Friday, April 04, 2008
April 4, 2008
I finally fell asleep around 5am this morning. Before finally fading off into a deep dreamless sleep, I kept thinking about when I first started having intrusive thoughts. I think it started somewhere around age 8 or 9 when I was being sexually abused. I would make my mind go somewhere else while my hands were tied above my head, and pictures were being taken with an instance camera. I would just squeeze tightly closed my blue green eyes and begin telling myself a story about whatever I could think of. Sometimes it would be about my knight in shinning armor on his white horse, riding in and slaying my father. A razor sharp sword to the middle of his back, blood squirting out in all directions, his heart sometimes on the end of the blade being held high into the air by my rescuer. Sometimes I even imaged the hand of God reaching down out of the sky, grabbing him, throwing him threw the air, smashing his body against a concert wall, or throwing his body over a cliff. I would secretly smile watching his body fall far to the earth below, smashing into the sharp, jagged rocks below, brain matter, guts, blood, squirting everywhere.
But no one ever came. No knight, no hand of God, no one. After a few years, the thoughts just became a normal process for my brain. I didn’t have to think about my reality around me, so I began enjoying the moments I could let my mind go somewhere else.
I used to keep a diary when I was around that age, writing down the stories that I had imaged while being abused, and even some of the things my father did to me. One day, someone found the little white notebook, and I became so frightened that it was my father and he would beat me, that I stopped writing anything for a while. Instead at night before I would fall asleep, I would tell myself a story until I would fall asleep. I don’t know if it was my father who found it, or someone else, but afterwards my father didn’t touch me again until around the time my younger brother was shot.
Now days, without even thinking about it, when I get stressed, my mind begins telling me stories. They work their way into the deepest parts of my brain and just mingle around like at a some big social party. The more I tell myself not to think bizarre thoughts, the more intrusive they become. I began writing down some of my stories in 2004, in hopes of being able to get the thoughts out of my mind. I think I was worst in 2004, I felt like a ticking time bomb. Writing since then has released a few demons, even though there are many more still crawling around in my brain.
I may have these MSPSYCHOS THOUGHTS, but I believe that is mostly what they are, unwanted psycho thoughts and nothing more. I have no plan, or intent to do anyone harm.