Trigger alert: in this post I talk about the recovery of memories of sexual abuse, but without going into detail about what actually happened.
The workings of the human mind never cease to amaze me. Shortly after I last posted, the full memory of what had happened when I was in my late teens broke. When I blocked the memory of that terrible abuse I also blocked the person it happened to. So remembering is like opening a door in a house I have lived in for years and realising there is, not just a room behind it, but a whole suite of rooms I haven't seen before. It's an astonishing experience.
And, obviously very upsetting. I'm aware I'm not yet fully connected with the emotions that go with this realisation. I have been denying this truth with every ounce of my being for several years now. I had a lot invested in the belief I had got to the end of remembering and there wasn't anything else I needed to remember. I had, to some extent, dealt with and recovered from the robbery of my childhood by these, hard to call them 'people', let's try non-people. Now I am able to see they tried to take my womanhood as well.
It all falls into place. Why meeting AJ again has been such a trigger. We first met around the time this was happening to me. I understand now why I went so whacko in my late teens and my academic performance dive-bombed. And, as my daughter pointed out to me yesterday, I pinpoint the severe onset of my CFS to the week of her eighteenth birthday.
My dinosaur isn't a dinosaur. It's a very angry, distraught and violated young woman who has been ignored for thirty years. Well I hear her now.