We are going for the trifecta. Three major life event dates falling three days in a row. Today is the anniversary of my abuser’s death. This is the first time I have known this date since it happened. One of the benefits of my memories being wiped. When I found out my Grandad’s death, I decided to also find out when my abuser died. I blocked one because of the pain of love, and the other for the pain of hurt.

I avoided journalling today and it shows. Crammed today full of activities. It was a good day. No time to myself though, and maybe that’s what a day like today should be like. Road tripping to walk in the sun, brunch, music, errands, couch potato time, evening walk to the movies. Saw Blade Runner 2. The part where she says ‘the memory is real’ unexpectedly stirred something deep inside of me. The question I wanted answered for so long. The answer I didn’t want to be told. My memories are real. Tears welled in my eyes as I sat there with thoughts swirling in my head.

My memories are real? Realising that fact in only a small part of the puzzle. Doesn’t make it easy to accept. No, acceptance is a whole other ball game. The iceberg under the surface. I had a choice in that moment. I decided to go back into my protective suit of denial armour. I calmed myself. I stopped the tears I have longed for, buried them again. At the same time, I promised my tears I will feel all the feelings soon. All of them.

I think I can’t feel my anger because it is so tired up with the protective armour of denial. The denial is mixed in with fear, shame, disgust, anxiety, probably more. This is a lot more complex than I had led myself to believe. The power of denial showing me how it has helped me survive the abuse. How it has survived the aftermath of the abuse. Trying to live a normal life. Pretending everything is fine. A steady baseline. A steady exterior while chaos ruled my insides. Organised chaos in my body. Wiped memories. Forgetful, absent-minded, disconnected or a million thoughts per minute, distracting, alone, nowhere to turn. No sudden movements. Stillness that I had so often claimed I do not know how to achieve. It was there all along, waiting. Waiting until I am ready to face the music.

Thank God for denial.

The last few days, weeks, months, years have all been preparing me for what’s to come. What’s to come in worse than what happened. That sounds strange to write, but it’s true. There is added grief, anguish, turmoil, heartbreak that this has all happened before. This is the second time for me – my mind, body and soul – to experience this. I am faced with the fact that the first time this happened I was only a child. That is devastating in its own right. Reading about something happening to a child that I do not know hurts my heart that I avoid news all together. I can’t handle it. How do I then try and accept the things that have happened to me?

That poor little girl. That poor little girl does not need your pity. That poor little girl needs someone to hold her, listen to her, hear her, comfort her. Someone to sit with her in the darkness. Someone to believe her – that hurts to write. I don’t believe my own memories because they are too hard to accept. Then I project my own doubt and disbelief onto the people around me. ‘No one will believe me’. I don’t believe myself. That’s messed up. I am part of the failure surrounding her.

Not on my watch. I believe you, Kate. I always have. Deep down, I always have believed you. The denial keeps us safe until we are ready to face the music. Truthfully, I am not ready to face the music, yet, but I will do my best to persevere anyway. Maybe baby steps first, not all at once which is my MO. Go slow, slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

Tonight, in my dreams, can you let me know where to start? Show me something big, or show me something small. Show me something of your choosing. We can work through it tomorrow when we wake, like we have been working through the other dreams. I am right here with you, baby girl. I believe you. Take my hand and show me the way.