Don’t give up five minutes before the miracle.
- AA saying
The ferocity of the latest round of flashbacks – the ones that would finally force me to seek help – was horrifying. Often during intimate moments, they would transport me instantly to another place and time, a place where I was seeing and feeling things I could barely describe or explain upon awakening. I was living with Tom, my old editor, so my nightmare became his. The fact that the episodes began to be linked directly to sex was devastating to him. I would recoil from him in horror, looking into his eyes but seeing someone else entirely. Though he realized I had gone somewhere else inside my mind, it did not erase the pain of seeing me look at him that way. To this day, I am not sure whose face I did see. I know it was no longer in shadow. Perhaps I do not want to remember. Perhaps that is a revelation for another day. For now, I have had to let go of my need to know.
The revelations came slowly, though the flashbacks were almost nightly. Each time, I would get a glimpse of what had happened and when. The experiences were far more physical than mental, something I later learned was common to women who had been sexually abused very early in life. It is as if the body holds on a cellular level the memories that the mind is simply too young and unaware to comprehend. In other words, you cannot clearly remember a thing if you did not know what it was at the time. Verbalizing what was happening to me was impossible, even afterward. The memories were in my body, not my mind. I was reliving, not remembering. Tom would wrap me in his arms and try to soothe me but the moments had to pass of their own accord. They would not be held back.
I truly thought I was losing my mind. Whatever was causing this, I wanted it to go back to its hiding place and leave me alone. I was happy, I was in love. Why did this have to come upon me now or at all? I believe my happiness and feelings of security are precisely why the memories surfaced when they did. I was far more equipped to handle them than at any time previously in my life. I was surrounded by love and would have the support I was going to need for the road ahead. I’m not sure Tom would have signed on had he known but he never abandoned me when I needed him. And I needed him like a drowning man needs a life boat. He took the brunt of all that had happened to me in my early years and I will be forever grateful for his strength, his love and his presence in my life. It is a gift that can never be repaid.
Although I was determined to endure rather than face the memories, Tom was much more practical. We were a team and we would tackle this thing head on. He helped me locate a support group for women who had been sexually abused as children. To say I did not want to go was an understatement. Thankfully, the woman who led the group was an angel sent to usher me gently but firmly through the process. I had to meet with her one-on-one before I could attend the group. The program was offered at an undisclosed site that was an hour from my home. I made the trek grudgingly. We met in the back room of a small office. The room was lined with sofas and cluttered with toys and dolls and tiny rocking chairs. It was the place authorities used to interview children who had been abused. I instantly felt comfortable with this woman and this place. I told her everything – everything I could remember anyway. It was the first time I had shared in any detail, with an outsider, what was happening !
to me. The release and relief were similar to what I’d felt when I first talked about my problem with alcohol. The tears flowed as years of internal pressure were released. Sylvia just nodded, handed me a tissue and urged me to continue. We talked for nearly two hours. She said I was welcome to join the group. I left not knowing whether I would ever return.