I didn't want to write this. I didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to think of it. Still don't. Master of Avoidance, that's me. But I've been deeply numb since a bit before the events on Thursday morning. Actually, more than anything, this is an explanation of why those events occurred. Why I wanted to harm so much in the first place.
I found a repressed memory. I don't get many of those. I've remembered the majority of my abuse for the duration. I can tell you most details about my abuse as a kid. It's the majority of my clear memories. I don't remember much outside it. My whole life is kind of fuzzy.
My rape was different. I remembered it, but not the months following it. It was around Halloween when I was raped, October/November the year I was fifteen. I remember almost nothing from then until that summer. I can tell you I was very numb for most of it. I can tell you that's when I switched schools, something I'd set in motion in August. I can tell you I went to class, and smiled and laughed and talked. I can tell you I told no one. I can tell you I didn't cry. I can tell you I felt nothing. But that's all. Almost no distinct memories.
Until now.
Now I have remembered something about those months. And I'm not sure what to do with it.
I can remember a series of memories that I didn't have two weeks ago. I didn't get them through a flashback. It was just that they were suddenly there, where before they hadn't been.
But I remember now.
I had a miscarriage in March of that year. Around twenty or so weeks after my rape.
I'm not sure what to do with this. I know I should feel something, but I'm far too numb for that. I've reverted back to the numbness from those months, you see. It was as though I saw the memory, and the numbness slammed down, like a visor on a helmet. I'm pretty high functioning, even with numbness. And I don't want this numbness to leave. Because when it does, I'll have to feel. And I'm not okay with that. I didn't feel then, why should I now? Oh, I felt the pain. But there was no sadness. No anger. (There's never anger.) Just tamped down panic. Like packed flour, too stiff to stick to you. It's still there, but it doesn't really affect you. That's all I had.
I don't want to feel now. I can't deal with it. Everyone has a breaking point, and I've found mine. Mine was the blood staining the bathtub one night in March when I was fifteen. I cleaned up, afterwards, so there was no trace of what had happened. I cleaned up, and I went to school.
I've told my therapist, before anyone asks. We talked about it today, actually. I went dead numb in there. Couldn't think, really. Certainly couldn't feel. Entombed in iron. And I dropped my defenses, and let her see it. She hasn't seen me like that before.
I've been fighting to get back to my previous state of numbness all day. It's easier to function there than here.
I'm sorry to write all this. I'm sorry to have to write all this. I just don't know how to deal without writing.
