Thursday was my bi-weekly appointment with Mrs. A. We are all virtual now. Sometimes I like it and sometimes I wish I could be in that office that made me so nervous previously.
The session starts as usual with catching up on life and the events of the last two weeks. We talked about my trip to Texas and how I was just in awe of the things that God has made. The cows, the trees, the birds, etc. I was also telling her how I was able to go back to Houston, without fear and flashbacks of the Hurricane and all its devastation. I was completely relaxed and had no fears.
After a little time of discussing life, she asked me if there was anything I needed to talk about. The last 4 or 5 sessions, I have had little pieces of some of the abuse that I wanted and needed to tell her.
Going back a few years, I told Mrs. A that there were two secrets that I have held since I was a teenager that I would never ever tell anyone. I managed to tell her one of those secrets about two years ago. After I told her about this one event, it really lost its power over me.
But the second secret is truly a black mark on my life. I won’t go into details here, but it is something that was done to me during the time that ASJ was loaning me to his friends for their pleasure. ASJ is the man who was the mental health technician at the hospital my parents took me too when I was 15. They had just found out about my uncle abusing me and felt like it was too much for them to handle.
ASJ befriended me and told me he would take care of me and make sure I always felt loved. After being released from the hospital, my parents moved away and left me to live with my oldest brother who at that time was very deep in drug addiction. I was in my final year of high school. I had no money and no one to make sure my personal needs were met.
ASJ gave me money for food, gas, and other personal needs. In return, I met his friends and was asked to meet their sexual needs. I found out later that he was receiving money from them for my services. I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t be mad at him. He was the only one who cared where I was and what I was doing. Sometimes he would tell me that I was meeting a man to start a relationship because he wanted me to be happy. I fell for it. I believed him. I believed everything he told me. As far as I knew, he saved my life and is the reason I survived. Since I was old enough to “know better”, I have struggled with guilt about these things my whole life.
Anyway, back to the secret. I told Mrs. A that I needed to discuss it now. I told her its been on my heart and mind for weeks and I felt like now was the time to get it out in the open.
I told her about the event in hints and incomplete sentences. I never could really say the actual words. She knew what I meant and said she was proud of me for getting it out. I was holding my breath, trying to hold back the tears, as usual.
I told her that this was like a tattoo on my heart and soul. It’s permanent and has kept me from ever really loving myself or letting others love me. I also felt like it came between me and God and that was no way he would forgive me. I told her I felt like I would probably go to hell for allowing this to happen.
She spoke to me with comfort and quiet calm. She said “Yes, It’s like a tattoo, but just like a bad tattoo you can write over it and change it into something good.” I told her that in these years of healing, I have heard many trauma stories, but none with this particular kind of abuse. She said to me that perhaps I’m going to be the one to start the conversation and help someone else who has never been able to talk about it.
I kind of just sat there trying to take it all in. I felt sick to my stomach for just telling the secret. In fact, the last two days I have not felt great. But what I didn’t do was think about suicide. I did not run. I did not dissociate or think of ways to disappear. I just sat with it. I’m still sitting with it. Just trying to write this blog is bring up huge emotions and fear of being judged.
After telling the black secret, I feel like nothing else will be hard to talk about. There literally is nothing else that I won’t be able to tell her. I was so afraid that she would not want to be my therapist after hearing me say this and I told her that was my fear. She assured me that this wouldn’t be what she thinks about when she sees me again and that she doesn’t think any less of me.
I’m proud of myself and ashamed of myself at the same time. I hope in time, this memory has less of a hold on my life.
Until next time ~ I am being MJ every day!
Being MJ Every Day 