Memories Have A Mind Of Their Own

Memories have a mind of their own.  They arrive when they feel that we're ready, yet I never, ever feel ready for them when they come. 

Two days ago, I sat on the couch with my eyes closed, just casually relaxing and suddenly an image of an altar made of stone drifted into my mind.  There was a charred, blackened animal on top of it and smoke drifting from its body.  I started breathing hard, and my heart started pounding. I sucked in my breath and popped my eyes open.  I sat for a moment realizing that I was having a memory again.

I called my brother to ask him if he remembered participating in any type of animal sacrifices on the cult.  He said he remembered once where they hung a calf upside down, and all the boys were gathered in a circle where they chanted, prayed to God, and then the calf's throat was slit.  Next I called my sister.  Her response sent me reeling.

"Yes, I know that they did perform rituals. I don't know if I was ever taken to one, but I remember conversations about them.  They were at night, and usually they took the smaller kids."

Since I was between the ages of 3-7, it is likely that I was present in these rituals.  Maybe they were doing a sacrifice as is described in the Bible, but why only use the smaller children?  What else happened with us at those rituals?  My mind has so many questions. A few more pieces of the memory drifted in as I focused on it. I had helped build the altar.  I wish I could get more of it.

I've been privileged recently to have some conversations with a psychotherapist with 30 years of experience here locally.  She is amazing and kind and very interested in my story. She's explained some things to me which have helped me have a better perspective. 

She explained to me that people who are products of ritual/mind control abuse, need a different type of work that most therapists are not trained to do.  It discouraged me a bit to find out that there are just a handful of therapists who are trained in dealing with this type of abuse. I accept this situation for what it is.  I write about it, let it out, and continue to live life the happiest I can while remaining hopeful that I will have what I need to be able to do this work.

It's hard to explain to people what I deal with on a day to day basis; that allowing myself to finally feel this after all these years is exhausting both mentally and physically; how each memory cripples me, and the type of support system that I truly need.  It's hurtful how easily they can judge me for not having the drive I once had or the capabilities I once boasted.  It's equally exhausting how they casually pat me on the back, or close down and pull away.  

I wonder sometimes how it is that people can sit and watch the worst violence on television, but they can't equally give that time and understanding to a person whose has lived violence.  Yet, I know there are many reasons.  People can disconnect from a screen better than they can someone they know.  They don't have to deal first hand with the violence they see on the news or movies.  There is also a lack of compassion and empathy in people who are often rooted in their own lives so deeply, they can't see beyond it to what others might be dealing with.  Or they simply don't want to be bothered. It's a harsh reality of the state of the human mind, but the ones who do pause to care about what is going on with me make all the difference, and I appreciate them to no end. 

Last night brought a night terror where I fought, for what seemed like hours in the dream, to claw my way up a steep icy hill.  I kept looking down at the ocean of icy water waiting to consume me if I fell.  I was panicked and desperate to save myself. At the top of the hill were people who could help me, standing there watching me claw my way up as my arms ached to try and pull myself away from death. I wanted to call to them to help me, but I was so exhausted from clawing that I couldn’t get my voice.  They kept yelling down to me that I could do it, cheering me on, and not one offered to throw a rope to help.  They didn’t seem to be aware or care that if I fell into that icy water, I’d be dead from hypothermia before they got to me.

I woke up this morning with my right upper arm in major pain.  Maybe I was clawing in my sleep.  My muscle aches as if I worked out, pulling myself.  Maybe part of the dream stemmed from not feeling safe.  Maybe some of it was representative of being in a place where I'm just barely keeping my head up, can barely breathe and instead of people reaching their hands to help me get to safety, they're just patting me on the back and telling me I can do this.

Sometimes we need a hand to help us pull through.  Sometimes it can make all of the difference in the world. 

The cycle of these memories coming up goes like this:

1. The memory floats to the surface.  For me, they come in kind of feathery images, with a lot of emotion attached.  For instance, I can see one glimpse of a situation, as in the altar I spoke about above, but feeling the emotion of it much stronger, as in the fear, the confusion that I may have felt as a child being in that specific scenario.
2. The next day after a memory arrives usually consists of me trying to figure it out; did it happen, can I verify it? I write down what I'm seeing and try to do just that.  I have my brother and sister as sources, and a couple of other now adults who were children in the same cult. It is impossible to "just not think about it." as some have suggested I do with the memories. It simply doesn’t work like that. First, the image won't leave the mind because it's insistent on coming out.  Second, because the body is trying to heal and let the negative emotion out, it would be self abusive to not allow it to release.

3.  A couple of days after the memories arrive, I usually have some kind of night terror dream. 

4.  The next morning after the dream I wake up in a post traumatic stress attack with hypersensitivity to light, a headache, uncontrollable crying/sobbing, needing to sleep a lot (11-12 hour stints).  This part of the memory recovery process has usually lasted about 2-3 days.

In total, one memory floating forward, depending on the severity of it and/or whether it spurns a night terror, has taken a minimum of a week to recover from.  It's been a process of learning and accepting how this happens and trying hard to create a stable place to recover from them as I deal with it.  It takes self soothing as I don’t have an active support system around me to assist with the soothing, trying to balance and get myself steady again.

The past few days, trying to keep my demeanor intact as I have dealt with clients; keeping my smile on and having to suppress these emotions and deal with them when I should be able to cry it out and allow it to flow, has left me with a scorching headache.   I wonder, at this pace, if I'll ever be finished with this. Wanting and needing to let it to come full circle is the most tiring thing I've ever felt.