A Message from Your PTSD

Teddy bears with missing faces

NOTE: This post contains intense talk about child abuse, rape, and recovering repressed memories, with an aggressive tone.

Hey there kiddo,

You know what’s on the menu tonight? Something new: The really graphic shit! No more hinting at ugly things from the past. We’re far beyond that. You’ve leveled up again, and this is your prize. Now it’s nothing but the full Monty. Whether you like it or not. (Don’t worry, it’s on the house. You’re welcome!)

Remember all those memories you recovered of feeling horrified before the rape was about to happen? Yeah, you were young, but you were smart enough (and conditioned enough at this point) to know exactly what was about to happen next. Remember how the feeling of sheer terror was so intense it couldn’t even fit inside you? How you blanked out because any show of weakness or resistance would just make it worse? Remember that one where you cried and screamed as he dragged you across the carpet and you clawed fruitlessly at those fibers hoping you could stop him?

Remember all those other memories that flooded back to you? The memories of how you felt after the rape? Disgusting, dirty, guilty, ashamed? Worried you might die? Remember how he tricked you into covering for him by making you believe the police would come after you and not him? And how that made you feel even worse? Oh, yeah, that was Grade-A vomit-inducing trauma. Congratulations! But what we’re about to serve up next is even better!

His hands along your sides! All over your body, in every place you don’t want them! The unbearable pain of penetration! His disgusting smell! The shame-inducing experience of his sweat all over you! Feeling so empty and crushed inside you try to find any pleasure from it that you can, like someone lost in the desert searching for water! Guilt—insurmountable guilt—from trying to find pleasure in the moment to sustain you through it! How dare you not be an invincible empty shell with no feelings! How dare you be a human being!

All these and more await you from now on, every single night. That is your prize for getting used to every other memory. I tried to break you. Over and over. And it didn’t work. I hope I’m successful this time; your insistence on barreling through these moments of pure torture over and over again until they stop tearing you apart is messing with my business. I didn’t think I’d have to ramp it up to this level of intensity to break you. Who the fuck do you think you are? Captain Malcolm Reynolds? Well, we’ll see about that, won’t we? You want to play unbreakable hero? Fine. I can play Niska. Don’t be so confident you’ll come out the winner.

With love,
Your PTSD