So I went to the doctor’s recently and he said I have symptoms of PTSD and OCD. I think it was my Alpha-theta treatment that triggered it, the memories of being vulnerable and the fear that someone will take advantage of that vulnerability …because someone already has. I remember once saying that I would write pretty much everything about my life with mental illness the good, the bad and the ugly; keeping things real with you all. Well I haven’t told you everything, I didn’t want to think about it and I kept it hidden for nearly 10 years before speaking to a professional about what happened when I was 9 years old.
As I write this I feel my anxiety pulsing through me, the tears ready to flow. This has been a burden on me for years and I’ve tried to deny it, tried to forget it ever happened, to me it was a dark secret that had to be kept close because no one could know, not even my family but I’ve learned the hard way that you can’t run from your past because it will come back to you when you think you’re safe.
When I was 9 years old I’d been sexually assaulted, I won’t mention any names just that it was by someone close who I thought I could trust. Since that day I’ve felt… tainted like I was a bad person, I remember I started self harming when I was being bullied because I thought the bullying was God punishing me for what happened and that if I started hurting myself God would make the bullying stop. It didn’t work.
I’d also started having intrusive thoughts and fearing that one day I would be like him or that it would happen again, this has lead me to attempt suicide because I would rather die than make someone feel the way I did and still do. Anything to do with sex makes me really mentally uncomfortable, I would skip sex scenes in books and movies but sex sells doesn’t it? so that crap seems pretty inescapable to me which thus leads me to an anxious state where I feel like stabbing myself in the head to make the thoughts stop. At this point I feel very detached from myself, writing this without really thinking; my body is typing this but my mind is elsewhere (does that make sense?)
I remember comforting myself when it happened by thinking In ten years, by the time you’re 19, you’ll be over this, you’ll be okay. Well, I wasn’t, and here we are 11 years later and it’s like I’m 9 years old again. I’m having nightmares, the thoughts are worse along with my compulsion to self harm and/or obsessively wash my hands because I feel contaminated. It was only when I was 17/18 that I started talking about it properly in group therapy, to my psychiatrist and eventually I let my mum read my report so she found out what happened. I told her not to get authorities involved because the reason I kept it secret was because I knew it would tear my family apart and when my nan died I became so fearful that she would know and wouldn’t love me anymore.
Even though I understand that it wasn’t my fault and even though I did say no multiple times I still feel the guilt, shame, and anger. I think I should’ve done more, I should’ve told someone sooner and stopped him because recently I met up with his ex (we’re friends) and when I let slip what happened she wasn’t surprised because she had been physically and emotionally abused by him, I felt so bad because if I had done more she probably wouldn’t have suffered at his hands as much as I did. We’re both seeking treatment for PTSD, we’re both broken and bruised because of him. He told me not to tell anyone but now I’ve told you.