(Trigger warnings for abuse)
I am a trauma survivor, or at least I believe I am. I know over my years of being in the world my go to strategy has been to box up anything which would give me paralysing fear. I would then stack the boxes neatly in a locked room at the back of my mind. This realisation that I have a room at the back of my mind reminds me of the description several people who discuss their Dissociative Identity Disorder (whom I have come to admire) describe their headspace.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, there is a room filled floor to ceiling with boxes labelled with warnings but no more. I can no longer remember much of my childhood, maybe those memories are stored in those boxes. I’m not sure it is normal to forget much of your childhood, replace what was there with a vision of an idyllic fantasy. Periodically, the room at the back of my mind starts to shake and the steel door gets hot. Somewhere I hear the caution alarms sound. I instinctively feel anxiety rise, dreading the idea of addressing the emotions which lie there.
I am aware I survived incidents of sexual abuse by people I knew and someone I didn’t know. What Do I do remember is in perfect recall of bits of what I must have seen. When I was first abused by a stranger there are the vivid memory of the State Troopers gray trousers with the yellow stripes down the sides and the brilliantly shined shoes. The smell of stale tobacco and alcohol breath. The fragments of memories I don’t have answers for. I’m not sure what some of them are, but I can guess.
I don’t trust what my mother has said as she is still very very angry at my Dad. I am angry too, for all the times he let me down and failed me. How he pushed me away while getting close to my brothers and my half sister. That anger is locked in one of those hundreds of boxes in the room at the back of my mind. I have longed for a close family relationship with the people I am genetically related to. I have that with my little brother. I am however, 3,500 miles away now. I have nephews I will never get really close to. I was hurt and I ran to a foreign country. At times I feel quite alone.
I do worry as I am approaching 60 that I may need to resolve what’s in all of those boxes. I know I am running out room for the boxes. I used to deal with just depression, medicated and coping. I now have a really stunning case of anxiety. Which is sometimes paralysing. I have so much stuff I want to do and when I get a an anxiety attack it wastes time.
I am sorry I am partially broken, but being me, has led me to all the interesting things I have done in my life. I never thought I would be involved in a National Organisation, meeting with politicians, in the Houses of Parliament. I may sometimes get all wrapped up in my own pity. I don’t know why my life has gone the way it has. I am not happy to be physically and mentally disabled. It has made me hard working, hard on myself and very very driven. I may never empty those boxes in the room in the back of my mind. I may never do it. I know I have to make a conscious decision to keep moving. If you find a way to get rid of the boxed emotions, get in contact. I have a major job for you.
Well, for now, it’s lights out. Cya again soon.