In January I began a new therapy at PAAR (Pittsburgh Action Against Rape).  It is called Cognitive Processiing Therapy.  CPT for short.  Part of the process is to help me see how I tell myself things that are not realistic.  At first I thought they had to be events that were confrontational, or at least involving other people.  That was difficult.  I just don't have daily copnfrontations or even *events* with other people.  And, no, I don't live under a rock.  But after further clarificationit became clear that while it could be about a confrontation or an event involving another personit was really about what I tell myself about the kind of occurances ordinary people have every day.  Such as:  I dropped something.  I tell myself I'm a Klutz. In reality I just dropped soemthing.  I said something less than stellar. I tell myself I'm an idiot. completely socially inept.  In reality we all say things best left unsaid on occaision. The exercise is about what I tell myself that doesn't match reality. 

The next assignment was a little more difficult.  I had to write about an event. (My therapist chose the event.)  Then I had to re-read it every day.  That was difficult.  It put something I try NOT to thik about right in my awareness every day.  Which went on for three weeks because first I got sick and couldn't go to therapy and then my therapist was away for a week and so I had to keep doing the same assignment for three weeks.  But I did it.  I felt like *they* were trying to break me.  I even said that to my sponsor.  I knew that wasn't the case really. At least I HOPED that wasn't the case.  It was more about becoming desensitized to the event, to move closer to filling in the spaces where my memory has taken a vacation.

What happened when I read it each day was interesting.  I would be fully aware of what I had read and then be 2-3 sentences along and realise I had checked out.  I'd check back in and read a sentence or two and next thing I knew I'd checked out again.  It was like someone was flicking a light switch in my brain on and off really fast.  It was interesting to observe such a phenomena.  I could come back when I realized I was just reading with my eyes but the content was shut off from my brain.  But I could not seem to control the place where I checked out at. 

I'm back.  Again.  I stopped posting because of some real life interactions.  I was stunned and hurt by them and I still don't understand what actually happened.  Perhaps I never will.  I stopped posting because I thought the content would be misconstrued by some who might read it.  At best they will think I am bat-shit crazy.  At worst they will be disturbed enough by the content to want to blame me for my honesty. 
You would be surprised at how creative people can get with this blame.  And it always turned out that I owned what they said.  Well, now I have begun to separate the horrors of my past from the reactions of my present and so I think I might be able to separate their fears from my own. 
I know that some people will read my blog and have an unpleasant reaction to it.  They are not having an unpleasant reaction to me.  (Although they may not know that.) They may not know that what they are reacting to is that the topic of my blog (lately) is disturbing.  It is disturbing even if you are one of the people who was never sexually abused as a child.  But, if you were sexually abused as a child you have a different reaction.  Oh, yes, you will be disturbed.  You may also be *triggered* by my blog.  You will have an emotional or physical reaction that is being felt by not only your present adult self but also by the part of you who is the child you were when you were abused.  If you were a small child when you were abused you will be reacting with that child part and not from the adult place where you live your life today.  The hard part is, you may not know that.  You may find that hard to believe.  This may be where you say, *She is just bat-shit crazy.* I know.  I once scoffed too.  Because what I didn't face I could continue to pretend didn't happen. 
If this happens to you...try to just allow that it might have meaning.  That's all.  Nothing more.  Because one of the most important lessons I have learned on this journey is that I can't rush this, I can't fix itwith a sledge hammer.  I can only allow it to unfold.  I can allow each piece of awareness, no matter how difficult, to be what it is.  To sit with it and make nice.  Maybe have tea and conversation.  Sometimes all I do is listen to parts of my self, my experience, that I have not allowed for decades. 

(And just to be clear, we are not talking about recovered memories.  Recovered details.  But I never forgot what happened.)

It is not a comfortable journey for me so I understand that my blog may not be comfortable for others to read.  I read several blogs of other survivours and I am sometimes uncomfortable with their blogs.  I know it is the content and not the author that is making me uncomfortable.  I also know that my discomfort is a message to me.   Something that I need to sit with.