Ghostly memories

For three days I have been troubled I have been tortured by not knowing. In front of me things are clear, but my past, which I thought was clear; is now shrouded in foggy shadows. Foggy indistinct shadows, silent, or with unintelligible whispers. It's like a scene from the Twilight Zones. Who are these people and what are they doing in my head. What are they saying and why can't I make it out or see them?

For years I prided myself on my memory. My siblings had great lapses in theirs and I could proudly fill it in for them. I thought I had it all. I was the eldest, the scapegoat, and the story teller. The truth teller. It didn't matter that I don't remember being eight. I don't even like the number of 8. It reminds me of orange and I don't like the color orange either. Strange connections and perhaps they are clues to the shadows in my mind.

In the wonderful blog Sanctuary for the Abused, she writes:

Almost all Victims report impaired memory; this may be partly due to suppressing horrific memories, and partly due to damage to the hippocampus, an area of the brain linked to learning and memory.

Not only do I have that, but every single item on the page. Our abuse was severe, prolonged, horrific, and it changed all of us as human beings. I often wonder who I might have been had I not had this to deal with.

So, how did this happen. Well my MNM was on the phone with and quite skillfully and insidiously eroded my defenses until I was a quivering ball of clay in her hands, to do with what she wanted. What I had forgotten was that I had God on MY side. He is my potter and I am his clay. He reclaimed me and I was able to pull back and end the conversation. Wow! That was close! In the meantime I was crying like I hadn't since I was a child. Deep wracking sobs that came from some wear deep, dark, and hidden. I could almost hear the echoes of years of hidden sobs. I was shocked and unprepared.

While I was crying I saw people in my sobs. Shadowy figures. I could reach out and almost touch them. I could hear psst, psst sounds of their speaking and the whispery words disappeared like vapor. They were familiar, but I didn't know them. Who were they? And I became distresses. More and more distressed. Who are these people in my head. My heart pounded and raced. Who are you? It seems I was invisible to them.

I visited with my counselor on Thursday and told her about this new  experience. We talked about it a bit and I started to cry. Very emotional tears for me. I KNOW I don't remember. WHY can't I remember? WHAT is it that I don't want to remember. WHY is it blocked. WHAT is so frightening?

At the same time I tremble and shake and want to put my hands in my face and cry "Oh God, please don't make me remember. I don't want to remember. I can't do it God. Oh God please help me. I don't want to remember". I am absolutely petrified. More than terrified. Petrified. Frozen. Crazy with fear of what I don't remember.

It may have something to do with the sexual abuse, or it may have something to do with the violence. My MNM would do despicable things while being violent. Like making us be all naked in front of one another. Calling our body parts by filthy names. Telling us all to "LOOK AT IT!!" to "PUT YOUR HANDS DOWN IF YOU WANT TO KEEP THEM!" I'd feel so bad for my siblings. I just wanted to cover them up. For me, I felt humiliation and shame. I felt guilt if it was something I had done that brought this one, or if I could have done something to stop it and didn't. I was embarrassed and I felt rage. I wanted to hurt some people very badly, and instead I would pray to God and ask him to help me to be a better girl so my mom would love me. Then I have my sort of bad prayer when I asked god to not let me wake up in the morning. I would as "God can you make me die in the night or maybe just put my in a coma until I'm old enough to leave home." Then my mixed prayer, good with really bad, "God, came you my my mom love us? and if you can't god could you make her die tonight? I know that is a sin god but we just don't want to be beaten any more. Help us god."

I also asked God for strength to not kill her, as I really wanted to. In fact, at times she even dared me to. She would hand me the knife and scream and scream and scream "Stick it in me! Stick it in me!" Then call me a coward, a baby, a crying sniveling good-for-nothing. Then she said that if I really wanted her dead that I would have killed her, therefore; because I didn't, then I knew she was right and I was wrong. Otherwise I would have killed her. Her crazy making logic at work. Right now I want to scream. I want to scream at this memory, I want to scream at the injustice, I want to scream for the tears  never cried, I want to scream because now I know I too have memory blanks. Part of me is missing. What did she steal? What happened to me! I don't know if I can bear this.

One of my night terrors, which is about one of her murder attempts, I wake up screaming because I am about to die as the knife comes to me (which happened in real), and then it is all blank. I don't remember. I wake up sobbing, I don't remember, I don't remember, why can't I remember. Oh God, I just DON'T remember. Obviously she didn't take out life that day, but what happened to causes me to wake up to this day in the middle of the night, holding my head, screaming, and shouting "I don't remember!"

I am grateful for Psalm 139. I will remember when the Lord thinks the time is right and he will be with me. In the meantime I will take comfort in these words.

Psalm 139
1 Lord, you have examined me
    and know all about me.
2 You know when I sit down and when I get up.
    You know my thoughts before I think them.
3 You know where I go and where I lie down.
    You know everything I do.
4 Lord, even before I say a word,
    you already know it.
5 You are all around me—in front and in back—
    and have put your hand on me.
6 Your knowledge is amazing to me;
    it is more than I can understand.