Those of you who read the material I write on this website know two things about me. One, I am a very strong survivor who has been through hell, and two, I am going through hell right now.
It’s on days like this one that I ask myself, will I ever heal from the brokenness that people I love(d) have caused?
I will never give up, that’s not how I work, but I feel in my heart that I’ll be perpetually going to therapists until they retire and bouncing from one psychiatrist to another as they also retire or move on to better feeding grounds.
The Forever Client?
Long ago, when I first began this journey, I asked Paula, my therapist, how long I would need to be in therapy. She said, “As long as it takes but not as long as you fear.” Paula was usually correct in what she says, but sitting here in 2019, twenty-nine years later, I can say assuredly that she was wrong.
If I were someone who lived with a diagnosis like major depression or even bipolar disorder perhaps there would be hope of a cure someday as our understanding of the brain progresses.
However, I don’t have a disorder like that.
Dissociative identity disorder is a developmental problem not unlike people who have an intellectual disability. In fact, I view DID as more of a disability than a disorder.
Because of the nasty stuff, I was forced to survive as a kid, I missed an important developmental milestone and cannot go back and redo it. Dissociative Identity Disorder, although it can be conquered in the form of gaining control over the chaos, cannot be cured.
That doesn’t mean I won’t keep moving forward with my healing, but it does mean I will be forever striving toward a goal that cannot be fully reached.
What Keeps Me Going?
Good question, thanks for asking.
During the many years, I sat in Paula’s office, she instilled in me a determination to not let those who hurt me in my childhood win.
They wanted to destroy me in any way they could to satisfy their sick agendas and desires. They used me in so many ways using torture and intimidation. They sold my body like I was some kind of animal and didn’t care what their deeds were doing to my mind or that I would pay for the rest of my life for their evil. To give up and lay down and die would be allowing them to finish what they started, and I will never give them the satisfaction.
I realize that they are dead now, but the effects of their perversion and evil still live on and I still gain enormous satisfaction knowing I have won.
I have other family members who to this day will say I’m making things up and that my abusers were innocent of the crimes I have accused them of and who decided to ignore and disown me for many decades. To these people, I owe no loyalty.
That is what keeps me going when I feel bad as I do today. They will not have the last word, I will.
If I were to take my own life, in their minds the relatives I am accusing would be vindicated. They would wag their heads and clack their tongues saying to each other, “See, we knew poor Shirley was mentally ill? She believed her own lies about poor so and so, and now we can prove she did it because she was crazy.”
Sorry folks. The show is not over and won’t be until I die by natural causes.
I find a kind of peace in knowing that I have spoken to others who lived in the town where these relatives lived for decades who also experienced abuse from one of them. They described them as creepy, nasty, and untrustworthy but their parents wouldn’t listen because of their standing in the community.
There were many victims.
I now know also that there was a trafficking ring in that small, inconspicuous, and seemingly quiet town that had my relative(s) involvement.
Don’t ever try to tell me again that it didn’t happen, because it most certainly did.
I Am No Longer Just a Broken Little Girl
In 1976, when I reported on the people whom I loved very much, and who decided to betray, ignore, and disown me, I was only a fifteen-year-old kid. The actions of my relatives hurt me deeply, so deeply I didn’t speak about it for almost fourteen years.
During that time I remained inside a broken little girl who blamed herself for being treated brutally by people she loved.
Then I finally began to see who it was who was to blame, and it was NOT me.
These people, including the members who were involved in hurting me, chose to run away from the information they KNEW was true. They chose to persecute a fifteen-year-old little girl because she had decided she wasn’t going to live in fear any longer.
May God have mercy on them.
Today I am announcing that I am NOT that little broken girl anymore. I am a fully grown woman now and I am fighting back. I am claiming the truth for the truth and I will no longer be intimidated by the lies my family wish to tell themselves.
The people you say were innocent victims of the perverted mind of a fifteen-year-old little girl (really?) were guilty and I will not allow the libel against my name or my healing from their crimes go unnoticed.
I am not just a broken little girl any longer. I am a strong and vital woman who is calling it like it is and I will never stop.