The Math Class

I decided to return to EMDR today...I survived for about ten minutes. I spent some time trying to will my hand to lift up and give the "stop" signal. My brain did not seem capable of communicating with my limb, no matter how many times I formed the words in my head. My hands just clung for dear life to the softness of my sweater. The more I tried to send the message, the harder I grabbed on.

What made me want to stop? The incredibly unbearable sadness. It hurt so much. The memory just hurt too much. Why would this particular memory invoke so much sadness? I have recalled it before... briefly but repeatedly.

I went to Catholic school during my middle school years, which means that the classes were very small...there was one class per grade. You knew everyone, everyone knew you, and you moved up with the same set of classmates. I was well known for being top-of-the-class smart.

Because the classes were so small, there was not a separate class for students who's cognitive ability went beyond what was in the regular curriculum. There was however, a teacher who pulled out a small group of students who had advanced enough in their math to start algebra early. I was in that group...and so was my best friend.

It hurts so much even to write this. I wish the tears would just fall, instead of stubbornly hanging there on the ledge unwilling to just fall off.

During this time, my stepfather's night visits were pretty regular. I don't know how long they lasted, but they were long enough to completely awaken me...and afterwards I had to get up and wash.

Ouch, my heart wants to break. I want to melt into the very substance of the earth and cease to exist.

I must have been tired the next day at school. I never realized it, but I must have just wanted to go back to sleep. During these special math classes, my best friend always understood the concepts well. I struggled, although I knew I was just as smart as she was. I must have been so tired. During class, I often thought about my stepfather...and the night before. I thought about how unfair it was that she understood all the concepts and that her father was such a gentle and doting dad. I struggled because mine kept me from sleeping at night and did not leave my thoughts in the morning. It was not fair.

Recently, I have not always been making the best decisions as far as my sleeping hours. My alarm clock goes off at 4:50 AM...no matter what. I have often found myself at 1:00 AM or 2:00 AM refusing to lay down to sleep. I wonder if this memory has any connection to this poor habit. If it does, I wonder how I can learn to treat myself better than this.

...all this from ten minutes of EMDR.