A Post to Answer Comments from the Previous Post

Actual post time - 6 AM Wednesday, April 1, 2009

I appreciate all the comments about how it is just too embarrassing to talk to a therapist about sexual things. I couldn't agree more. I've never been able to do it, either. This time, I took a chance, but it wasn't when I called him during the meltdown. All I could do then was cry and tell him how very afraid I was. I told him I was afraid of the nightmare. Very, very afraid, yet so tired and needing sleep. Now I am only getting by because I'm alternating between dissociation and a beer buzz. I'm not complaining too loudly, though. It's not the healthiest way to cope, but it's what I have at the moment. It allowed me to bank the gross receipts, pay my bills, clean up around here, and get a very respectable start on the mountain of laundry that piled up while I was down. Still, this is not a long term plan. I have to DO something. I decided that it might be wise to take a chance and let the therapist in. I let him right in to the real middle of the mess. I had to stare down Rambo to get him onboard. He is the protector, so he saw the misery and the danger in not having help and he protected by standing down. He was very encouraged by the therapist's reaction to the emergency, so he's with me. Anyway, here's how I did it and I'll let you know how it turns out. I told it in this email:



Thank you for not leaving me. I was able to put together a little bit of peace and get myself together somewhat. I've still been bothered by bad mental images, though. The same images have stalked me from time to time since I was about ten and I know that the really bad nightmare I had was about that. Those things come from the same place. They are the same thing. I thought I could handle the actual material by myself, but something happened tonight that makes me think it might be smarter to say something to you about this stuff. I didn't want to because it is very, very embarrassing and I can only write it to you. I don't think I could actually tell you out loud, so thank you in advance for not being one of those stodgy types who doesn't do computers.

That nightmare was very deeply disturbing. I could not see the face of the bad person in the dream, but he made me think of my husband. Their personal areas looked nothing alike, but I thought of him because of what the man was doing. I have a problem that no one knows about (except for my husband). It is a sexual problem in that intercourse is difficult and sometimes not physically possible because... I think it is because I'm afraid even when I don't know I'm afraid, even when I think I am relaxed, so my body tries to protect me by not letting it happen. There is something that helps with this situation, and that is what the bad person in the dream was doing to me. But that person was rough and mean and frightening. Then in the days that passed after the nightmare, I became very sick and upset because of the images and also from thinking that the only way I am able to have sex with my husband is to first repeat something horrible that someone did to me. I got sick and tired of being tortured by that nightmare and the sickening thoughts and fears that came with it, so I decided to do something about it. I had sex with my husband because I needed to know the difference between things with him and the horror of the nightmare and the images. I got my answer. The difference is my husband is a gentle person who loves and respects me and he would never, ever hurt me like that. It's not the same thing as the bad images because my husband is not willing to hurt me to make it possible to have sex. The bad person was and did. It helps me to know the difference.

This would be a happy ending, but it wasn't the ending. Something happened between the time that I became able to have intercourse and actually doing it. All I did was lie next to him for a minute and hug his arm and it happened. Things suddenly got all changed around for me and I felt very different. Small. I felt very small. And I just wanted to hug the arm of the person who has sex with me without hurting me so much. Well, there was no way in hell I was going to have intercourse feeling like that. I was able to get out of it without frustrating him or hurting his feelings, because I spaced out, but the shower spaced me out more and the kitchen smelled like the grandparents' kitchen and I almost threw up. The majority of me was right here and struggling to stay, but I sensed the stragglers. I had a brief flash of something and then I went numb. I can't remember what it was anymore. Since 'magic' usually comes back to bite me on the ass, I figured I had better tell you exactly what is going on in case I am not with the program by Wednesday.