Family secrets that I keep

I can’t explain myself
I don’t know why I think about this non stop this week but I had a therapy session on Monday and was completely hijacked by it.
We didn’t even talk about anything that awesome.
But when I left, my brain stayed in the office and for about five hours I just wanted to get away from my family and sit in silence and reflect on the session. I wish I could remember everything we had said; The order of conversation, etc...

We discussed the irritatingly inappropriate text my dad sent me.
But I quickly grew tired of that conversation because I feel like I have hashed it out from every angle and only time will heal that wound.
So we moved to the weekends current trigger, that of a 20/20 episode of this rich guy who in his own way, trafficked young teenage girls, and fondled them in this own home.
I knew as soon as this show started unfolding that I’d be triggered by its content. Sexual fondling is my sexual abuse story.  It’s my trauma.

As I listened to some of these ladies who were victimized tell their story, I had a handful of thoughts in relation to what I was hearing. First was the girl who explained how she never went back. She was paid money for her experience being there, not understanding that she was signing up to be fondled. She felt so disgusted and ashamed and didn’t have a desire to go back,

But there were others who went back, not because they didn’t feel disgusted or ashamed, because I am sure they did, but something compelled them to go back. My conscious thought when I heard their story was, “That would be me. I would have gone back.”

Second, I recognized a conscious thought as I specifically watched these ladies tell their stories. “I wish I was you.”

I wish I was you.

I wish I was you.

Was I really thinking this? What did this thought mean? I had to sit with these thoughts all the night long before I figured out what was underneath them.

I wished I was her (or them) because they get to tell their story and people readily recognize it for the trauma it is.  Their wounds are validated, and being attended to and they deserve that every whit! I wish I was her because she got to speak to that camera and say what happened and she didn’t have to worry about ruining someone’s reputation or putting her close family associations through judgement and shame.  She didn’t have to carry that as a family secret.

I want that freedom.

I’ve cracked open the dialogue with my sister this year. I requested my report from the child department of justice center-or-something-or-other earlier this year. I told my sister I was awaiting it. She talked about some of my emotions around it.  I told her how her name was on it and she validated the one experience that she had with the same brother, to which I said “Mine wasn’t just one experience.”

Now I don’t know the mindset of my sister, or the dynamic of my brother - but I find this ironic based on my assessment of the tv show guests. My sister was the one who was like the one girl in the episode whose experience was reeked with discomfort, disgust and shame and “she never went back” and/or my brother never messed with her again. But that wasn’t the same for me, and I don’t know why.  It’s a giant question, full of shame that looms over me. Why did I go back? Or, even, why did he continue to choose me?

Because let’s face it we were in the same house. I wasn’t “going back” anywhere. I was just living my life in my home, my bathroom, my family basement, during our family’s vacations, during my family’s work time at the apartments. I was living my life, and these sexual experiences were littered throughout all the mundane and should-be safe and secure living situations. I honestly don’t know what percentage of those I really “went back” to and which ones just ended up happening to me without my permission during my attempt to live a regular life.

I also don’t even know the first time this happened. I mean, I THINK I remember the first time I had a sexual type experience with my brother. But I can’t be certain and I certainly don’t know what time was our last. My brain wishes it could remember everything - beginning, middle and end.  How old was I when this began? What were all the situations leading into this? How often and regularly was I targeted? How many times did I do something to illicit the attention? When did trauma bonding begin to occur for me? Could I have stopped it? Why did you pick me? Why did it keep happening? Why why why why why why why? I wish I could know and remember it all, honestly.  I believe if I did, I’d better understand my behaviors today.