Sometimes I drive myself crazy with my own thoughts. Again and again I go through ever-disgusting memories in order to find something I don’t know yet. I think about things that make me feel sick, again and again because I long for a clarity that I’ll never get. I try to guess how old the longer memories are in order to have some idea as to how the flashbacks could be connected, I try to stay neutral and not get caught up with anything but also not to play anything down (which would be my speciality).
I am completely sure that I remember events that happened that way. Not because I want to insist on my point of view (who would want that in such a case) but because I know how I’ve tried to find out what certain words and phrases I was being told, meant – and where the hell would I have been taking them from as a child who made something up? I know how I felt ashamed for many things others didn’t even know at a very young age but at the same time acted shamelessly without understanding why there was only a certain kind of attention I was able to tolerate. I know it wasn’t a nightmare, an illusion or a sick phantasy (no child’s brain is that abnormal and it’s not like I’ve only been suffering from this since yesterday). Apart from that I am not the only one in this family who has to deal with events like that – I was the first one to bring it up so I also know that I don’t imagine that I went through something I was told about by others.
But still there’s not a single week where I don’t wish for evidence. Not because I would go to the police or use it otherwise. But I long for the certainty that I have a right to be disgusted, hurt, angry and distant. Sometimes I shyly try to demand that right on the grounds that it wasn’t okay for me but the most beautiful thing I can imagine would be someone who said it wouldn’t have been okay for anyone, that it’s not just me being sensitive.
Sick as it is to say that, sometimes I wish that “worse” things had happened, that it wouldn’t just have been me being put under pressure, bribed and betrayed but that I could have visible evidence that something went completely wrong. My last therapist said she believed me 100% – not just cause it was her job but also because the frequency and intensity of my dissociative states points in that direction but even that is not enough for me.
I want to hold something in my hand that makes everyone shut up who claims that I’m just upsetting a poor ill old man who wanted the best for me. I don’t feel like finding any more excuses for events that make a trigger-free shower seem inconceivable. I want more than just memories and flashbacks and fragments and subjective perception. By the looks of it I want something I’ll never get.