Another friend gave me a book on INCEST, saying that God told him to give it to me; I was in denial.
I read it and trembled in fear, no longer in denial.
While making love one night I screamed for my spouse to get off me NOW !!! I thought he was my dad.
My first counselor said that he could feel the spirit of sexual victimization as I sat in his waiting room.
At the dinner table I felt a hand on my inner thigh and smelled a repugnant odor from my dad.
My counselor asked me to SEE who else was victimized; I saw many family members in a circle in the dark.
My grandmother made a blood sacrifice for my soul.
I couldn't sleep, had night sweats, nightmares filled with dark figures, demons, all chasing me.
I stopped seeing my first counselor because I couldn't talk about sex with a male.
I no longer could function outside of my home; I stayed in bed most of the day for months.
I told my sister what I remembered in my dreams; she said, "They're only dreams!"
My niece was hospitalized in a children's psychiatric facility for threatening her sister; I talked with her mom about my memories.
My brother said that my father had been molested by his father while in the bath tub.
My sister came to see me; called me a witch and crazy.
My older brother came over and said that I had better stop talking; my life was threatened.
I was referred by another friend to a female counselor.
My new counselor asked me what my nightmare was about the night before though I hadn't mentioned that I had one.
The ceiling was dripping with blood from a cat on a rope; I was strapped to a table in a dimly lit room.
I thought I was going crazy, hallucinating, shaking, frightened, not sleeping, developing phobias.
I checked into a women's facility because I could no longer function as a mother, wife or business partner.
Three weeks in, I started screaming due to deep, horrifying fear.
All I saw and felt was utter darkness.
I prayed and prayed and prayed to be rescued from my internal torture.
LOVE was with me all along; I found comfort and respite at times during the storm.
So the journey begins . . . .
Thank you for sharing your story.
ReplyDeleteSometimes I hesitate, because I know that family members are able to read my blog posts. I hate causing conflict with them because it has been so painful for me in the past.
ReplyDeleteHowever, now I realize that telling my story is more important for myself and others than to worry about how my family may react to it.
I must be true to myself first.