From the past…

Warning: this post may be triggering to some. Please read on with caution.

I’ve been having a rough time in therapy and we seem to have hit an impassable wall. I’m sure it’s passable somehow, but it certainly doesn’t feel that way right now. I wanted to move on to other material that I didn’t used to know but somehow have access to now. It still bothers me a lot and I don’t understand it. I tried to email Therapist about it, but couldn’t. This blog has turned into my journal in a sense because I’ve kept it basically anonymous. I’m going to try to post it here. I don’t know if I can, but I’m going to try…

Do you remember those little footie pajamas that you wear as a little kid with the white plastic-ky feet and the almost soft (but still sometimes itchy) fuzzy fabric that zipped up the front? I remember wearing those. At some point I guess I got too tall for them but wasn’t quite willing to give them up because my mother started cutting the feet out of them. She says she started that when I was around 4. In the memories I have, my pajamas still have feet, so I must have been about 3 in the earliest ones. I also have later ones where I’m in regular pjs (like pants and a t-shirt).

(I know I’ve spoken a little about this with Therapist, but I’ve never managed to truly describe what it is. That’s what I’m trying to do here. The word “fantasy” doesn’t even begin to describe what I remember, but it’s the only one I’ve ever been able to use. This still eats away at me, so I have to do this. Wish me luck.)

I remember unzipping my footie pajamas and stuff a blanket into the crotch pretending that I had a penis (I don’t think I knew the name for it then, but I remember at least knowing what it looked like). I must have figured out that I could have an orgasm that way. Things get so fuzzy and confused…like more than one memory put together. The next things that I remember clearly are from when I was older.

I know that I could be quite an insomniac as a child at times (but no one knew). I would be far too edgy and anxious to go to sleep, so I’d sit up for hours watching Nick-at-Night and hoping sleep would come. It didn’t matter if I had the TV turned on or not. My mother would come in and tell me to turn it off after I’d been in bed for a little while and I would. I’d lay there in the dark (or near dark because of the night-light) for a couple of hours until my parents had gone to bed. Still awake, I’d turn the TV back on with the volume way down. Often there was only one way to go to sleep, and I hated it. The earliest that I remember this was probably when I was around 7-ish. I’d put a tennis ball or beanbag or some small object like that in my underwear and pretend to have a penis. I would pretend to be a grown man and fantasize about having sex (who knows how I knew what sex was then) with little girls about my age. I would also think about sitting on someone’s lap, feeling their penis poking into my butt (sometimes that person was my father and other times my great-grandfather); sometimes the man would touch my privates and other times I’d be forced to touch theirs. Sometimes I couldn’t sleep unless I had an orgasm too, but other times it didn’t matter and the fantasy was enough.

I guess that as I learned more about where babies come from the fantasies got more creative. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed at the prospect of posting what’s written above, so I think that’s about as far as I can go. I’ll leave it up if I can. All of this still has a lingering effect. When I don’t stay busy enough (which is how I keep ahead of memories, by staying too busy to think about them), I start to have nightmares and get too scared to sleep. Only two things work to help me get a little sleep. Either I stay up until I am so exhausted that my body literally shuts down, or I have to revisit one of those fantasies. I hate the second option so I usually stay awake for days, only sleeping for 3-4 hours every couple of days when my body simply shuts down. Eventually I can’t do it anymore though, and I resort to the second option. It feels shameful and creates as many problems as it solves.



~ by Kj on June 6, 2010.

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