Flash
Trigger Waring: If you, or anyone you love, has experienced domestic or sexual violence of any kind, this blog post might be hard to read and process.
*deep breath
I said I was going to do it. I said I was going to rip this bandaid off and talk about what I’ve lived through. So here we go.
*one more deep breath
I’ve decided that I am not going to unravel the tale of my life in chronological order. I am going to write the piece of my story that is on my heart when it is on my heart. I’m not over thinking this, remember?
So we are going to start this journey in 2015. I’m 25 years old. I’m one year into my marriage - My good christian marriage to my good christian husband and I am his young christian wife. I keep the house tidy and I serve him a hot meal for dinner every night. I’m doing everything right. I’m living the way I’m supposed to, the way God wants me to… so why am I so unhappy?
No it’s more than that… I’m turning hollow. I’m not ok. And I don’t know why.
I’m walking my dog and I’m talking to God and I’m asking why. “Why is everything so hard?”
I used to be so gregarious. I used to make friends so easily. I used to have a fervor and a love for living… but I don’t know that person any more. Where did she go? What happened to her?
For years I’ve been feeling an odd struggle inside me- a struggle to just get through my daily life. And the more time goes by the harder and more confusing that struggle is. I’m having trouble connecting with people. I’m not as open and warm as I used to be and I don’t know why. “What is wrong with me?” Why do I react to my husband with so much anger and fear when he tries to be close to me? “Did he do anything wrong? Am I crazy?” I’m working so hard to maintain… but what am I maintaining? Sanity? Normalcy? A facade? “What happened to me? Am I broken?” There is an anger in me that glows and simmers like hot coal. But why? Why am I angry? Who am I angry with? “Am I mad at you, God?”
I’m walking my dog and I’m talking to God and I’m asking what happened to me.
And *flash* A hand up my skirt.
There it was.
*flash* His body pinning me down. My college boyfriend.
It’s like I stepped on a grenade.
*flash* Panicked. Locking myself in the bathroom.
I stop dead in my tracks *flash* as I watch a series of memories *flash* play out in rapid succession *flash* in my minds eye.
*flash* He whispers “ you like that don’t you” while I cry and whisper no.
*flash* I’m forced on my knees. *flash*flash*flash*
“Oh my God” is all I can think to say to myself.
I struggle for breath. I begin to shake my head. No. No, I don’t want these memories-a habit I’d formed years ago-repression. Survival.
But I don’t repress this time. Not this time. This is my answer. This is why.
This is why I’m not who I used to be.
This is why everyday life is so hard.
This is why I feel both hollow and angry all at once.
I sit down on the road. There is no side walk and I don’t care. My dog winning in protest. I don’t care. I’m not the open and warm person I used to be because of this.
Oh my God.
It’s because of him. A boy I dated in college.
Oh my God.
So this is what happened.
Oh my God.
This is what he did to me.
Oh my God.
I was walking my dog and talking to God and my life changed forever. I will never be the same.
I was walking my dog and I was talking to God and now absolutely everything is different.
*This is a story about PTSD. And it’s a story about dissociative amnesia. The events I experienced in college at the hands of a boy were so traumatizing that my brain simply turned the memories off. This can be a survival tactic of our brains. While I lived for 5 whole years not knowing what happened to me, I knew something was wrong. While I might not have had access to the memories in my mind, I felt it in my body every day. I was not ok and I knew it.
This fateful day, on a walk with Rooster, it all came back to me.