As I mentioned earlier, I am pretty disassociated. While I don’t think that my personality is totally splintered or anything, I do know that I tend (as in most of the time) to really not connect emotionally. Not to myself, and not to other people.
I don’t know if I’d have been this way no matter, or whether the abuse caused it. It is what it is though.
Add to that, I don’t have many memories of my childhood at all. I think that my mind, as a protective mechanism, issued some kind of order to the troops. “Hey, we’ve got a child brain on overload here. Batten down the hatches, and either bury it deep, or take an industrial strength eraser to it. Mayday, mayday, this is not an alert. Child is going to snap”.
In other words, I think there are some things that, to ensure survival, the brain just steps in, and applies a filter that it normally would not. When K and I talked about this, I likened it to a woman having a child, and how that if we could truly remember the feeling…not just the vague notion of “yes, I know it hurt”…if women could actually remember the pain of childbirth, then the human race would have probably died out a long time ago.
So, I’m really not sure that trying to push for any memories is a good thing to do. I think it is safe to say that after enduring molestation for 5 years, my brain has had a lot to sweep under the rug. I am not sure that it truly is in my best interest to try to remember.
As an aside, to clarify, no one is suggesting to me that I should. It’s just rather a quandary. How do you connect to feelings as part of the healing process if you have no feelings to remember?
More on that in later posts. For now, one with the memory
A bare minimum of my stepfather, and my stepfather’s brother were at the 4th of July parade. I’m sure my brothers, my mother my and sister were there too, but I don’t remember.
What I do remember is hearing my stepfather’s brother tell my stepfather with a real leering tone that I was going to be “built like a brick shithouse”. I can remember feeling really embarrassed…that feeling when your cheeks get hot and feeling really creeped out. I also remember wanting to just go away.
A final thing that I remember about that incident is what I had on. They were purple shorts and a purple and white striped tank top. I don’t know how old I was at the time, but I remember the clothes were made by Buster Brown, and that is a children’s brand, I am pretty sure.