It started today.

In today's entry, we learn that...

1. If you were hoping for a giggle, you should look away now because you won't find it in this blog post.
2. The content in this post may come as a shock or slap in the face to some - good, now my two disclaimers are out of the way.


I have apparently been very adept at compartmentalising my painful and horrific experiences. And I'm talking about the ones that happened before I even reached the age of 10.

Speaking of 10, I have it on good authority from my therapist that it took a very brave ten year-old to stare down her systematic sexual abuser and say no that first time. And an even braver one to continue to grow in strength until he gave up approaching me anymore.

The almost daily thoughts that turn to what happened to me for those three years from age about 7 to 10 at the hands of someone who remains very prominently in my life today are numbed, anaesthetised, but under that anaesthetic lies a very frightened, very hostile, very alone little girl who is just beginning to emerge and be comforted properly for the first time in over twenty-three years.

Does it suck that I'm finding myself doing this? Now? Hell yeah. I am being consumed by it today, mostly because I can see very clearly for the first time how much of my life has been affected by this and how, even today as an adult, I cannot deny its impact on my self esteem and my relationships to people... well, to myself really, first and foremost. This past week, the interactions I have had with men have all been shrouded in this realisation I am coming to and as the real impact of what happened to me dawns on me further, the whites of my eyes are showing more.

I'm no longer that terrified little kid conditioned into submission and enabling of my abuser.

But I am hellishly afraid of that door and it's as if, before I can properly think or protest that I don't want to look in that room, I am suddenly stepping over the threshold anyway. I must be ready. I know I'll be looked after and I'll be safe. Still doesn't take away the fear of feeling the pain.

I've spoken about this before with counsellors. Never in detail. Only ever eluded to it. It's taken being with this therapist for this whole year (mostly to air out these corners of my subconscious and history so that I can quash patterns repeated in my family and ancestors and be the best person I can be for the LGBB to be around, I feel it is only responsible, given where I have come from) before I've come around to a point where I want to broach it with her. She's never pushed or hinted we should work our way around to it and I think that's why I feel very safe with her.

But I really started the ball rolling today and it feels surprisingly okay.