Triggerd
Pounding pressure on my chest hands shaking and barely able to get a word out.  And all of this because I tried to say that I kissed my abuser.

I went to therapy knowing I wanted to talk about this new memory.  Its a small memory, yes, but in context it’s so surreal and disturbing.  I tried to talk about it.  I failed.  My therapist still doesn’t know what I wanted to talk about.

I was talking quite calmly up to that point and not feeling emotional at all but then my body just lost control.  I tried to talk around it, I tried changing the subject completely but nothing worked.  Something inside had triggered and it wanted to be heard.

The Conflict
My therapist (who’s been awesome over the months) helped me break it down and figure out where the internal conflict was:  Two forces at odds with one another.  One wanted the memory to be heard, to be talked about and to be understood feeling that it was being ignored and shouting with everything it had to be taken notice of.  And other which was scared I was going to lose control, forget who I am, fighting as hard as it could to hold on to “the real me”.

But neither of these were triggering my nervous system.  When I find what’s causing me to trigger I can calm it down.  Even having explained to my therapist what was going on my nervous system on fire and nothing would touch it.

This is Real
The thought pinned me to my seat.  I’d been struggling to believe the memory even after I began to write about it as “fact”.  This triggering showed me that my subconscious knew the memory was real no matter how uncertain I may have been. 

I think this memory was so hard to connect with because at the time it happened I was in complete disbelief of what was happening and so out of control that C could have made me do anything he wanted without me realizing it was him making me do it.

When something in me tried to push this memory forward screaming at me to take notice of it, the memory itself was saying “I don’t exist”.  And when I tried to keep control of myself while thinking about it, the memory was saying “you don’t know who you are”.

Looking on the Bright Side
I may have been unable to talk about the things I’d wanted to but I am glad to have unpicked another little lie.  It feels good to have remembered what happened and believed it.  I’m happy to say that contrary to the feeling in the memory “This did happen” and “I am still me!”