If you want people to truly understand how trauma past and present is impacting your life. If people are kept in the dark, you'll never even get the chance to be understood.
So I sat in my car and cried for a while before I sent an IM to my dad in Guam.
"Dad?"
I was a little hesitant but then I thought about my daughter and if she was suffering from a great burden that debilitated her in many ways, would I want to know?
The answer, without question: Absolutely. Yes.
"Do you know why I have PTSD?"
I think he said sort of and mentioned an abortion. Realising and knowing he didn't "really" know... I asked
"Do you really want to know?"
Seconds later he responded with a simple...
"Sure."
He was under the impression that I had consensual sex with my boyfriend at the time, which resulted in pregnancy and a termination of such. Although, I realize abortion is traumatizing and does leave emotional scars. That was not the stem that resulted in my PTSD. I began to type and kind of leave my body so that it was ok for me to talk about it. The truth was, I didn't become pregnant from my boyfriend... a shipmate, who was my friend at the time violently raped me. It was when I got diagnosed with depression because I had a very bad bout of homesickness and adjusting to the new meds, I had asked a friend, whom I trusted... to take me down to my room because I felt drunk and awful and scared.
He did not take me to my room, as promised. He took me to his room... sat me on his bunk to try and talk me through it and in attempt to "make me feel better" he tried to have sex with me. I said NO. I begged and pleaded because I was on my period, didn't want to and I had a tampon in. He held me down, regardless of this... made me grab his erection told me that I had done this to him and now we had to fix it. He threw up my skirt, ripped my pantyhose down... didn't even bother to take off my panties, but instead put them to the side, pinned my arms down and shoved himself inside. I fought at first... but didn't, it took minutes but felt like hours. I was crying quietly to myself, pulled my hose up... straightened my skirt and left quietly. I didn't cry until I was in my room. My cabin mates were all at their shifts and I turned the fan on in the bathroom and cried. I showered and went to bed.
The next morning, I realized that I had very sharp pains... which is to be expected but the tampon was still in there. I cried out to my bunk mate and explained that I had somehow got it lodged so far up that I couldn't find the string or get it out. She took me to sick bay. A doctor had to remove it with these long tweezers. I remember him wearing a hat with a light on it. He told me he suspected foul play because I was torn in many areas and told me that I could tell him if something had happened. I didn't allow myself to cry but instead just said, "No. I was drunk... and stupid." He asked me three times and every time I said, "No. Everything is fine. I did this." I don't know why... but I was 23, scared and didn't want to draw any more attention to myself or the matter. Maybe it would make it less true. I saw that same doctor later on the Lanai. We made eye contact and his smile sympathetic and his eyes couldn't fool me... he was disappointed, and I returned it with an empty smile and quickly walked away.
Later, I scheduled an appointment in Hilo... I don't remember, was it days or a few weeks after. I got the abortion pill. I was allowed to take sick leave and pass the cells in tissue in my room. I remember throwing up a lot, and the pain being like multiple stab wounds. A different doctor gave me a shot of phenogren and I slept for 16 hours straight. I started having these intense feelings of panic when I returned to work. They were bad... I'd black out and be nauseous. My maitre d told me I was having panic attacks... and allowed me to sit in his office until I could calm down. We started paperwork for a ship change... although I wouldn't tell them why except for that it was personal.
I dated a guy on the new ship but I still struggled with what had just happened to me and couldn't articulate or say why I would fly off the handle. If I slept... I'd sleep for two or three hours and go to my shifts. I was sloppy, awkward and lost. My condition worsened and I asked to be disembarked. I was medically discharged days after my request.
This isn't the first time that I was molested or raped. The first time it happened... I was six and four or five teenagers took their turns having sex with me in the basement of our apartment complex. They also molested my friend, Marcus... touched us, made us touch each other. I believe the oldest boy who did this was about 18. Looking back, I realize that I experienced triggers... for example... I couldn't look at exercising mats without feeling sick... so I'd shut my eyes and sing. They were the old school ones, that had examples of stretches you could do and how to do a proper sit up. I think they were made of foam and plastic. From 6 to 9 I was afraid to go to the bathroom because I thought there was a baby inside me and it was dead because it didn't move... and it was just going to stay dead in my body until one day I'd poop it out. I didn't understand sex... I just knew people did it to make babies.
I told my dad about EMDR... and how some of my repressed memories brought me to one where my mother would drug us with dimetapp and some orange cough syrup when we were insufferable, as young children can be. I remember thinking it was a treat, candy or "num nums" as she likes to call it. I drank a whole bottle when I was 2 or 3. She gave me ipecap and left me in the bathroom until I threw up so much orange vomit that I couldn't do anything else but sit there. She cleaned the puke and I went to bed. Terrified because... "what just happened?"
I just started telling him about all the things that occurred when he was on TDY, or at work... and how my mom would threaten to tell my dad that I was a liar and I was a bad kid, so what was the point in telling my dad?
I took a lot of my anger out on my little brother... because my mom was nice to him. He was the good one. He didn't get kicked or spanked the way I did. She didn't tell him that she could kill him with a pair of scissors to his throat. (This happened when I was 3).
I never told my dad these things because I was afraid of disappointing him... I was afraid of hurting him, or having him think that I was filthy and gross. I tried to tell him when I was 14 and he cried... so I told him an hour later that I made the whole story up for attention. Afterwards, he yelled at me. We never brought it up again... until today.
I tell him these things because he is my dad, I tell him these things because he's my best friend. I tell him these things because I'm a mom and I'm trying to confront my past and live... to thrive. One of these days, I will tell my daughter these things happened to mommy... and these things weren't my fault because I'm starting to finally realize... that they weren't and aren't. I need to teach my daughter how to protect herself and to never ever be afraid to speak up... say no... and to come to me when she is hurt or lost.
I have mixed feelings on how I feel. But my dad questions why I'm on the meds that I'm on and keeps asking if they're necessary. I'm not sure I can answer that... because I don't really know. But I know they sort of help with the night terrors and the flashbacks. The flashbacks where I'm a 6 or 7 year old girl in the midst of a panic attack asking where I am and if they can call my dad either at 525702 or 865-7081. When I flashback... I pray and I stopped believing in God years ago... but used to pray all the time as a kid... because I knew I was going to Hell and every time I prayed to God, I apologized for being a bad kid... and being a liar. I asked if he'd forgive me and Satan because we only do these things because we are sad or because we are mad.
I'll be damned if my daughter has to grow up living in fear like that... it's up to me to break the cycle and do my very best to protect her.
The tragedy about the end of this conversation is my dad saying, "Just hard to believe I didn't see any of this. I'm sorry I wasn't there or when I was didn't know enough to recognize something was wrong."
But I know, I kept myself alive... my mind is strong. I don't blame my dad and I feel awful that he feels bad about it. This is why I was hesitant about saying it... but at the same time, if it were my child... I would want to know, so he deserves that.
