I started counseling December 3, 2014. I’ve know since the 6th grade that I was sexually assaulted as a young girl. But It was fuzzy. I couldn’t remember much of anything. I told my guidance counselor, who then brought in my mother. She cried. A lot. Then she called my Dad, who asked me why I never told him. Then…..we never spoke of it again. I continued ti have night terrors. My depression and anxiety grew with me. Although I didn’t know that’s what it was. My mother took to calling me sensitive. Dramatic. My step father spanked me and grounded me every chance he got. I was all alone in the world and I hated myself. I’ve contemplated suicide more times that I’ve told someone I love them in my life. The raging feelings were to big for my body or my mind and at times I just knew that I was going to die. I finally cracked after meeting my wife….I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t happy. I had my first real panic attack and it hurt so badly. So i did it. I went to counseling. And it has gotten so much worse before getting better. I know who did it. I know why he hated me so much. I know why my mother is in denial. I know who my step father really is. And the worse part, is I’m the only one. I’m still battling. I am NOT Brave. But I WILL be.
— Lori Ann
Lori Ann,
You are absolutely brave. Admitting you needed help and going to counseling takes so much courage and bravery to do. The healing journey is very long and it is made longer by all of the year of feeling so alone. I hope you come to learn that you are beautiful inside and out and that the hatred and denial of others towards you is a reflection of them. I believe that healing is possible. I know that the journey is long and that it often feels worse before it feels better, but you’ve taken a huge step on the journey and you should be very proud of yourself. Take the journey one day at a time. Know that you are not alone. Light and love to you.
I have to ask is knowing better? Much of this story sounds very similar to mine. I mean I know it happened, in some way I always have, but recently it struck me out of the blue. I was raped, I believe repeatedly sometime between the ages of 4-8. Some details are so clear yet others so elusive. Sometimes I go crazy with the thoughts of how can I be sure it happened if I was so young. I remember it but often we remember things that happened when we were young differently then they did. Or in some ways do I just want it to have happened. As a way to explain away the years of depression, how I have always found my body a disgusting thing, why I have never been able to enjoy sex. I am terrified but often feel I need to know. So I ask is knowing better, remembering, being certain?