I thought I had remembered everything. But it's amazing what can happen when you open yourself to possibility. I've been thinking a lot about how I'm going to write about all this. My memories don't tend to be a chronological story. I remember glimpses of things. I was talking to my therapist about memories and she said it might be possible that I will remember more things. I've told my husband my whole story. I told the story again to a detective, and then to a courtroom full of people. I've shared a few details in different counseling sessions. But between there and here, I've packaged up some memories, labeled them, and stored them in the back corners of my mind, where you put other things you no longer need. They've been dealt with, so why dwell on them? I don't think there is anything wrong with that approach, but it doesn't serve my purposes. If I want to help people, I have to remember how it all happened. I need them to be able to relate to my story. If I'm too disconnected, it may not ring a bell for them. After my post "Writing the Memories", I realized how disconnected I had become. In order to write any details, I couldn't just look at the label on the box. I had to open it and explore it's contents. It was very uncomfortable, but I allowed myself to continue, knowing that there was a point to it all. It required me to be very honest with myself.
A day or two later, I was driving my work car. As I turned a corner, I noticed how I was holding the steering wheel my forefinger and thumb. A new glimpse of a memory returned; another sensation I had blocked out. On many occasions, he would force me to stroke him to orgasm. He would have me hold his penis in my hand, or sometimes physically place my hand on him. I couldn't imagine touching anything more disgusting. I would rather have picked up the feces left behind by the family dog in the backyard. I touched him as little as possible, using only my forefinger and thumb. I looked in the other direction. He would then force me to watch, and would place his hand over mine to grip him more firmly. "You're not going to break it." he said, as if though that outcome would upset me in some way. I would pull away at the first opportunity, which was either when his adventure was interrupted by Mom or one of my sisters, or when he started to ejaculate and was happy to finish the job without me so that he could control the mess.
Ugh, looking this over, my writing seems all over the place. But that's ok. For now I just need to get it all out. Editing will come much later!
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