Putting it into Words [TRIGGERS]

*** TRIGGER WARNING ***

This goes into much more specific and disturbing detail than my last post of this nature.  Please, please take care in reading this. If you’re in any doubt about how much you may or may not be triggered, click here instead.  P. xxx

Earlier, bourach at Conversations with my Head wrote an incredibly brave and personal post on the sexual abuse to which she was subjected at the hands of her father.  Although it’s utterly heart-wrenching, bourach’s usual eloquence and bravery in facing her horrible experiences comes through, and she deserves much credit as always for that.

‘Armed’ with both my ‘new’ memories, and the ones I already had, I had been thinking for a while about trying to do something similar, but had been deliberately avoiding it.  bourach has finally inspired me to get my arse into gear and do it.

I don’t know what C would say about the hitherto avoidance.  Is it good that I psychologically dodge this bollocks when I’m away from him (so as I don’t end up gaining an Art degree from the portfolio of my stomach, or have a go at slitting my wrists again), or should I be working my way towards finding the words to express it to him in session?  I don’t know.  Who cares?  I’m ruminating on it anyway, so why not try to put it into words…even if they are only written ones for now.

I’ve been able to say the word ‘rape’ a few times to A, and once, as you may know, to my in-denial mother.  Last week I think I even said the words ‘forced fellatio’ to A, which is a first.  Hurrah?  I still can’t imagine saying these words in therapy, though, which is where they need to be said.  A may be able to support me, but he can’t therapise me.  Or maybe he can, what the fuck do I know – but I shouldn’t think it’s his primary function in my life.

Is it because C is a man that I find expressing myself to him about this so difficult?  Do I feel all the more defiled in front of him because of some inherent (and, I assure you, unconscious) anti-feminist bullshit that’s been planted in my head?  That I’m not meant to be a debased whore in front of a man…that I’m meant to be pure?  Maybe it’s the stupid fraternal-paternal transference bullshit – don’t want my nice Daddy-friend-person to think of me as the tramp that I think I am.

Would it be any different with a woman?  I think I might be able to say rape, but I’m not sure how much further I’d get than that.  But yeah, maybe in front of a woman, in front of whom my sense of defilement would seemingly appear to matter less, I could discuss this bollocks in the most literal of terms.

Detached.  Aloof.  Depersonalised.  Third person-esque.  It’s all a technicality.

I recognise, therefore, that in the long-term sense this is why C really is the best person for this stuff; it can never be so emotionless and abstracted because of our shared relationship and my attachment.  Ha.  The beauty of the ‘long-term’.  Aside from the very real logistical difficulties of that – in the sense that I will stop seeing C in June or July – the reality is that in the short to medium term this is the most horrific, unbearable thing that I can imagine doing.  I do not want to relive this stuff.  The sense of shame and utter debasement of it all paralyses and sickens me.  Whore whore whore slut slut slut bitch slut whore tramp cunt.

As bourach rightly said in her post, the recall of the sensations is some of the worst of it.  The one that is my current psychic fixation is the terrifying choking mechanism of when he inserted his penis into my mouth.  Can’t breathe, can’t breathe…tiny hands push his legs, trying to move him, scared of choking to death…but he seems to like that – back and forth it goes, deeper and deeper in my mouth, harder and harder.  Can’t breathe.  Please stop.  Tears.  Not sure if they’re from being upset or the physical problem of choking.

And finally it ends, but not before he squirts a horrible drink right down the back of the throat.  Oh help…I’m gagging…gag gag gag…but he moves back, it’s out…thank you God…spit spit spitWipe it away at the corners of the mouth.  Something between teeth…one of those strange hairs the eyes were faced with when he was doing the choking.  He closes his trousers…walking away now.  Safe.  Safe.

Fuck.  I feel violated and physically sickened all over again.  What is striking is that I feel choked again, just remembering / writing, even though there’s nothing physically making me feel that way now.

I feel the sensation(s) so strongly; the physical ones, the mental ones.  The gagging, the terror, the utter bewilderment, the pain of being forced to stand at the angle I was.  My back hurt, my legs hurt.  I remember my eyes being about level with the top of his pubic hair.  In every other way, though, although the first person sensations are so completely and thoroughly mine, the visuals of this are all third person.  The man is my uncle, and the little girl is me.  But I’m watching this from elsewhere – from an angle not even physically possible in the environment that this particular incident (and others) took place.  It’s like a vile pornographic film on loop inside my traitorous bloody mind.

Oh, and then there’s rape.  I didn’t know that word at the time, even though I did have a rudimentary knowledge of sex.

Incidentally, a couple of people have asked me – just in the course of silly conversations in which friends sometimes engage – how I found out about sex.  I always said, truthfully, that I really didn’t remember, and I still don’t.  But, I now ask myself, could this abuse have ‘informed’ my tiny mind?  I don’t know.

