My Biological: I was born 1963. I was the 1st child to my parents that preferred not-to-be parents but felt strongly coerced by their parents and their American culture.
Sister: She was born in 1965. She is currently married without children.
Father: He was born in 1930s. Traveled by automobile a lot for work and thus was unavailable to support his wife, emotionally, and thus me and my sister. When I was 9, his employer set-up an office for him and so he was home most nights, which ended the sexual abuse by my uncle.
Mother: She was born in 1930s. Emotionally liable but no known mental illness. Stay-at-home mother with anxiety about mothering. She relied on visiting and staying with her parents (with her child[ren]) to keep herself relatively emotionally stable especially during the first 10 years of my life.
Maternal Grandfather: He was born in 1900s. Farmer and Judge. Deceased in 1970s.
Maternal Grandmother: She was born in 1900s. She was a school teacher before marriage. She married in her late twenties. Two sons born within the first two years. One daughter (my mother) born 14 years after the first son. Deceased in 1990s.
My Mother’s Siblings: The second son was born with severe epilepsy. He lived with his parents until both were deceased. He never married and never worked full-time. The second son was my abuser. Deceased in 1990s.
The first son married and had 5 children. He told everyone that he disowned his children, each one individually for being ‘sinners’ as they became adults at 18 years old. He proudly lived as a Fundamental Christian. When I explored my family history as part of my intensive healing work, I discovered his pedophilia and preference for 8 to 18 year old children. He abused all five of his children. At 18 years of age, each of his children left because they could do so legally, and they each disowned their father. Deceased in 1990s.
As a child, I had basically no memories of anything. I was quite bright and good in school, by some apparent fluke because memory is crucial to learning. When I, as a child, was talking to an adult friend of my parents, they pointed out that I referred to myself as “we” and asked me about that. Realizing that it was wrong to use “we” when referring to myself, I said, “I just mean – me, myself and I.” I always felt like a “we.”
My first realization of “lost time” was in first grade. I “woke up” in first grade during math and we were reviewing subtraction. I didn’t know how to subtract, so I figured out a way to fake it. Before waking up in first grade, the last thing I remember was being in nap time as a kindergartener. We had had our milk and cookies and were laying on our little rugs while the kindergarten teacher was reading out loud.
I was an avid reader. I read many, many hundreds of books. I learned to read music, compose and play piano when I was 4 years old via a two-year course my parents enrolled me in. Composing music was my first outlet for emotional expression. It was not okay to express emotions out loud at home. No tantrums allowed. I kept a written journal, which was my second emotional outlet. My journals also helped me track time. I was profoundly depressed. Writing helped me focus and find hope.
As a young teen, I became concerned about my lack of age-appropriate behavior. I had no friends. I had no interest in the things other teens and children were involved in. My mother bragged to other mothers about my lack of teenage behavior and that I always was so good. I read about childhood development and sought help from school counselors, school principal, church teacher, and a community counselor. But I had so little to report, my odd behavior and no memories. No help was given.
In high school, I started having problems with writing assignments. My mother wrote my assignments for me. My hope for the future was beginning to dwindle. I considered running away but had nowhere to go. At home, I was fed, clothed and schooled.
I struggled through college. I wanted to quit in my third year but a college counselor recommended finishing my degree. He showed me that completing a college degree was a important stepping stone and that I didn’t ever need to use my studies as a basis of future career(s). I completed an undergraduate degree in Engineering.
I worked in accounting for the next 10 years. I moved away to a place a few states away where I knew no one. Within the first year of living in the new place, I was raped. Six months after the rape, I was admitted to the hospital with severe anxiety and suicidal ideations.
While in the hospital, I met and started treatment with a psychologist. This psychologist introduced me to the concept of dissociation. He worked with me to become more conscious of my dissociating. I had one scene of the sexual abuse memory return. I had read “Sybil.” I strongly identified with attributes of Sybil and thought I had ‘Multiple Personality Disorder.’ He, the psychologist disagreed, stating that he had one MPD patient and I wasn’t at all like her. And besides, he said, “You have no memories.” I ended our therapeutic relationship when I moved away to attend graduate school.
I fast-tracked through graduate school in 3 years (regular program was 4 years). I moved further away from my parents to work in my graduate field of study. I continue to live in this location. During my first year here, my sexual abuse memories started returning in full color, one scene after another. I started receiving psychotherapy with a therapist specialized in trauma and dissociation. She agreed with my self-assessment of (MPD) Dissociative Identity Disorder. The details of the first 6 years of therapy work with her are not part of my memory base. We have worked very hard to maintain our ‘high functionality.’
In 2013, the stress of living caught up with me. I woke up one day without any energy to get myself out of bed. I didn’t work for 6 weeks and was wheelchair bound. During those 6 weeks, all sorts of medical tests were completed. My physician learned from the medical tests that physically my internal organs are in good functioning condition, although I am overweight. So I returned to limited work and over the next 8 months my energy increased. Now I work mostly full-time and spend most of free time resting, so that I can work.
My therapeutic relationship with my psychotherapist ended somewhat suddenly in 2014, after about 12 years. I had been paying as I could for my therapy and bartering my services. During 2013 & part of 2014, my sister paid for my therapy. My sister ceased paying when she stopped all communications with me – reason(s) unknown. My psychotherapist informed me that the work she did with me is demanding for her and she could not continue working with me without payment in full.
My parents and I maintain a non-emotional relationship. My parents prefer to be left alone and travel. I have not revealed my sexual abuse history nor my coping mechanism (DID, CPTSD) to my parents. Initially because I didn’t feel comfortable or safe talking to them about it and so I protected them. More recently, I haven’t told them because I believe they have nothing beneficial to offer me and I know even the summarized version is (and has been) personally detrimental to those that hear it. Additionally, in 2014, my mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness which is ‘rocking’ her reality intensely.
I have never married. I live alone. I have one friend, colleague, that is my ‘adopted brother’ and I am his ‘adopted sister’. He has been the only one that knows the details of my sexual, physical and emotional abuse history AND has not been detrimentally affected by knowing it.