Archives for the month of: January, 2015

turn the heat up if I’m cold.

choose to stay in pajamas all day and not shower.

take a really long shower until I’m out of hot water.

eat a bunch of cookie dough.

have sex.

not have sex if I don’t want to.

ask my wife to give me a back rub.

stretch my muscles out.

feel my physical pain and admit that it hurts.

pee when I need to pee and not hold it in order to avoid inconveniencing others.

get a drink of water.

hug myself and rock.

I am allowed to do these things.



when I found there was no safety

in my father’s house

I knew there was none anywhere.

You are right about this,

how I nurtured my work

not my self, how I left the girl

wallowing in her own shame

and took on the flesh of my mother.

but listen,

the girl is rising in me,

not willing to be left to

the silent fingers in the dark,

and you are right,

she is asking for more than

most men are able to give,

but she means to have what she

has earned,

sweet sighs, safe houses,

hands she can trust

– Lucille Clifton

I used to be really smart. So sharp, quick with arithmetic and witty. I always felt as though I could conquer any sort of intellectual problem. I was confident in helping others to understand complex concepts; my classmates always came to me for help and I would gladly and competently assist. I was confident in my ability to perform academically.

I feel that since this whole sexual abuse thing has reared its terrifying head, that is an aspect of myself that has been relegated to the past. I feel foggy, slow, muddy in my thinking. I can’t do math in my head anymore. At times, finding the right word is a struggle. I have to think a great deal before I speak. I don’t remember a lot of things.

I used to have the greatest memory (or so I thought). I could remember exactly what a person said, what they were wearing, etc. Now I question all of that. I can’t even remember things that happened one day ago. My wife tells me about something I said and I have no recollection of the conversation. Or she shows me something and I appear to respond, only to show her the same exact thing five minutes later, as if she hadn’t already seen it. I can see that this is alarming to her. The other night, I made the comment that sometimes I enjoy dissociation, the feeling of numbness and blank space in my head. She got freaked out and said she doesn’t like it when I dissociate, it’s like I’m a different person. “You’re not there.”

I don’t know what’s happening or what has happened to me.