Blargh… So I’ve worked through the bulk of my intrusive thoughts, but one bad memory just keeps coming back around. It doesn’t even have anything to do with miscarriages. I don’t know where it’s coming from, what triggered me or why it won’t go away even though I’ve written about it…
It’s not even close to an anniversary of the event. Like months off not even close. I don’t get it. Usually I’m pretty good at being able to pin point my triggers so I can address them. Not being able to figure it out is causing a lot of anxiety here, especially today. For the first time in a VERY long time I woke up in a panic attack. It wasn’t too bad, and I was able to quickly calm myself back down but… Yeah.
Well I guess it does kind of tie into my miscarriages. The first time I lost a pregnancy was the result of rape. Well not the loss, but the pregnancy itself. There are two specific events in my life with two different men where I have been raped. The first event I have barely any memory of, the second is forever burned into my memory as if the bruises and scars had seared themselves into my flesh. I’m not sure why I can recall the second event, but the first is so difficult to remember. They happened only a few years apart so it’s not like I was a child the first go around incapable of processing what was happening.
I was 16 the first time. Still living with my parents, and up until that time a virgin. I hadn’t even really dated aside from a platonic online relationship, yet there I was. In my own bed being taken advantage of. I remember it like a dream. The flood of hormones, the physical pleasure and emotional confusion. At first upon waking that morning I thought it WAS a dream, until I realized the lingering scent of cologne was actually hanging in the air and my pajama bottoms which I had been wearing when I fell asleep were tossed into the floor.
It startled me for a moment, and I became disoriented trying to comb my memory for clues as to what happened and why. I was running late at the time and decided to dismiss it as sleepwalking or some other innocent reason, never really stopping to think: “oh I’ve been violated in my own home and should immediately contact the police” , hell I didn’t even tell my parents. I haven’t told anyone until now almost twelve years later. It just sort of went along under the rug. I sort of remembered it, I had scars from it, but for some reason it just bounced off. It didn’t stick with me, or linger forever. At least not in the forefront of my consciousness.
The second time… now that one, I remember. It’s too graphic to share here, even in vague detail. It’s lingering, and continues to pop to the forefront of my consciousness every once and a while. More so recently for an indeterminate reason. It’s sort of associated with miscarriage, but not really. I was never pregnant after the second rape. I did get a pretty gnarly UTI, and there was significant damage that had to heal but no pregnancy. Maybe it’s just the whole act of reproduction in general that’s brought it to my attention recently. I don’t know. I wish I knew.
I wish I knew why the second time was different and why it won’t just shuffle off into my memory banks where it belongs. What I’d REALLY like to know is what triggered my memories of it in the first place. See now this is the difficult part of trauma therapy. You deal with the initial wave of everything that’s happened to you, and then as you reach a certain level of peace and comfort you go through a second wave of repressed memories that pop up. Sometimes a third depending on how long it’s been and how devastating the event was. It’s like a maze with locked doors. You think you’ve reached the end as you reach a locked door so you celebrate, but a few moments later the door opens leading you to another hall of passage ways etc. etc. etc. The only thing you can really do is keep on going.