Anyway.  Rape.  I was about to say that, officially, that’s where the penis is inserted into the anus or vagina without consent, but I see that it apparently now includes oral penetration too.  Um…yay?  It’s a good thing, I think, but it’s hard to feel anything approaching cheer in this subject matter.

But let’s go with my original, uninformed interpretation.  Thank merciful God, there was never any anal rape – not that I can recall, at any rate.  But there was certainly vaginal penetration.  Oh yes.

I feel suffocated as I type this.  Literally.  God.  Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.  There’s that old can’t breathe again.  This time for different reasons.  I see him there, on top of me, crushing my small body.  And the pain…oh, the pain. [Wincing now]  It hurts it hurts it hurts…please, God, stop the pain.  Won’t be bad again if you just stop it.  Can’t breathe…pain…gasp for breath…he goes in and out, didn’t even know there was anything ‘down there’ to go into before…but it hurts [Wince wince wince] it hurts so much…please stop

What are these noises he makes…gasp gasp pain pain…why does he move like that…what is this about…it hurts…he sounds like he is hurt too, every time he moves he makes those weird noises…why…what…

Very loud noise now…[he arches his back]…’down there’ where he put it in, it feels strange along with the pain, like there’s water in it…pain…gasp…oh God oh God why has he fallen on top of me…can’t breathe, can’t breathe…is he dead…gasp gasp…oh thank you God…he’s moving, onto his honkers…it’s out…relief relief relief…breathe breathe breathe

Pain still…something oozing…what…don’t know what is happeningoh good he’s putting his trousers back up, maybe he will get something to help the pain?  Why is he sweating, why are his cheeks red like that….pain pain…OH GOD BLOODwhat what what??!!! Pain, breathe, blood…and white stuff, pink stuff…it’s there, with the blood…Oh God what is it…he stands up.  “Pull your pants up Pandora, and put your skirt back down,” he says [something like that], “there’s a good girl.  Then come back inside.  You’re OK.”

But not OK…it hurts…crying…always was crying….he’s leaving…cry…hurt…breathe.  Dress.  Follow him outside…walking is hard.  Aow…

On both of these occasions he was waiting for me outside / round the corner.  If I was under his charge, I presume that it would have looked suspicious if he was suddenly spotted wondering around without me.

It hurts.  It hurts.  Physically.  Mentally.  All my nerves conspire against me like they did when I was experiencing akathasia in January.  It is so real, so overwhelmingly and profoundly fucking real, and so unbearably now.  It wasn’t then, it is now. Now.  Now.

I can’t write this anymore.  I’m sorry.

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29 thoughts on “Putting it into Words [TRIGGERS]

  1. Yes dear I hear you and I share that physical pain with you. That choking feeling, not being able to breathe being pinned down the semen the total confusion. Taste smells they all go with it. You are very, very brave to have written this today, as has bourach. I know that when I wrote one of mine that I believe I blogged as well, the physical aspect of it was surprisingly vivid. But putting it down here is a brilliant start. I would always write my stories and give them to old T. For some reason now I can talk the fragments can tell their stories. But still, it takes her help to pull many of the words out of me. And I have Ben doing this for a long long time. Feel your power. Feel the force in your truth. Feel the freedom of letting out some of that toxic shame. you know Splint is here. x

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  4. A heart-breaking read. It made me cry (testament to both the evocitive nature of your skilled writing AND the horrifying ordeals youwent through).

    But very, very courageous to write–so in that sense thank you very much for sharing.

    Be safe
    Kate

    • I’m sorry I made you cry 😦 Thank you for the kind words, though.

      I know it’s you that keeps nominating this blog for these awards, my dear. Naughty! But much, much appreciated – thanks for your support 😀

      P xxx

  5. Oh, Pandora. It’s immensely brave of you to write this. My stories are nowhere near this, and I struggle with even writing them. Please be careful, be safe. I’ve found some backlash when I’ve written what I’ve needed to say. Just be safe. There are always people about if you just need to have someone to be there with you. Many hugs. You’re in my thoughts tonight.

    • Hugs and thanks my dear, both for your comment(s) here and for your supportive tweets. It means a lot. I’m safe, and thankfully A is here at most of the worst times. The rest of the time I have my wonderful virtual friends 🙂 Thank you so much – don’t know what I would do without Twitter and you folks on it.

      Love Pan x

  6. I admire the courage you have to share this. Very difficult memories for sure. I too struggle to overcome experiences of sexual abuse. I hope you have good skills in soothing your emotional pain at this time. Stay strong.

    • Thanks Stacy. The soothing thing isn’t really happening for me at the minute, if I’m honest, but I hope it’s something that comes in time, with continued explorations of myself and my past. I’m fortunate to have a very attentive partner…and my multitude of online friends are great too 🙂 So I’ll get back.

