A new memory has been haunting me.  The memory is of kissing my abuser on the lips.  I've had a curiosity with homosexuality but this was not one of them.  I remember him saying that it didn't mean I was gay.  This was so wrong for the way I behaved back then that I couldn't believe the memory was real at first.

I remember another time discussed the idea of someoe being submissive and holding a hot cup of coffee so that it burned their hands.  The next thing I knew V (the girl i was abused with) was there with a fresh made cup kneeling beside him and he was telling her exactly what posture to have while kneeling.  He never actually told her to do it, just dropped the idea into conversation and the next thing she was doing it.

This memory of kissing him was very similar.  I don't think he told me to do it.  He just dropped the idea while talking and the next thing I know I was there face to face with him going in for a kiss.  He manipulated me to do worse things, but this one haunts me as it's one of two memories of physical contact with him.  It creeps me out and makes me feel unclean.  I don't understand what I was thinking.

I hate the fact that it's taken fifteen years to remember this happening.  I hate the control he had over me.  I hate the fact that he's screwed up my love life ever since as I can't fall in love without worrying it will drive me insane.  No wonder I freak out at kissing when this has been buried for so long.

I spoke to my friend (B) about some of the effects this kiss had on me without telling him what the "physical contact" was.  It's a big step. I don't talk to anyone other than my therapist.  B knows the most of any of my friends but I've still barely scratched the surface in any detail.  Even telling him this obscure detail there was a moment when I thought I was going to lose it and slip into my alternate personality.  I'm glad I held it together so the clock stands at six months since I last switched.

It seems so strange to think that I've only known I was abused for a couple of years.  It was even stranger when, talking to my therapist, I realised I'd never spoken about it out loud in fifteen years.  I'd tried to talk so many times over the years and failed every time.  I'd also tried to write it down but I didn't understand what had happened. That's why writing here has become such a big step for me. Being able to write down what happened helps make it all real for me and less like a bad dream.  It helps me stop forgetting that it actually happened.

As big as the step today is, I'm spiraling down.  I've got work tomorrow and want to be ready for a normal day.  I guess the best thing for me is sleep and to hope tomorrow brings a better mood.