This post is more of a heartfelt diary than an account. I've had some encouragement in this area and I think now is the time to go for it. Maybe it will help others to hear how my mind works when I'm just talking to myself?
I've finally made contact with other survivors and gotten real validation. It feels good. It feels exciting. And then a program started running. This one I call "go blank". This happens to me a lot.
I feel an energy or a compulsion to create or write or something along those lines yet nothing seems to be the "right" thing to stick with for more than a few minutes. This usually goes on for about an hour or two until I've processed enough and engaged with the world enough to snap myself out of it and onto what's really bugging me.
Today, I think the electricity is bothering me although I haven't really been having flashbacks about it. Maybe it's more that it *had* bothered me so much in the past I wasn't ready to write about it. The reason I added "More, always more" to the title of this post is because there are always more fragments.
When it comes to the use of electricity in the program I really feel like that is one of the most horrifying aspects. I think by now I've been hit with the equivalent of at least 1 lightning bolt if I added up all the amps. It's depressing to think about but then sometimes ego kicks in and I think "I must be pretty tough". And I probably am. I had a high pain tolerance as a child. But even knowing that doesn't make it any easier to deal with in certain aspects. I know that damage has been done. One of the worst rounds of shock I went through that was to the head has left me with a permanent nervous tick that causes me to blink a lot. To make matters worse, I've often had people comment on my blinking in rude, negative ways while I was unable to tell them how I became this way - not that they would have believed me in the first place. How do you like them apples? Well, I don't. If my handlers were here and I had a basket full I'd bean them both in the head.
What's probably bothering me the most today is the incident known as "The Garage". Oddly enough, I had a garage sale today....but yeah..the garage happened at 5 and is so graphic I don't think I should write about it because it would probably trigger others in a negative way.
One thing I often ask myself during this process is "who do I need to tell? which pieces can I share with which people?" Just because other survivors share a trauma history similar to mine doesn't mean they could stomach my details. Some probably can and some probably can't. I've never wanted to air things out just for sympathy or empathy. Not that I don't want some of both, I just don't want to fixate on the negative.
But I will say this, I think "the garage" is the master control event. If anyone had known or seen in law enforcement, these people would've gotten the death penalty or life in prison. It was that bad. It was also one of the first, most traumatic times I realized that my family planned on acting like it never happened. I remember vividly talking about it to my parents a day or two afterwards as we walked in the dark on a cool night. They told me that it was just a bad dream. I remember when they said that the stars I was looking at seemed to all dim and lose their brilliance. Even worse is knowing I escaped by the skin of my teeth from the cult doing it to me again as an adult. My transition is the one thing that stopped them. None of the pervs want to see my balls.
And that big picture view pisses me off even more. The nerve and lack of heart of these people. At times it makes me fantasize about how to get revenge and get away with it. Oddly enough, though, I then feel guilty and that is a big part of what saved me. My handlers told me if I could keep forgiving them just enough as I had been, then I would remember what they told me about how to escape. So, that's what I did. The catch, though, is that they still had to punish me for beating them. I'm in a point in transition where I should be extremely happy but almost every day has been marred by recovering the minutest of memory fragments. It's like Chinese water torture on steroids.
I guess there's only one thing to do...tune in to good music, turn on my creativity and drop out of this pressure to ruminate about the past!
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