Note: This was written last fall after I was admitted to hospital and is largely unedited. It felt too vulnerable to post at the time, however I’m posting it now because I think that it’s time (and T also just dropped the h bomb on me again–but we’ll save that for another post…ugh)
I have struggled for years about whether to believe some of the things that parts of my mind tell me happened and I am slowly coming to accept that I likely won’t ever experience complete agreement on some aspects of my past. While in some ways it would be a relief to have the questions settled once and for all, at the same time it would bring up so much emotion that some of me fears that I would drown in it. So I am left to try to find some way to live with both the belief that some parts of the abuse happened and also the belief that they didn’t, at the same time.
Overall, this is not a comfortable place to be in but it does give me insight into how parts of my brain work to keep me functioning overall. If I think too much about what could have happened, I start to become overwhelmed while if I deny it, I start to get nightmares and flashbacks. In order to control all of the overwhelming feelings, I dissociate. The dissociation has been the only way I’ve been able to survive up to this point in my life as I just could not be the person who had such awful things happen to her.
On top of the dissociation, I also find myself drowning in suicidal thoughts when the struggle to find the truth gets to be too much. The problem is that I so often just want to tear myself to shreds as it feels like the only solution to eliminate this push and pull I have over the functioning me and the self destructive me. It’s a strange feeling when one minute you’re doing okay and the next something inside of you is telling you that you’d be better off dead. This is when things start to become dangerous for me. This is where I find myself now. And it’s the reason I am stuck in this awful hospital where it feels like they’ve thrown me in a corner and are basically ignoring me. Part of me is struggling to be truthful while the other part just wants to tell them what they want to hear so I can get the hell out of this place.
I don’t really know why it feels so important to just get the answer right and why I continually tell myself that if I only remember things in nightmares then they aren’t real at all. The thing I am trying to wrap my head around is that just because there is a war going on inside does not mean that nothing happened. But I don’t deal very well with the ambiguity–the not knowing–and it’s tearing me apart at the seams.
One thing I am trying to grasp is that in the end I am the one who needs to find my own answers. There isn’t anyone out there who can do it for me, not even T. And that scares me because I don’t really know where to start and have a million questions about it. Just because I can’t remember every detail doesn’t mean it’s not true, right? Just because I mix up things sometimes doesn’t necessarily mean I’m a liar, does it? Where do these self-destructive thoughts come from? These are just a few of the questions I am trying to solve at the moment (and have tons of time on my hands to do so).