Awfulness

********TRIGGERING********

I barely touched on it in session. Terrified. I sent this to New Guy:



Thanksgiving is like Christmas. They have the same feel to me and I don't like the holidays. Here's what happened on Christmas Eve of 1996:

I walked in and saw what the psycho-ex was doing to my boy. I saw my baby's upset face and some immediate connection was made. It was the face of fear, shame, disgust... Something inside me knew that face (the little girl). And I was only me for one moment of utter shock. And then Rambo took over and started pounding on that freak. I could only watch and I had no control over anything. There was a lot of screaming inside my head. Women and children screaming and crying. I was so terrified. So much horror. So much noise. I thought I was losing my mind. And then I could hear Rambo's thoughts. He was going to kill the ex and he was totally physically capable of doing it, even though it was only my body that he had to serve him. He was actually RELISHING the thought of splattering the blood and guts on the walls and floor. He wanted to dance in the entrails and the thought of it brought him joy. JOY. GLEE. His thoughts and feelings were TERRIFYING to me. He was assessing our surroundings for potential deadly weapons even while he kept pounding him. He saw one after he finally beat him to the floor and started strangling him (all of this in front of my already traumatized son). It was a heavy vase that he saw. He envisioned breaking it into pieces on the ex's skull and then eviscerating him with the shards. I was so scared, New Guy. Never been so scared. I started screaming at Rambo to stop from the place in which I was trapped in my head. He had to stop because we can't actually kill anyone, right? We had to just subdue him and then call the cops, right? Because that is the right thing to do. The civilized thing. Rambo isn't very civilized and he wasn't listening to me. Then I heard Jenny's voice above the chaos and I told him what she said. I told him that if he were to kill him, then I would go to jail and a traumatized boy and two premature infants would be left with no mother. And be sent to MY FAMILY for care. He let go of the bastard. He let go to protect my children because he loves them. And then he grabbed up the ex by the hair, pulled him to his knees and made him tell my boy that such things are NEVER the fault of children. NOT EVER. He made that crooked lawyer explain the law and grovel in front of the child he had hurt. And then he dragged him up the stairs and called the ex's brother, who is a pediatrician (safe child advocate), and made him confess to him what he had just done to my boy. And then we got the hell out of there so no child would have to be near a pedo. We got to safe people and then I was mostly gone for three days. Then Rambo came back around and came with me to the police. It was all terrible. Truly terrible.

Little flashes come in and out. The psycho-ex's elderly mother calling down from the top of the stairs and Rambo using my voice to tell her that everything was alright while he was beating her son and plotting his death. Eating a dinner with the parents of husband #2 in a blind fog and being unable to understand spoken language. Chain smoking, pacing and talking to my sister on the phone. Trying to rearrange the flight home, being unable to understand and communicate and having to lean on the psycho-ex's brother to help make arrangements. Feeding babies and trying to comfort the boy. Rambo yelling at a cop when he questioned the ex's injuries after they were detailed in his physical description. It was hell. Pure hell. Far away from home, scared, panicked, dissociated. And the voices... It was so bad, New Guy. He hurt my boy. My precious little boy. My only son who never did anything to anyone. He was just a little boy. A good little boy. I hate the psycho-ex. I hate him. And he ran and is still out there somewhere. The coward. The pedophile coward. I can't make it go away, New Guy. It was so horrific and I can't make it go away. Sometimes I wonder if we should have let Rambo kill him as a public service. If only the boy hadn't been watching. Even so, maybe I wouldn't have gone to jail considering the circumstances. I wonder how many children that freak has hurt since then. If only I had not dissociated for those three days. Maybe he would have been caught by police if that had not happened. But... there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't have control.