making friends, or keeping friends. (Sounds like my entire life).

During this time, my parents were also in counseling at the same facility.  I didn't know this because, apparently, it was well-hidden from me and my siblings

I remember fragments of my visits there, one specifically, the defining moment maybe?  It was a celebration of my 6th birthday according to my counselor, I now recall was named Jim. My parents weren't there.  I remember I was left alone.  Why was a I left alone at a counselor at such a young age? Where was my mom? Where were my sisters? I'm sure Dad was probably at work....

Jim would play pick-up sticks with me in the upstairs attic room with low ceilings.  There we had sessions just past the narrow staircase in the buildt-in-1929 home where he and his wife and others had established a marriage and family therapy center. I read later that pick-up sticks are a type of play therapy used by many child counselors.  I preferred the colorful wooden sticks in their black, cylindrical box to the bucket of Lincoln logs which I always thought were bulky & primitive looking. Yeah, I had the eye for art/ design even back then. The carpet was brown & scratchy. He had on a flannel shirt that was red and navy, the flannel is so close to my face (what day was this?) he had bushy black hair even at 60 or so, and smelled musky. If I smelled that cologne now, I would know it, because it is one of the memories I chose to retain.

One day Jim said, let's go out to celebrate your birthday.  Things become hazy after that.  I remember being in his car.  A brown-toned vehicle much like my mom's Buick.  It may have been a Regal, a Chevy Caprice, a Cadillac sedan, I don't know. It had very light beige or white interior.  I remember the song, "Happy Together" by the Turtles.  Was it playing in the car?  Was it playing at my house on the old AM radio during my nap time? No clue. The song absolutely revolts me and fills me with terror to this day.

He buckled me safely into the seat behind him.  We drove to his house.  I remember it: a bi-level looking home in a nice area of New Albany, IN, where any child would be happy to grow up. Cozy; picturesque. I remember him stopping by because he needed to pick something up.  The something I remember was an extension cord? Why?  He reached over me with the white cord & placed it in the seat next to me. I don't remember going in the house. Did I go in there? How long was I gone?  

I remember either before or after the bizarre trip to his home, he took me to Zesto's for ice cream.  We sat at a concrete patio table up front where he doted on me (I don't remember the conversation) and I got a butterscotch sundae, because back then, they were my favorite. Now, I hate them.

I remember I told my mom.  I told them I didn't go in his house (i Really don't know though) My parents understandably freaked out, called the office and said they were never coming back because I was taken off the property and they "knew better." Jim was never reported. What did he do?

There are other reasons I know something happened that day. I feel intense fear and anxiety when I try to think what happened. I know that I had recurrent UTIs and redness (and didn't again until I was older and in a safe sexual relationship), that I was overly sexualized, that I danced around naked while neighbor boys looked in my open window (yes, at that same age) and knew of things had seen things I should not have at that age. Regardless, that day, I was in a grooming situation right under my parents' noses.

All of these situations and more explain my adolescence being fit-filled and awkward, my teenage years being dedicated to my church and learning to be a good girl, still the constant depression, anxiety, bouts of rage, over medicating via Psychiatrists, drinking excessively in my twenties, promiscuity and "zoning" myself out to my behavior.  I don't remember many painful things.  I have learned, what I believe, is to disassociate from situations that are too traumatic for me. 

So here we are, another stage of disassociation.  This time, I have literally dis-associated from the church family I was a part of. After much contemplation and mediation.

Why did I discuss my sexual trauma? Well, I wanted to be a more active member of my church.  I thought it would help me "stay busy" to forget things for the time being - but also, I DID want to be a part of things - and felt led to do what ever God asked of me. I felt that push. I already tried to use my gift of art to further the kingdom. I was seeking becoming a lay speaker too, which I had not voiced yet, because I was going to courses just to dip-my-toe in the water, so to speak, and see where I could be used.  Instead, I felt lost.  I felt no one saw me trying.  No one saw the effort and what gifts I have to share, not just talent, but spiritual gifts. The same people were being used over and over.  It felt like a giant clique and I became disillusioned.  All that was noticed,  instead, was my absence because I couldn't make it on a Wednesday night. I would go on Thursday for Bible study instead because the time was better for our family. Wednesday was like the prime knowledge day.  This is where people were getting super involved and I missed out. I was told Wednesday is the time everyone engages in in-depth study, gives testimonies and many prepare devotionals for the group. I was given details (like I didn't grown up in a very Bible-led Baptist church describing each item in great detail).

Lastly, I was shamed.  I have been shamed and told to "get over it" by several people and "go see your counselor then talk to me" by someone I held in the highest regard. Yes, sometimes I let those emotions run wild when I am deeply hurt, but that person's words (and tone) just victimized me all over again.  My husband doesn't know what to do right now, but at least he is supportive and agrees that things that have recently been communicated to me are absolutely unhelpful and wrong.

To end on a more positive note, I am happy to announce I found someone who believes me, other than Brian.  I was reading up on lost memories, fear and disassociation. I found someone who offered to meet with me when I responded to his website about trauma and disassociation. I told him briefly of my situation and how his site was very informative. He (yes, I hate male counselors) is a Harvard educated Psychologist and researcher who still teaches at Harvard, consults in court cases, has a Youtube channel, etc. He is also named Jim. 

I am really going for it aren't I? But I am definitely ready to heal.  I want to live without nightmares, terrors and this deep fear I cannot shake. After 38 years, I discovered, I am still living as a scared 6 year old and I never knew.