Daddy Issues™ Part One (tw)

Okay, so I sleep better wearing lots of clothes again.  Especially a bra, which I know you aren’t supposed to do.  Let’s explore why. (Trigger Warning for childhood abuse)

To start with, what I’m about to write is something I’m kind of hesitant to post.  I just need to get it out there.  I’m struggling really hard with this and I’m not sure I trust myself.  I don’t know how to broach the topic with my therapist either.  I figure if I write it all down, it’ll be easier to figure out how to talk about it.

So, we all know I have Daddy Issues ™.  Mostly stemming from a childhood of horrible abuse, lies, and then disowning me when I came out as gay.  No, actually, I think that pretty much covers why.  I actually don’t remember much of my childhood.  There’s whole years missing.  I remember being in 3rd grade one minute and literally the next minute I’m in 4th grade.  Shit’s scary.  It’s not that it’s blank, like when you can’t remember the car ride because  you are on autopilot, it’s just gone.  It doesn’t exist.

I believe I blogged about this happening again a few weeks ago.  I have a whole day just gone.  It doesn’t exist.    I tried talking to my therapist about it but got scared and ended up dismissing myself on it.  (She called it pathological and I felt ashamed and scared so I made up some bad excuses and changed the subject.)

Well, last week?  Week before?  Some time within the past month or so, I was tending to my Inner World and just realized security in the Tower of Forgotten Memories sucks.  It’s locked doors or shut doors with no locks.  One doorway just has those hanging beads.  Memories will sometimes ‘escape’ and I’ll remember things I don’t want to.    (Yeah, Forgotten isn’t the right word, but it rolls off the tongue better than ‘Dungeon of Shit I Don’t Want to Remember’.)

Anyway, I freaked out when I realized that and when I realized how many doors there are and I locked the door to the Tower.  I didn’t want to deal with it.  I figured if I locked even the access to it, I wouldn’t have to deal with it ever.  This proved to be absolutely pointless because I had really bad flashbacks the next day.

Which leads us to the core of today’s topic: my Daddy Issues™.  I know my dad physically abused me and there was covert incest in there with my entire family.  That’s another sort of fuckery altogether.  However, I have been remembering more specific instances of sexual abuse from him and I’m scared that I’m making it up.  If I’m making it up, holy shit, I’m fucked in the head.  If I’m not… Yeah, that shits fucked up too.

See, like… It fits.  If I try to remember something that didn’t happen, like going to meet Donny Osmond with my mum and brother or seeing Shrek with the rest of my elementary school, if I try to put myself in those situations that I wasn’t, I remember it differently and it tastes like a lie.  But with this shit with my dad?  It doesn’t taste like a lie.  It tastes like it did when it happened.  Everything fits the timeline.  It was the same time I really stopped caring about how I dressed and how I looked and I stopped taking care of my personal hygiene.  I got real fat.  I grew more reclusive and sullen.

But it also started at the same time I started puberty and I hated puberty.  So I can’t for sure say it actually happened, although I’m also probably desperate for my memories to be a lie so I don’t have to deal with them.  I don’t know.  I don’t like this.

I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack so I have to stop for now.  Stay tuned for Part Two coming eventually.

-The Sarcastic Autist

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