#csa healing

[welcometogodly]

i went to therapy today and didn't feel like shit. Fuck this faggot daddy for fucking me when I was young and i blacked out during it. i think but don't remember. i'm everything. he's nothing. I'm more than that traumaaaa bitch. did it affect every bit of me. YES. am i still that kid he fucked. HELL FUCKING NO. I have dreams of killing him. taking the breath out of his lungs. There's only so much peace you can give yourself. this life is cruel. he will live on and get to have his wife and kids BUT SO WILL I. FUCK HIM. I'm not the product of trauma. I'm the story I made after. there's so much power in storytelling. We are not the stories people fuck us into. We are the stories we fuck for ourselves. I fucked my path to where I am now. i fucked life, men, myself. I'm proud of it. Fuck the motherfuckers.

[welcometogodly]

"After fragmented memories of childhood abuse resurface, Noah breaks into their past abuser’s home to confirm the only memory he has, the room." - Unnamed Short I'm writing

I'm writing again after film my last short this month. Needed a space to talk pretty explicitly about what I've been dealing with this past year. I don't know if I will ever actually make this film. Writing this film has been very helpful.

I've been able to make a character that's not totally a carbon copy of myself and experiences so that's been nice. I also don't care to have any sort of sexual trauma depicted in this film I'm writing.

I care more about capturing the experience and atmosphere of CSA healing when these memories begin to resurface. I found myself driving a lot during dusk and dawn. I couldn't sleep, so I was ether asleep during the day or online at night. Beautiful sunsets and sunrises became pillars in my routine. As well as driving by my past abusers home and work. It's cringe but I felt and still feel this need to be closer to him. To somehow jog my memory, finally have the story of what happened, and have it be so clear I could believe myself. I have been trying to not drive by those places anymore and finally blocked him yesterday online.

Maybe I'll share a draft here sometime soon.

[welcometogodly]

I remember vividly how his hand felt on my shoulder through my uniform.

Big man hands, with fingers as thick as sausages curled around my growing bones. How the fat on his side would touch mine when we’d take a photo after a tournament. Me holding a gold medal.

Saying I love him used to remind me of how soft his hands felt on my shoulder. But saying I love him now reminds me of a body convulsing. Trapped in his love. Convulsing for love. My body is convulsing.

And I still sometimes tell myself it didn’t happen.

[welcometogodly]

I didn’t realize I’ve pictured this same black void before. Not having visual memories of csa is like being put in CSI episode you never wanted to be in

[welcometogodly]

Journal Entry 3.5.26

Last session my back and lower part of my body just went crazy. All I could do was arch my back and hope it stopped. Getting away from something. In my last EMDR session I felt a release after. I realized I could tell that motherfucker to leave. GO THE FUCK AWAY. I was the one keeping him around. I want so badly to know what happened to me. I want to know what everything means. If the stubble and breath I felt on my ear was real.  I feel like I have no control. He can just come and go as he pleases. 

Just like before. Just like before. Just like before. Just like before. Just like before. Just like before. Just like before. Just like before. 

When my therapist asked me if I could tell him to leave I refused. Instead, I made up an excuse for why I want him to stay. I loved him, he is my answer to what is going on with me. However, the more I sat with myself, the more I wished he’d leave.

My healing will not come from me kidnapping a ghost to tell me a story.

My body remembers, but my relationship with my body in the past has been difficult to say the least. So trusting it is not something that comes naturally to me. 

The more I struggle to remember these flashbacks the more my body refuses. It’s like I purposely stuck in this loop. Trying to figure out what’s wrong with me so I don’t end up knowing. The more I relax the more answers I get. I’m afraid of these answers. Telling him to leave scares me too. What if he leaves forever, and I never get my answers. 

Fighting keeps me sane. Fighting keeps me too busy to feel what has been done to my body.  Fighting keeps me in control. 

What I know right now is that control is pain. My struggle to get control of what happened to me is letting him come and go as he pleases. Flashbacks, dread and doom, physical sensations. 

 Freedom looks like overcoming him.  I do not need him anymore. 

I need my body back.  I need MY FUCKING BODY BACK. 

He’s not fucking me anymore.  He’s not fucking me anymore.  He’s not fucking me anymore.