Reading Terror

I picked up Sue Silverman's book a few weeks ago...by "pick up" I mean started reading. This is her memoir, her ride on her own memory train of sexual abuse and survival. The title is Because I Remember Terror, Father I Remember You. I call it Terror for short.

You must know that I bought this book some years ago along with Fearless Confessions, her guide to writing memoir. I thought it would be helpful to read her memoir along with her writing guide, since she makes references to sections of her own book as examples.

I'm not sure what lead me to believe that I would be ready to read such a story at that particular time in my life. I'm not sure why I thought I was prepared to enter someone else's nightmare while I was still in the midst of my own. I realized that I wasn't when, after reading the Preface, I closed the book and didn't open it again until now. Shortly after I closed Terror, I also stopped reading the memoir writing guide.

I don't know what prompted me to find that book again a few weeks ago. It was a feeling, it was an urge that told me I must read the story. I must go back there. I must read her memories so that I could discover mine.

The book was buried in a box that was buried in a room that is buried in more boxes...but I went to it. I was drawn to this particular spot in this particular box as if by internal GPS. I retrieved it and began reading right away. One page at a time, I told myself...but before long, I found myself woven in the fabric of her horrific childhood.

As I read the details of her memories, I realized what my fear was. I feared remembering all my own details...and I feared not knowing all my own details. As I read Silverman's story, I became aware of how many details from my own past I do not remember. I remember feelings, both physical and emotional, but there are so many details that I don't remember...and that scares me...as much as it scares me to remember them.

I am afraid that I have purposely forgotten much of my childhood in order to protect myself. I am afraid to know what all the details were, but I am also afraid of going through life not knowing what the details were. But who remembers their entire childhood...good or bad?

I Know Why I Sleep on My Stomach

It was back to EMDR today. I had not gone there in so long that I had almost forgotten how to do it...but a session was necessary.

I started out with the image and the feeling of my STBX hugging me just to say hello or goodbye but then pressing his erection against me. An image, of course, leads to a memory and a memory leads to another. Inevitably, I ended up as a child in my bedroom trying to hide and protect myself from my stepfather. The memory was visceral, and I felt both fear and disgust like an electrical current all across the front of me including my genital area.

I know why I sleep on my stomach, I thought, and I was suddenly angry. Not at my stepfather or even STBX. I was angry at the chiropractor who made the recommendations that I recently read in an article online. It frowned upon stomach sleeping. The article itself was completely benign and intended to help people improve their posture and relieve neck and back pain. But during this morning's session, I remembered the article and I thought angrily, how dare you? How can you tell people not to sleep on their stomachs, if you don't know why they sleep on their stomachs in the first place?!

I know why I sleep on my stomach! I need to feel protected and safe! I need to cover myself...I need to keep my stepfather away. I thought he couldn't touch me if I was rolled over on my stomach...but he found me anyway...he touched me anyway, He always did. There was nothing that I could do to keep him away...NOTHING.

So during my session, he did find me, and he did come in, and he did touch me and roll me over. And during my session, I didn't want to know what he was doing...but now I know what he was doing. I just don't know if it's better to say or not say. There is nothing I can do about that scene anymore. I will never undo it. I can never even ask him why...what the fuck possessed him? He licked my genitals like I was his fucking tramp on the side. There, I said it, but I don't know if it's any better. But he acted like he was offering me some of the good things in life. He proceeded as though he were teaching me the facts of life. He was doing me a favor...enriching me. I was to see him as my teacher and not my abuser. I think I'm still confused.

Can you see why I didn't want my husband's face in my vagina?

From Me Time to Girl Time

The first time that I went out after separating form my husband was the time that I wrote the post In High Heels and Makeup and Mint Green . I had dressed to the nines and gone out alone to try out my new life and enjoy my own company. I had a fabulous evening.

Since that lovely night about a year and a half ago, I have enjoyed other similar outings, some less glamorous than others...all alone. Recently, I had begun to worry about myself. Was I enjoying my time alone so well that I was not making space for the company of friends? I truly felt like an evening out alone was just as enjoyable as being out with others...but still. Even I was beginning to feel that it was a little bit odd.

That changed this past weekend. Upon learning that I had a rare Friday night off work without the kids, a good friend of mine casually tossed that we should do something together. I thought about it, hesitated slightly before I tentatively offered that maybe we could go see a movie. It will probably not work out, I thought.

...but it did...and we went...and we had a fabulous night! Cocktails, dinner and a movie...the same night that I would have had alone, but there was something rich about sharing it with a girlfriend. There was something that told me that I was growing, making progress, that those baby steps were going somewhere.

The night that I set out in my high heels and makeup and mint green, I knew that it was my first step and that I would have to proceed one step at a time. I knew that it would take some time before I would be ready to share an evening with another adult...man or woman. I knew that I would first have to discover how I am alone. And then, I knew that my next step would be spending time with women. I think that's where I am now. It might be where I stay. I still feel like I will never trust a man again. I will always feel like his real beast will always emerge as soon as the novelty of the relationship wears off.

I'm OK with girls' night out forever.