I’ve started and restarted this post over and over since, to me, the subject is really deep and intense. So, the question is to name one thing I’ve lied to myself about and why. Okay, here goes . . . oh and before I do let me say
I was sexually molested when I was a child. I don’t have an exact age. I always say six, seven, or eight since I’m not sure. I know I was little and I know who it was – a cousin who is five or six years older than me. Once the abuse stopped, I “forgot.”
Not really. Let’s just say my mind tucked it away. I refused to recognize it for what it was. Any time an image of the abuse would flash in my mind, I’d unconsciously push it away. Nope, that’s nothing. Nothing to see here. Move along.
Over time, I became an expert at the lie. If the image floated up, I’d make it disappear almost instantly. I never questioned all the billions of issues that I had. In fact, I never gave any of it, especially the PTSD, a thought.
The longer I lied to myself, the easier the lie became. Until, a doctor presented me with the evidence. She said the much hated words – sexual abuse. My mind was saying, “Oh no, you must be wrong.” My mouth was saying something totally different, “My mother doesn’t even know.”
I panicked. An out and out panic attack. I ran away. Oh, after I screamed at the doctor the above sentence a couple of times. I’m sure I scarred her since she was a brand new doctor. Poor thing.
Once this happened, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I had to look at the memories and recognize what they were. What happened. Who it was. How it affected me. Then I had to deal with it all. Which took for freaking ever. Between the abuse, PTSD, and the clinical depression my 20s and early 30s sucked major donkey balls.
Things are certainly better now. I still have the depression, which can get bad, but for the most part the other stuff has . . . subsided. It’s not gone. It’ll never be gone, but it doesn’t take over my life either.