Trauma's Indelible Scars

Well I haven't written much the last couple of days but I'm determined not to let this project fall by the wayside.  Through the process of the intensive group therapy and accompanying individual sessions, I have gotten down to some disturbing discoveries and have come to the realization that there are things that I simply buried so deeply that I never actually dealt with them.  In fact, even though I have always been aware of what happened I never recognized how traumatic it was and just how much damage it has done over the decades.  The past two days have been very difficult and it has been a struggle to try to overcome the emotions I'm feeling and sift through the connections between the event in question and everything that has followed throughout my life up to this point.  It really came to a head this morning when I realized that in a matter of just twenty four hours I had fallen back into symptoms I hadn't experienced in at least twenty five or more years.  I never could have imagined that when I hit bottom and decided the time for me to end my life had arrived, it was a result of much much more than the unresolved health problems that were taking place more recently.  My tenure of inpatient treatment and the subsequent follow up outpatient regimen has led me to places I didn't really know or accept existed.  It hasn't been a simple epiphany, but rather a journey of exploration and discovery into what issues, scars and hurt existed below the surface.  I don't know if this is the appropriate place to talk about and work through just how far back it goes and what was involved, and some may be surprised, shocked or even appalled by the subject matter, but since my purpose for this forum is to not only help myself but also possibly reach or help someone else who might be going through similar circumstances, I feel like I must stick to the promise I made to myself to be open and honest.  If you'd rather not know, now would be the time to stop reading.  For the rest, you have my sincerest appreciation for indulging and allowing me to delve into some of these dark recesses of my inner self.

When I was three or four years old I experienced an incident of molestation perpetrated by a high school aged boy who worked for my family at the time.  Now just taking in and comprehending that statement, I'm sure many people have to wonder how it's possible that I haven't up until this point truly recognized and acknowledged what an unspeakable act and trauma it was and just what impact the deep and horrifying scars that were left behind must have had over the years.  Actually, while it may not make much sense, I'm wondering that very thing myself right now.  I remember having shared this experience with a few select people later in my adulthood but I also recall feeling that, for whatever reason, I didn't view the incident in a bad light or think that it was some awful life shattering event that devastated me.  It is unfathomable to me now that I could never make the disparate puzzle pieces that became my life's battle with depression, anxiety, shame and low to non-existent self esteem fit together.  The circumstances surrounding the incident became so suppressed and marginalized in my mind that, whenever I did think about it, there were no connections made with the plethora of issues that have plagued me to at least some degree from that point forward.  Evidently my subconscious coping and survival skills consisted of, as my group facilitator would say, putting that chapter of my life in a neat little box and tucking it away deep in the catacombs of my brain.  Any time it bubbled up to the surface it seems that I merely admired the pretty packaging but never really opened up the container in order to deal with what was inside.  After a brief and cursory acknowledgement of the box itself was completed, back on the shelf it went.  The recent archaeological dig that is the recovery process I'm navigating through has forced the contents of that package to be exposed for what it really was.  I can't shove it aside anymore now that it's staring me in the face.  Continuing to accept the blame and take ownership and responsibility for what happened, along with the perpetual guilt and shame that followed has to be quelled and overcome if I am going to successfully recover and heal.

I have yet to divulge the incident to the group.  Our most recent meeting was the beginning for me, even all these years after the fact, and I was only able to talk about the symptoms that have recently re-emerged that, of course, I had never connected to the trauma itself.  That full confession will take place Monday I'm sure, and as difficult and painful as I anticipate it will be, I'm glad my sister will be by my side supporting and loving me.  I can't imagine at this point just how this is going to play out and what other connections and revelations will be unearthed along the way.  Just talking about some of the manifestations I now know, or at least surmise, stem from having been sexually abused at such an early age was so incredibly painful I could hardly speak through the emotional outpouring from the depths of my core.  I'm most definitely afraid to trod too deeply through the mire, not knowing what else might surface, but I also recognize this is something I simply must work through and deal with.  It may take a very long time to finally come to terms with everything, but the option to keep it hidden and let it go on lingering in the recesses of my being wreaking havoc on my soul just doesn't exist anymore.  Perhaps finally beginning to focus attention on what is likely the root cause of many of the issues and insecurities I am examining will bring some measure of healing and peace of mind that I hope will allow me to accept, love and care about myself and achieve a much improved level of self esteem and self confidence.  The process is emotionally exhausting and both mentally and physically painful.  Nevertheless, it's time to face the pain head on rather than numbing it by burying things only to find that erosion of self ultimately brings them back to the surface sooner or later.  I'm hoping above all hope that these scars will end up being like scribblings made by an indelible Sharpie, not truly permanent but requiring some pretty intensive scrubbing and cleansing to erase the marks left behind.  The tools I'm learning will become the cleaning supplies necessary to eradicate the deeply etched existing wounds.  I wish it was as simple as just bringing in Merry Maids to do the dirty work while I lounged on the sofa nibbling on bonbons, but unfortunately the uncomfortable and difficult work falls solely on my shoulders.  Thank God I have an incredible support system that does such a wonderful job of propping me up and bolstering my courage to forge ahead and do what must be done.