What recovering a suppressed memory looks like...

Trigger Warning---Mention of cult abuse, pornography, sexualization of a child...

I'm not completely split, only partially right now. I've become very familiar with this occurrence. I say this because the fluidity of words and structure are compromised when a dissociated part participates in the writing. And today a new part came out of hiding. She's doing most of the talking here. And I made a deal with her that if she had something to tell, I would listen.

This is what recovering a memory looks like.

Dissociative Identity Disorder is a coping condition that arises from trauma. I'm sure there's a more detailed analysis and definition that isn't available to me right now. It's the thing that brilliantly divided and subdivided our brains (in this case, the developing brain of a 5-yr old) to cope with traumatic situations beyond comprehension and assimilation. Today I met another part who has been holding secrets that have been too dark to reveal previously. She's been moderating the memories according to what I could mental handle upon their discovery. What a brilliant and brave child. My next task is to research Internal Family Systems and read more about the role she played and what her official title might be.

There were two prompts to this discovery. First, I have always been extremely sensitive to weather changes, specifically a drop in barometric pressure. This usually happens before a storm. I can feel my mood shift and begin the spiral down. I often get severe pressure headaches, my vision blurs, my motor skills become erratic as I stumble and fall a lot. The most disturbing symptom is when my pupils of my eyes become unevenly dilated, meaning one gets smaller and one gets bigger. It really screws with your vision and balance. My soon-to-be-ex-husband has tracked my symptoms for over 10 years, complete with photos. It's really weird.

The second prompt, which came on the heels of a 4-day weather pattern of storms, low barometric pressure and cloudy skies, came as I watched a documentary on cults. I've been pulled to this topic for a while now and decided to embrace it. It was a well done documentary by Elizabeth Vargas called Cults and Extreme Beliefs. I was actually watching it as research to another post I want to write about the religious cult of my husband's family but as my DID would have it, there was a message in it for me.

I felt queasy when the documentary began to focus on The Family International. I started seeing and merging myself with a character Merry, the granddaughter of the cult leader who resembled me at that age; blond, pretty, malleable. This cult was steeped in sexual deviance, especially toward children. The spiral continues down as the children testified to their undying obedience toward the elder men. My ears are ringing as the children, now adults, try to speak of their experiences. Their eyes are blank and void of affect, I think they are dissociated also. My throat is now tightened and I feel like I can't breathe. The moment I freeze though is when images are revealed of the pornographic literature their organization published and subjected the children to in an attempt to groom them and use mind control. I paused the show to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. And indeed, it was what I thought.

I've seen this literature before. My God, I've seen this literature before.

Even after 60 years, I can recall the images and words in these publications. They are burned into my developing brain. I stumbled upon them in my father's stuff he had stored in a run-down warehouse that he owned when I was a child. He would often leave me alone in that massive, rat-infested warehouse, (still not sure why as I was only 6). To calm my fears, I would explore the dank massive warehouse to distract myself of when or if my father would come back for me.

It's then that I found a box of this pornographic cult literature and still recall the feeling of disgust mixed with arousal while I'd completely dissociate. The same images, drawn in a black and white, cartoonish, comic-book sort of way but with adult men coercing children into sexual acts. Also illustrated was their means of control when the child didn't obey; tied to bedposts, held down by multiple men for the sex act, them showing them the proper way to give "love" to a man (oral sex) as the child gagged and vomited.

I'm frozen. My heart is pounding and I'm about to leave my body. Things are swirling as this brave little girl part has just revealed another validating piece of information. My father, brother and uncles (my perpetrators) at the very least owned and read this cult-literature. They obtained it for their pleasure and possibly to be considered for the cult. They stashed it in a dark corner of this warehouse, away from the wives and children for fear of discovery. My thoughts are going in a million different direction. It was then that the newest DID part whispered a thought out of her shrouded existence into my conscious awareness. They walked you close to the devil.

It takes 10-15 minutes to remember my coping toolbox for times like this. I begin with a prayer to God, clutching my rosary to help me rid myself of these trapped emotions of a lifetime and to surround me with love now as I purge this. Then, I begin my EFT. I tap for almost 30 minutes and the negative charges begins to subside. I'm pretty much back in my body, my throat has opened, my eyes can focus again. I ask God to take this negative energy up to heaven without hurting anyone else.

There will be further posts diving into the nuances of this afternoon. But for now, she's exhausted and needs rest. She needs to be assimilated back with the rest of us and celebrated for her extreme bravery.

If she's brave enough to reveal it, I'm brave enough to put it into words for her.