DISCLAIMER: What I was raised to believe in the LDS/Mormon church doesn’t reflect the rest of the church. It could have been just my branch that was super shitty. I don’t know. My experiences only reflect my experiences and not what may or may not occur on a global scale.
It’s hard to admit that things aren’t my fault. I was raised that we chose our parents pre-life so we could be as helpful to them as we can. That we are born purely for the benefit of other people. Women exist purely for having kids and it’s the woman’s fault if she gets assaulted because she was clearly being immodest and therefore deserved what she got. I was raised that I must always be polite and that saying no was not an option unless I wanted to get beat. And that it would always be my fault no matter what happened because I ‘knew’ the consequences and I must have wanted to get beat or molested or assaulted or raped or whatever. My mum had explicitly said she wouldn’t take me to the hospital after I got hit by a car because I was where I wasn’t supposed to be so it was my fault. I deserved to get hit.
I was raised that everything even remotely romantic or sexual beyond maybe holding hands was meant to remain behind closed doors and one mustn’t talk about it. If you did anything beyond a chaste kiss, you would never get to go to the temple and get sealed with your future spouse (straight couples only, the LGBTQ+ didn’t exist) and you would end up in eternity alone with none of your family.
I had a lot of anger issues growing up. I didn’t have a voice and when I tried to speak up, I was told I was wrong. Everything got pent up inside until I burst. I wasn’t aloud to say it was because mummy and daddy scared me and I was being touched in ways that I wasn’t comfortable because that was airing out the dirty laundry and my brother and I would get taken away and it would be all my fault because I couldn’t just fucking act like a normal kid and why must I always be so bad?
So is it any wonder why I’m having issues talking to my therapist about exactly, in detail, what happened. Block out the bad details, block out the things that no one would believe and no one would care and forget about it because I deserved it because I was bad. I was where I wasn’t supposed to be. I allowed it to happen.
The other thing is, I feel like it happened to someone else. That was me when I was going by my birth name. I got by a different name now. I look back and go “but that happened to Darryl, and I’m not Darryl, I’m Kassie.” (Obviously not real name, I’m not putting those up on this blog).
When I’m doing therapy, the Exposure Therapy, I’m supposed to use the present tense, like I’m narrating the thing as it’s happening. First person too. Not allowed to wear my sunglasses. Not allowed to wear a hat. It feels like a lot of pressure and I get overwhelmed with sensory stuff because she doesn’t like me wearing my earplugs either for some friggin reason. She says it has to do with not wanting me to hide and I say I should at least be able to wear them for the first actual full go around.
I guess it doesn’t really matter, to be honest. I haven’t gotten through the entire bit. She says less details, then she says more details. She says the sequence of events doesn’t make sense, I say repeatedly I don’t remember bits. I think she’s getting frustrated and I’m feeling more and more hopeless.
I know it sounds like I’m just making excuses and I guess maybe I am. I’m just tired mentally and psychologically, even though I get tons of sleep. I want to give up but I promised I wouldn’t kill myself and I hold my promises to the highest regard, even if I think nothing of myself.
I’m going to go try and type out the entire event, as much as I can remember, as many details as I can. Wish me luck.
Oh, by the way, I pierced my lip on Sunday. Snake bites. Advice for the kiddies, go to a professional in a shop. Don’t just order the stuff online and stab yourself with a needle.
-The Sarcastic Autist