Posting this because my brain won't let go and I need a break. But I talked about it yesterday in therapy about the way I've suddenly begun grieving. One of the biggest questions for me that's still unanswered is "why now?" I started being SA'd approximately 17 years ago, starting with being groped and having my body talked about sexually by my neighbor and brother and describing ways they wanted to SA me. The first memory that came back to me was my neighbor's cousin sexually exposing himself to me and, over time, coercing me to follow him to a place where he orally assaulted me while he made sure nobody could watch us. The most recent incident I can remember happened about a decade ago, where my brother started pulling up my clothes and touching me without consent. I think finally being out of school and college helped my brain find some still moments to remind me. I was so busy with schoolwork I often couldn't process anything. Maybe I finally learned to trust people. I still can't be sure.

What I do know is that at some point my brain found it safe to start grieving. Looking back at my posts here, you can even see the progression. It started with doubt and denial. I couldn't admit that I'd been SA'd even writing out an obvious act of coercion and even though I was eight and knew I wouldn't have been able to consent. I'd constantly think "well x or y or z doesn't apply to my CSA story so I'm not a victim. Nothing happened." It's still hard not to deny it. I still think it's my fault. I still think I could've just stopped listening to him, I could've stood up for myself, I was responsible for allowing myself to get assaulted. Then I realized my family was involved. My mom first, when I realized she refused to protect me. Then my brother who was inappropriately touching me and talking about my body sexually and messing with my clothes even though I was obviously visibly frightened. It brought me rage. I was so angry I couldn't stand it. I was full of hate and wanted to take revenge and it hasn't stopped. I'm knee-deep in the anger of grief. I just couldn't let go. I can't detach. 

I talked about this in therapy and how this grief eventually formed into who I now know as Silas. If you read my blog further you'll know him. But I did not tell my therapist his name, just that he's here and that I saw him first when we were in session. We eventually started talking about him a little more and how he was born in part because of my grief. I told her the little things he does. He wants to cuddle in bed with me and make him feel safe. We'll sit together and he wants to play with my stuffed animals. Sometimes he just looks at me in the room. Sometimes he wants to watch whatever I'm doing or just tag along. He shows up when he's scared or upset. He's not yet spoken to me except for once. My therapist theorizes that he is with me to help me with self-love. That he wants me to love myself through him. He's a part of me, after all. And I think it makes sense. I grieve the feeling that I was safe and loved and nurtured. Part of it was grieving those normal childhood cuddles and care and protection. I thought I had them, and now I'm in grieving over so many memories that I thought I was loved in when I wasn't.

It hurts when it shouldn't. I saw a lesbian couple with two little girls the other day at work. Both toddlers. They cuddled and kissed them and rested on their chests. One of the girls kissed their mom back and laid her head right on her heart. Man it hurt. It's such a horrible feeling. I love the game Omori...you don't need context, but there was a little line in it about grief, about "it was her old bed, and yours too when you had nightmares" (not verbatim) that just kills me. I thought I had that. Then I remembered being pushed out of bed. Grief gets its hands on me wherever it can. I'm facing it alone, but I can get through it. I know Silas isn't real but I'm glad he's with me through this.