Broken, but not beaten

Potential trigger warning rape, abuse, mental health

In the dark. Left alone. No one hears me one sees me. I hurt. I’m hurting so bad. Why does no one come for me? What have I done wrong? Please hear me, mummy, please hear me. Not allowed to talk is that why she won’t come? Don’t talk, don’t tell. Mummy, please turn down the music, please come. Please

The door closes, dark, dark everywhere. I see him, he sees me he comes toward me. I stay still if I’m still he can’t see me. Dark, why so dark? I hug teddy don’t hurt me please don’t hurt me. I’m frightened but I don’t know why. I hug teddy tighter. I’m confused why is he here? He is not my daddy. He comes towards me. Pain. Searing pain he does not stop he keeps going. Don’t talk, don’t tell. Don’t talk, don’t tell. Dark. He keeps going he hurts please stop, not stopping. I’m still like a stone. Don’t talk, don’t tell.

My abuser when I was three years old. Raped as a child leading the way to a cascade of events that have partly dictated my life until now.

Like a movie I did not know and like a movie, this was not the first time. The first by a stranger at a party hosted by my drunken parents, the second by a man (one of two) whom my father’s friend brought around for a one night stand with her, the third by my father multiple times in a drunken stupor of many years through blurred boundaries and the misconception of the relationship we had.

My body knows, known for a long time. Keeping everything stored. My body has done it’s best to fight the demons I couldn’t see.

My body has done its best to protect me from harm, protect me from pain until it could no longer bear the burden anymore. My body broke in November 2019.

FND. Functional Neurological Disorder the primary diagnosis. The main issue being non-epileptic seizures and chronic pain. The seizures recreating the events that stole my childhood, my body during these seizures violently fighting against my abusers to rid my body of the trauma. Recreating that which I couldn’t do at the time. Hour upon hour these seizures would last paralysis involuntary movements, unable to breathe, unable to speak. Don’t talk, don’t tell.

Memories so far repressed; buried in my mind dormant because of the pain so incredible that I could not bear it, the memories, the trauma not surfacing until now - 28 years later. All of it; all the rapes, all the pain; surfacing leaving my body coming from the depths of blackness that it was hidden in for so long.

Flashback upon flashback, feeling everything, remembering details, feeling each rape, each time, ghost memories they are called; memories stored in the body. Dry retching after each one, trembling, alone, terrified, denial, in shock, unable to process although understanding that each one was one less memory stored in my body, one less rape buried in the blackness.

Onward of two weeks, this continued. Unable to have control, unable to stop it – not eating not sleeping. Petrified wondering if I was going crazy because in amongst this my mind shattered, my psychological self-split.

DID Dissociative Identity Disorder. Without this, I would not be standing right now. Six of us live in me now. Each section each ‘split’ each alter playing a role in my healing. Protecting me and encouraging me in a way that I am unable to do as my ‘whole’ self, right now.

Two of my alters have been with me since my childhood and teens (although not realising) as a way of dealing with the first rape. The others have made themselves known to me through this latest split.

Each of my alters has a purpose, each is concentrated into a persona embodying specific things and traits that whilst are all a part of me, I cannot access without them.

I write today as the host of us all yet I feel Tonya lending me her strength; her ability to mother, to protect, to validate and speak as the narrator of us all, Jess reminding me that I am stronger than those that hurt me; to hold my head high to be strong in mind and body; Josie allowing me to process and heal through creativity; the heart of my soul; painting, writing, drawing, dancing, being. The others are quiet right now, they come and go when they feel it is their time.

I am not crazy, I am not dangerous despite many stereotypes – I am hurt, I am a little broken, but I intend to heal. My alters are with me and allowing me to do that - to function. To live the life that I deserve. To be the strength and love for me that I never had the chance to embrace. Process what is happening safely.

To know me, to honour myself, to achieve what I am capable of; through getting to know my alters and creating the identity that I should have had the chance to do growing up.

We are not perfect, and healing is messy there is no time limit and at times we will fuck up, but we will get there.

There is hope for me through embracing the strength of my alters, accepting the support, belief, and love of my friends, and the re-connection to my sister - there is hope.

Please note – my Functional Neurological Disorder is related to this extreme trauma however there are many cases out there that are not linked and many that are. It is a complex disorder requiring a wholistic approach and diagnoses by a neurologist. It needs to be treated medical, physiological, emotional, and spiritual means; it is not limited to one area.

This disorder is not made up. It was previously known as conversion disorder and to know more about this there are many supporting websites and information out there and we will be sharing our journey with it throughout more stories.

We are also undergoing intensive counselling with a fantastic counsellor and under the care of a wonderful Psychiatrist and are safe in the world today, hurt but safe.

If you feel unsafe or vulnerable after reading this or going through something similar and need someone to listen or help in a crisis, I urge you to ring a 24/7 crisis care establishment.

In Australia two of these services are

Lifeline: 13 11 14

Beyond blue: 1300 224 636