      Thanks for the comment and for the link on your blogroll – great to have you on board 😀

      Pan x

  7. Wow, intense post. I’m working on the same issue with my therp. It is her agenda and she seems to be good at doing this sort of work. I’ve had a few bad therps, even had one who wanted to have sex with me.

    • I’m glad that your present psychotherapist is good at working through this difficult stuff with you, but I’m outraged to hear about the others, especially the one who tried to take advantage. Fucking arsehole! I don’t know how big a problem this is, but I’ve heard about quite a few cases. Here in the UK the problem isn’t helped by the shocking lack of regulation of therapists, though I think there are moves to improve this. Fingers crossed anyway.

      Anyhow, I’m glad your with someone much more professional now. Thanks for commenting and sharing your experience, and for the blogroll link 🙂 Much appreciated.

      Take care

      Pan x

  8. And now it is morning again, and now is all there is.
    You noticed your breathing, heart rate and sweeting as you wrote, and I too as I read.
    Add on our fives senses and that is all we have with which to know the world.

    In your world now, focus on the person who most embodies the physical qualities and skills you want, place yourself alongside her/him and imitate them – how to they breathe, what is their posture, how do they walk, what is the tone in their voice when they speak, what is the range of emotions they show on their face? Those things that make up their confidence, effectiveness and attractiveness. Practice their skills. You trust them, be with them in situations that normally you can’t handle. When your anxiety/ panic/ fear grows you’ll have no choice but to imitate them in order to come through!

    You may be preoccupied with feelings and thoughts, but the answer is practice, practice, practice at navigating social spaces.

    (C made a not too successful effort to get you to do breathing exercises in moments of panic – the point of course is to breathe correctly 24/7 – then the overreaction never arises in the first place!!!)

    • Good advice, I suspect, as ever. I will do my best 🙂

      In particular I like the idea of trying to embody someone I trust. In an ideal world, of course, such a step wouldn’t be necessary, but for now I think it is. Reintegrating that emulation of another with the self no doubt comes in time, with – as you say – practice of being in the moment.

      Thank you as ever for your support Nick 🙂

      P x

  9. Your so brave to write this, I hope it has helped, it’s all i can say no words of wisdom just saddened that there is so much evil out there and someone could do this to you.

    • Thanks Mags. What I find most sad about this is that it’s actually far from the worst story of sexual abuse I’ve heard about 😦 But we can only deal with our own experiences, so I suppose there’s not much point in making comparisons. Whatever the case, I’m very grateful for your support. Hugs to you xxx

  10. yes, very very brave and full of courage, this must have been indescribably hard to write, but I hope in time, it helps you somehow x

  11. Pandora – how awful to be experiencing this now as it happened then. Truly awful. I think you are very brave to write this, it is good to make a start at expressing how it feels even if that feels counter-intuitive. Thinking of you, love and strength, xx

    • Thanks Sky – my sense was that it was probably worth something of it all out, even if it’s still not the kind of thing that can be dealt with verbally at the minute, If I have some of it clear in my own mind, maybe it helps some of the words flow, rather than an awkward, depersonalised silence. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not even necessary, but we’ll see what happens.

      Thanks for everything.

      Hugs and love

      Pan xxx

  12. Oh my dear sweet girl, I wish I could switch this off, make it not happen. Stop it, stop it. STOP IT. It shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t know these feelings, these horrendous sensations. The past and the present shouldn’t mingle and become one. It shouldn’t have happened and it shouldn’t happen now.

    Please take care of yourself. Lots of love and hugsxxxxxxxxxx

    • So true. So true. It’s so unjust…so criminal. And yet, in a horrible twisted way, so fucking normal. It’s ridiculous.

      I wish I could give you a big hug. You deserve it.

      (E-)Hugs and love xxxxx

  13. Reading with horror, appalled at the evil done to you, wanting to do something, somehow, to put it right … and knowing that this kind of evil can never be put right, only ever, I guess, put behind somehow … and hoping that somehow, in the writing, in exposing this darkness to the light of day, you’re able to find a way forward…

    … and if that reads like waffle and bull, I suppose it is… but I hope it’s better than silence because silence isn’t golden, silence is death, speaking and writing are life, and LIFE, my dear, is what I cry out for, for you. But for him: death; and I want to kill the evil bastard for you. I suppose that as a Christian I’m not supposed to say things like that, but there are times when such things must be said.

    Sending my love, as always. xx

    • …wanting to do something, somehow, to put it right…

      The fact that you care is enough 🙂

      But for him: death; and I want to kill the evil bastard for you. I suppose that as a Christian I’m not supposed to say things like that, but there are times when such things must be said.

      Ah, thank you my dear. I don’t necessarily think such thinking is un-Christian; the acts that precipitate such thoughts, however, are. I don’t hate him or resent him particularly, but if I thought for a second he was even thinking about similar towards another child, I could well see myself becoming violent. For now, I’ll stick with vigilance.

      Waffling now, sorry. Lots of love and hugs to you hun. xxx

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