Reconnecting with earliest memories leads to shift in relationships

I have 5 or 6 relationships in my life which are relevant on a mostly daily basis: God, therapist, son 1, son 2 and new found friend of 2 months. These are the people that matter, have influence and that I feel connection with.

Since the last couple weeks discovery of earliest sexual abuse memories, all these relationships have shifted.

First, I noticed that when I called God's name, which I do on a frequently weekly time-frame, I could not feel that he was near or that I was connecting. It felt like God had disappeared or at least retreated to a considerable and imperceptible distance away from me. Surprising and unexpected for sure. 

At about the same time, I realized that if I never saw therapist ever again, I'd be good with that. It didn't matter one way or the other if I ever returned to therapy. It is a deep feeling, a knowing, a new nonchalantness that I hadn't had before. It wasn't personal. I didn't suddenly not like her. I just suddenly did not need her as much as before. My world had revolved around therapy. Now, it was an adjunct, an extra, not a requirement. 

The friendship is still fresh and new since the holidays. Maybe three months at most. My first friendship in seven years. It's important. I look forward to it. It's a new avenue that only recently opened up. A new place to walk and explore. I have room now to try a relationship like this.

My feelings regarding my sons feels more concrete, reasonable and stronger, easier. I feel even more connected to them than previously.

Revealing long-held memories of childhood sexual abuse produces growth and great change.

I write so I can follow and note all of this evershifting healing.

What it was like being sexually molested as a small small child

I remember my earliest visions of my father naked standing along the bed that I was put on. There was a towel underneath me. My clothing had all been removed. A light blanket covered me loosely.

Dad called his stick like thing "Woody". Then he proceeded to rub woody harshly against me.

It was physical pain confined to one area of my body. Enough to make me split, leave my body. 

It felt like I was right in front of a massive horn, like on a big ocean liner, and someone pulled the chain and this immense horn, two or three times bigger than me, blasted constant loud so. So loud, not stopping, like a huge, round wall stabbing against me, that I could not stay in my body even if I wanted to. Blown away by the pain, immense pain.

My dad on top of me. Why I was not smothered to death? In some ways, dad was careful to not injury enough to get caught.

His body warm, hairy, moving, blocking out the light. In a kind of dad flesh darkness. He made sounds.

I didn't know. Just felt the physical hurt was aware of.

And then, the other little me off to the left, once dad was off and left for the washcloths. 

Left was there. We hold hands. She make it okay. Even with that much hurt, it okay because left was there for me.

Being an infant, a toddler and getting sexually assaulted is immensely physically painful.

Pain is a Catalyst

I don't have any respect for my therapist anymore; I really don't

We had an altercation last week. I yelled at her; she yelled at me. It feels like I'll be picking shrapnel from my chest for years. So seriously wounded.

No. I have zero respect for her.

When you let others get close, they can wound you more deeply.

Inertia, I am alone yet still multiple

Life is strange right now. Transformative is another finely appropriate word.

I am alone in a way never before experienced, physically felt.

Inertia:

PHYSICS

a property of matter by which it continues in its existing state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line, unless that state is changed by an external force.

I am strangely aware that if I set a book down on the table, that inertia will compel the book to still be there tomorrow.

Likewise, if I clean the kitchen counters, when I get up in the morning, they will still be clean.

This is a paradox.

It's as if Inertia is a Brand New construct that I have never experienced before. Mostly due to have multitudes of Others, People Inside, Personalities, Alters, who were frequently Out and would move things.

Or, in a similar vein, I would be living with someone who would move things about.

Now, dust can settle. And it is only by my breath, my actions that objects will move.

How far reaching and mind boggling a concept to purpose that only at 60 years of age, have I harnessed my own body and it's actions to a large degree, say, 90 percentile?

Strange indeed.

Inertia. It boggles me.

Like, I swept and washed a section of kitchen floor because I saw that the rays of sunlight illuminated dust and unnecessary particles. Now, that floor area is cleaned and will stay that way for a number of days.

I saw something. I decided to immediately address the problem. Problem temporarily solved.

I know I'm not completely alone in body and mind, for I hear the music Little One "Boss" plays. Just yesterday, for the first time in many weeks, I heard her signature music.

She used to show up at most therapy sessions but since the row of Mid Oct, Boss has not shown up there at all. Thats about a month that she disappeared, withdrew and was not to be found. She may want to finally return to therapy is my guess. And, of course, I will make sure time is allotted if she would like to be present.

I am alone. It feels okay, just different and new.

Siblings

My siblings were the only thing that made my childhood worth living.

Carrying Dead People in My Chest, letting go

It feels like I've been carrying dead people in my chest.

I grew up with many brothers and sisters. My older brother and I practically raised the younger ones as mom always had her hands full with a baby or two. We fed them, bathed them, babysat, took them out to play or to run errands.

I loved and cared for my siblings very deeply.

Then in my mid 20's I left them all, abandoned and without warning, in order to save myself from my incestuous father.

The hardest part, easily, was leaving my brothers and sisters. By far, the most painful part of my escape.

Approximately ten years later, I would return for brief visits, for funerals mostly, as the grandparents started dying and required ceremony.

And somewhere along the way, or maybe it's always been there, I have harbored a small flicker of flame, a hope that my constant, though submerged and hidden way in the back, love for them would be requited, returned and reunited.

It felt like I was standing in a rainstorm, atop the greatest hill, amidst a lightning storm and praying for a bolt from the blue to strike my perpetually outstretched, pleading hand. The odds of that happening dwindled with each passing year. The yearning for days of old when I loved them and they loved me were completely gone. Rainstorm after rainstorm, year after year, and decade after decade proved, I was completely alone atop the hill.

And I have been faithfully standing there, until now.

It feels like I have been ferociously clinging on to dead people that live in my chest, in the place where all that former love and current hope lived. How can I ever move on if my chest is full of the dead, the gone, the ones who have chosen to move on without me?

Thus, I have made a choice. I'm going to let the dead people, the hopes and the dreams go.

One by one, I have acknowledged the great love I have shared with each sibling. I have expressed my great gratitude for having been a part of their lives for those many years. I have forgiven them for forsaking me as I ask for their forgiveness in abandoning them. I was truly blessed to have loved and been a part of each one of their early lives. It is over now.

They have moved on. And I respect that.

I'm not going to hold onto that hope anymore. It just takes up too much space, space that can better be used for loving and being loved in the present.

I do thank them. I did love them so. I am grateful. 

This sister is moving on. No more dead people in my chest, only life and love.