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.