Nicole's Story

I was 16 when I remembered...

My life was a mess. My mom was leaving my father. I had been hospitalized for self-injury and suicidal thoughts several times. I was attending a adolescent day treatment program for the summer where we learned about self esteem and had a lot of art and rec. therapy to keep us busy. Once a week I'd go to a self-injury group where we worked on impulse control. I had never considered that I may have been sexually abused, I had heard about false memory syndrome and repressed memories briefly in the news but didn't have an opinion of it, aside from thinking it would be impossible to forget something that life altering.

I remember I was walking past the refrigerator when the first flashback came. I walked across kitchen and into the living room, my body was shaking I think. I don't remember seeing anything between the refrigerator and the living room. In a period of a few minutes I had three memories, two of being physically abused and a third of sexual abuse.

One memory was of being pushed against the living room wall, my armed pinned across my chest and the other against the wall. I didn't remember any words or anything- he was angry and I was refusing to do something- I am unsure of what, possibly go to my room. I don't know where my mom was. I was probably about 8 years old or younger. The second memory was of him twisting my arms trying to get me to go upstairs. We were near the middle of the top section of the flight of stairs. I said "stop it hurts" and pulled my arm away from him so he grabbed the other arm and started twisting it. The banister was pushed against my side and I was loosing my balance. He pushed me down against the stairs. Why he wanted me to go upstairs I don't know. The third memory disturbed me more than the first two. I was little, but I don't know how little. My mom was at a funeral with my grandmother I think. I remembered walking into my parents room and wanting my mom. She wasn't there. I don't know what I said, the memory is like a picture snapshot. He told me to get into bed, I didn't want to get into bed. The next thing I remember is being in his bed and turned away from him. I remember his arm going across my body and touching my vagina area under my nightgown. I remember thinking I was like mommy and I remember a bright light from outside the window in the adjoining room. I don't remember anything after that.

The physical abuse memories bothered me and the flashbacks were intense, but it wasn't anything new. I had always known my father was physically abusive when he drank and my mom wasn't home. The third memory, however, surprised me; scared me, disturbed me. I didn't know what to do with it, I searched online for forgetting sexual abuse and found two web sites that said I made it up.

The next morning I was very upset. I went to the day program and tried to talk to my social worker but no words would come out and I just cried. I didn't tell anyone much after that. My mom and I moved and I started refusing to see my father. If he came over I would hide in my room. The thought of seeing him would send me into panic attacks and make me very fearful. I began attending alateen, we'd learn how alcoholism affects parents and how abuse isn't right even if they are drunk. I was attending a therapeutic day school but didn't talk about it with my social worker. When I was asked if I was sexually abused I said I didn't know. With my friends I'd talk about it some, but not much. I was confused. I didn't believe it. I thought I made it up. But then I didn't know how I could have made it up, it didn't make any sense.

Several months later I went into the hospital again. I refused to see my father so my psychiatrist and mother forced me to see him. This sent me into a crisis which lasted several days and I finally told my psychiatrist that I thought he sexually abused me. He didn't believe me. I was discharged and started talking to my social worker a little about it. The first time I really talked about it however was during my next hospitalization. I would talk about it with the counselors in evening groups and they said they believed me and told me I was making a lot of progress. It was the first time I was ever validated.

After that I spent some time in a state funded residential treatment center. The staff were accepting and believed me. I didn't receive a lot of therapy however, but that's another story. I was diagnosed with hypo thyroidism and a rare neurological condition, both worsening my symptoms and making it appear I was much sicker than I really am. I believe that knowing about the abuse, even though painful, has helped me heal more than not knowing would have.

Now I am 20 years old. I rarely self-injure, relapsing maybe once or twice a year for the last four years, and rarely have suicidal thoughts unless my thyroid goes haywire. This does not mean, however, that I do not have issues. I attend weekly therapy sessions and am actively trying to improve my life. I still struggle with how my extended family treats me. They believe I have borderline personality disorder (I dont, but even if I did it would not mean I had a character flaw) and that I am selfishly cutting off my dad and making up the memories.

That, however, has little to do with who I am. I am a college student and an artist. I aspire to make something of my life, to help others. I am not sure what I am going to be however I am sure my lifes calling is to help people who were victims of abuse and survivors of trauma, even if it is just through sharing my story. I do not speak to my father although I still love him, he is my father and I have many great memories of him. I cannot forgive him however, I cannot even forgive myself. Maybe I will someday, maybe I will find the strength to forgive. I struggle with why I didn't tell someone, why I forgot, why? I may never have the answer, but I believe I did what I had to do to survive.

I hope that, somehow, through sharing my story I might give someone who just experienced recovery of a memory a little hope and help them believe that they can trust their memories!