Therapy, yesterday, was the closest I have yet come to being able to share, to put words to, the depth of my despair. Aka, my long suffering existence.
My pain is thick, having been painted on in broad and small strokes day after day from 1-20. My childhood is a few words: brutal, torture and incestuous.
My teen years, moments of freedom and semblance of "normalacy" coupled with moments in fathers bed.
Ah, then a brief respite, a marriage and a move out of town only to descend into the madness of memories, fizzling flashbacks and pure chaos, a living breathing hell.
At 23, my first psychiatric hospitalization. Days filled with jobs I couldn't work and flopping on beds of resentful relatives.
At 26, failed suicide, a cry for help, a 200 mile drive, Center One Ward and the diagnosis....Multiple Personality Disorder. The truth revealed.
The incest a secret no more.
Answers to my pain, my anguish and unfathomable distress.
Three decades later...I continue to fight against the rapes, the threats and the aloneness of being lost within.
Healing, pulling myself together, each day...surviving....it is all I know. It's what I do best...drag my sorry ass through the pain for yet another day.
Sigh.
Maybe yesterday, just maybe, I've come a step closer to revealing who I really am and how I've suffered all these 54 years.
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