There have been some questions concerning my credibility lately. Actually, I don’t know of a time when my credibility was not questioned.
For a long time, the only way I could find my own mind credible was if other people agreed with me or did not think I was making any inappropriate moves or comments or whatever. I had very little confidence in my ability to discern what was real from what was not real.
I mean, there are a lot of really obvious reasons for this. The big one is that I was taught to unquestionably believe lies and to consider the truth a figment of my imagination. I could go into a whole other blog post on that subject, but deciphering that part of brainwashing just makes me feel really tired right now.
So back to my credibility.
When I first went into the hospital (four years ago exactly), I was terrified that what I was remembering was real. I honestly would have preferred a lobotomy and a straightjacket to counter my insanity than for anything that I was remembering to actually be real. I obsessed on all of the things in my head and what they could possibly be, as long as they weren’t real.
Leave me drooling and useless in an asylum, but make it so my parents loved me and wanted to protect me and didn’t want to hurt me and didn’t want to let anyone else hurt me. That would have been very much preferable to all of that shit being real.
At this point in the game, though, it is much more about accepting that the things in my head really did happen, and grieving and being sad and angry. And trying to live the life I was given.
I have spent a lot of time and concentration and energy on learning how to differentiate truth from fiction. I have remembered so much shit and have gone through the process of testing to see if it was real or not, and if I could accept it or not, that I’m an old pro by now.
I know what it is to have a memory surface and no matter how sick or twisted or shameful or disgusting it is, to learn how to incorporate that awareness and knowledge of being abused into my past – so that I can live in the present, and look to the future.
Remembering for me is not a simple process. There are very distinct ways my brain and my body go about re-introducing the horrors of my childhood into my present consciousness. One event – or even one second of one event – could take months of processing before it goes into my day-to-day consciousness.
Remembering for me involves feeling my body being hurt the way it was hurt then, smelling whatever I was smelling at the time of the trauma, hearing the noises I had heard when this was happening to me, and seeing it unfold in front of me and inside of me, and experiencing the fear and terror of it all over again.
It happens again and again and again – it is a process I’m familiar with, and it only happens when I remember the truth.
What that means for me is that I find myself very credible. I know what happened to me. I know a lot of the people who did things to me. I know I’m not making up this horrendous nightmare for whatever reason there could possibly be to make up such a thing.
It is real.
It is shitty and exhausting and disgusting and shocking and cruel and gross and incomprehensible.
But it is definitely real.
Having learned how to build this foundation of sanity around the concept of continuously looking toward what is true, I no longer need anyone to agree with me or tell me I’m not weird or that I’m not crazy in order to know what is real and what is not real.
The entire issue surrounding my credibility is irrelevant.
All I’ve ever really wanted was to know the truth, and now I am learning what the truth is and what it means to me now. I haven’t asked anyone to believe me.
I hadn’t expected anyone to believe me from the get-go (the reasons behind that are an entirely separate blog post, too), and I have been unspeakably grateful for the support I have from all different kinds of people.
But I don’t have to stress out about how credible I have to sound or appear to anyone else anymore. It is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to do with anything at all. I don’t have to convince anyone that I am sane because I know that I am sane. I don’t have to prove the truth behind my assertions because I know that I am truthful.
I don’t have to convince anyone of anything because I am not asking for anything in return. I have what I need. I have found my voice and I am using it. I’m not asking anyone to listen. I’m not asking anyone to react in any particular way. I’m not asking for revenge, or even for justice.
I’m just using my voice. For the first time in my life, I am using my voice. I have never experienced peace like the peace I feel by using my voice. I use my voice because I can. A lot of people can’t say that. But I can say that, and I know how amazing it is to be able to do that, and I’m not planning on hiding my voice behind other people’s insecurities and interests anymore.
My voice is for me and I am using it. I don’t plan to stop any time soon.
3 comments:
Hi Rebecca,
This is Sandra. I don’t understand how you can be saying such cruel things about your father. It seems like he caused you so much pain and you talk about trying to reach out to him, even though he has tried to reach out to you, but you have not done any of this in the past ten years. I do not know who YOU knew, but he was not the person who you so gruesomely describe, at least in the past ten years. You also mention that the reason that you never reached out is because you did not know where he lived, when we both know you did. You traced me down to BOTH of my high schools across states and never explaining what exactly it was you were trying to achieve. Never any explanations. All you could have done was called, or written an email. There was never any reason to take such measures. You say the funeral would be all the way across the country…yet you do not know where he lives..?
He was not a monster for his whole life. I am not denying that what you are saying is true or not, we will never know this now, but the person that I knew, was the farthest thing from a monster that I have ever encountered. You didn’t know him in his last years. And I will never know what really happened, but he was definitely not a monster.
I am sorry for the pain that you felt/still feel, but there are people who still miss him because he is gone and it is really hurtful to see you write such inhumane things. It took a lot for me to write this, because quite frankly, from the couple of posts that I have read, it is incredibly difficult to read, especially knowing that this is not the person that he was.
Sandra - I am so grateful to hear from you. You have been on my mind daily, and I am extremely relieved to hear you did not know my dad as the same person I did.
I will never ask you to believe or accept the way I have described him, or the things he has done to me. Regardless of who believes me or not, though, the truth remains the same.
I am sorry for the loss you experienced when he died, and again, I am very grateful your experiences with him were not like mine. I don't know the circumstances with your biological father, but I do know how difficult and painful it is to lose a dad you believe loved you, and it sounds like my dad was able to be that person for you.
Please know that I am here for you at any time, even if you would simply like to express your anger with me. If you would like to contact me privately, you can at rebeccaraymer@gmail.com - of course, communicating publicly is fine, too - whichever you feel comfortable with.
If I do not hear from you again, please know I wish you and your mother the very best in life.
And you are a far better person than most. Can't say I would be that calm and collected about that comment. Good for you.
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