Sometimes purging your mind of harmful events is the only way you can judge whether you're fully healed or ready to heal... Or at least have come to a point where you feel ready to begin the process. I'm not sure where I'm at... I just know I've reached a pivotal step - of something. I revealed to a friend, I hope - something I had previously not wrote on or told to anyone, for me it was an admittance my fathers words still had heavy impact on me as as an adult. It was a defeat in my mind - a disclosure about how broken I truly was at that point in my life, very well may still be, and always have been. Still I go over why events have happened to me - and how I responded. I'm tedious and brutal - an abuser of self. I'm in constant doubt as to knowledge and what I perceive as being the right choice/conclusion.
The revelation ...
Not only did my father make me take bleach baths as a child (which I have spoke on) while telling me how dirty I was for being a girl, for my mother being a whore ...
I did it to myself as an adult.
These occurred during the time I was having sexual relations with a person for whatever reasons. I reached points so low of self esteem; shame for being weak and what I perceived as being filthy, that I went home, and bathed in bleach, then cried. I couldn't wash the filth from me. It wasn't morality or guilt over any other thing than self. I was so racked with self hate and contempt that I became the little girl again and tried to wash away what I felt was filth, my filth. The filth that "daddy" always told I'd be - a whore. Women were dirty, and I had acted a dirty woman. I've been very much ashamed, or shamed of my sexuality my whole life. I had sporadic sexual interest - but mostly "asexual." I tend to pick partners in which sex will not be a focus within the relationship. Times when I've had sexual interest, it's been devastating to my sense of self esteem ... I drank and diluted my senses into oblivion and did things that were totally opposite of me - the mirrors reflection was much more desirable than the woman the image came from. This had been a truth even in my adolescence and something my therapist had spoken to me on- always with me adamant that I could fix myself. I survived many things, and didn't need anyone to fix me - I could do this alone.
The baths told me different. For the longest time I wouldn't even acknowledge what I did those nights- those moments when I was her again.
These memories trickle to the surface often. Too often.
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