Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Trigger warning:

One day in August 2016. I was drinking a glass of wine on the terrace of a bar in the Alameda de Hércules in Sevilla. I thought about that I hadn't cried for 30 years, 40 years, or more. I thought about this, and I felt the lock gates opening up. I rushed back home, and at home I started to cry. I cried and cried and cried. I don't know how long. One hour? Two hours? I stopped crying, not because there was nothing left, but out of exhaustion. My body could take no more.

Thus began my process of dealing with my complex trauma. For years I had been having thoughts from time to time about sexual abuse, about whether or not I had been a victim of sexual abuse in my childhood. Thoughts that became more and more intrusive. But, I did not, and do not, have any memories. My entire childhood up to at least the age of 10 is a big memory gap, a complete void. Nothing. Not a single memory. Or, rather, not one memory that my mind is willing to show me. Thinking about it now, there are a lot of memories. My body keeps the score, and for years my flashbacks were purely emotional.

Trauma. Complex trauma. Sexual abuse, emotional neglect, bullying, and I don't know what else. A happy childhood.

These trauma-labelled texts are part of my process of dealing with my trauma, healing what I can heal, and learning to live with what I can't heal, because the wounds are too deep. They are highly personal texts. They are difficult texts, many were very hard to write, and I imagine they can be hard to read. I encourage you to take care of yourself. I am aware that these texts can trigger your own trauma, and, if you don't take care of yourself, they can be (re)traumatising.

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