Childhood Trauma

The mind of a child is already complex.  After my attack, I was now burdened with uncontrollable anger, anxiety and I was also triggered into hyper sexual activity.   You hear the phrase all the time “she is fass”.  She is this and she is that. She is promiscuous.   How about she has an issue?  She was touched?  She was raped?  She blacked out?  She woke up tied up and fighting for her life?  How about those labels?  Well that child is forgotten.  That child feels like she is no longer a child. She feels robbed.  She has this big secret.  Every time she walks out of her front door she is living a lie.  She is lying to her parents. She is lying to her teachers.  She is lying to her friends.  She is carrying this weight around that is wearing her out and she is only 13 years old.  That 13-year-old was me.  I carried that weight like many other boys and girls.  I hear the stories all the time.  I know 40-year old’s just like me wearing a banner of shame male and female.  This trauma can make males and females  have sexual urges  and be triggered as young as 5,6,7, and so on.  The question I have always had is who did something to my attacker?   What made him feel he could do that to me?  Was he hurting?  Was she hurting?  What demons are they fighting.  Was I this person only target?  How can this person be stopped and most importantly how can I protect myself so I never hurt anyone as a result of my pain and insure this will never happen to me again. 

The best gift my mother ever gave me was the gift of music.  My mom was a music collector.  She had every album.  She would play them on our huge stereo and she would sit back and have a drink or 2 or 3 and tell me all about “it”. Those were some of our better days.  I loved listening to her stories about her life and growing up in a small town with brothers (her being the only girl).  She was an educator and a great story teller.  I remember writing her story for my Women in Sociology Class and receiving an an A on the paper.  My professor told me I should really turn it into a short story.    She (my mom) was really proud of that.  Our relationship was complex but I loved my mom and I know she loved me.   Music and sports were my release.  One of the benefits of being adopted and being an only child you got everything you wanted.   I had a nice stereo.  I had my collection of records, cassettes and Cds.  I would listen to music to go to sleep.  It would  help push out the constant nightmare.   My attacker was tall, dark and had the whitest teeth.   I remember thinking he has such a beautiful smile.  That smile and those white teeth haunted me night after night.  I remember the anxiety being so intense I could feel it in my throat some nights I was so in fear I would get out of my bed and sit in the corner of my room so I could see the door and full view of the room and i also kept one of my bats from softball in the room so I could bust my window out if I need to escape.  I cannot emphasize the amount of fear I was in.  I don’t understand how my parents could not see it.  I just pray if my kids are experiencing anything I can see the warning signs .

I did not attend church until I was 13 years old.  My friend invited me to church with her.  Most Sunday mornings I would leave my parents at home and go to church.  My best friend’s grandmother would pick me up until I could drive myself. Now let’s picture this, I did not have chores, not a lot of rules, no one on me about grades. and did not go to church.  I think my constant drive for perfection is what kept me just “doing” when no adult was holding to it. However, that was a set up for disaster but God had a different plan for me.  It was all in his hand. It was all part of his plan.  Now back to the hyper sexual activity.  I think my addiction went in phases.  There were phases that I could not stand the smell or look of a man and then there were phases I wanted to conquer “one”.  Yes conquer!  The cue guy across the room or the cute guy in class.  I wanted to conquer and after conquering was over at times I just lost complete interest.   The sad part is this is still a struggle to this day.   However, in my marriage I never cheated.  I was so nervous about it.  I thought I would mess up but as the years went on and on I never felt like anyone was worth the risk of losing my family.  Counseling for sexual addiction is hard.  When you fail it is hard to be honest?  I go into phases of self -sabotage.  I would say to myself.  I can’t do this.  This is hard.  I hear all the time sex for men is different it is like sport.  A man can have sex and not have feelings.  I think because of my trauma I am the same way.  This is not to say I never have feelings. I have an ongoing 27-year crush that when I am in his presences I feel all the feelings in the world that I can suppress.  I assume because that relationship is important to me.I do person of interest but they are few and far between and I tell something amusing to me is “the men’s response”.  It is almost an offense. The sad part about it is I know most of them were out for the same thing but because I did not reply with the traditional response I am the thot.  I am the freak.  I am the whore.   Addiction is so complex.  It is an illness and it should be treated with self-compassion and delicate forgiveness to one’s self.  If you fall off the wagon, get back up and dust yourself off and try again.
I have learned to go in being very honest.  In most cases, the questions are:  What are you looking for?
My response:  I don’t know.
That is as honest as I can be because in most cases I don’t. Sex is so taboo.  It is complex.   Relationships/ situationships are complex and in most cases men and women cannot be completely honest due to judgement which sucks and puts one or both parties at a disadvantage.  I often wonder if the circumstances in my life were different if I would still struggle with addiction?  Would I be different? What if I didn’t have to carry that secret (over 30 years)?  What if I fought him off?  What if I didn’t black out?  What if?  What if? 

Music and sports were my constant.  They were my reason to smile.  The music would help put me to sleep at night and the sports would take my mind off all the thoughts racing in my head.  I fought sexual addiction from the age of 13-24 years old intensely.  I gave birth to my first child at 24 years old.  He was the apple of my eye.  Nothing and I mean nothing came before him.  He was a reason to pull myself together and that is exactly what I did.  I moved back to Arkansas and completed my Master’s Degree.  He was 6 months old when I started the program.  I found a little job on campus and worked with children and fell in love with it my job.  I loved children.  I have always loved children. 
My oldest son’s father played football in another country therefore it was my son and I.  I remember battling with depression after I had him but I would look over there at him and he would have the biggest smile and that made my world a better place.  The other strange thing about my son is that he changed my mom.  She did a 180 after my son was born.  She got into church.  She drank much less.  She and my father were very hands on with him the first 3 years of his life.  He changed us for the better. 

My volleyball career was over but I became involved with the local college volleyball team.  It was like a double edge sword.  They were my college team’s biggest rivals but their coach was my travel team coach and what else was I doing.  As if one-degree program was not enough I was also working on a Certification in Nonprofit Management.  Soooo lets lay this out!  I was in 2 different schools, 2 different degree programs, a newborn son (6 months), working a job or 2 and volunteering with the volleyball team.  This carried on for 3 years.  I had my own place.  My son and I had a nice apartment.   My male interaction was minimal at best during those years I was really about my son, providing for him and school. My ability to compartmentalized has always been a strength and weakness.  In this case definitely a strength but in some cases the ability to suppress a painful past (not so good).  

My son was and still is my sunshine.  All of my children are worth being “the best version of me” and no man will come before them.   I have already decided to settle on a small island where I can wear a bikini year around with a low cost of leaving when they all grow up.  They can always come visit me in my hut and with my younger Tenderoni if Mr.Right manifest. 

During the younger years of my son’s life, I had headaches so intense some days I felt like I was going blind.  I had my own apartment and my oldest son’s father was making such good money. I was able to save up $10,000.00 and use it towards the purchase of my first home in Memphis when my son and I moved back.  I ended up landing a job in a library.  It was such a blessing.  I was able to work with kids which was my passion.  I was able to study for both degree programs and make a salary so I could save my child support for later.  If there is a way we can do it.  Women are strong.  I know I am.  I should probably be locked up somewhere with all the levels of trauma I have experienced.  I could really be in mental facility or strong out on drugs.   I do struggle with junk food addiction (or stressful eatin), sexual addiction and addiction surround physical activity(I tend to take weight loss and working out to far).  

Abandonment is a real trigger for me.  My recent separation through now I feel like was absolutely the best thing for the situation, still triggered me.  It triggered me back into bad behavior. I was triggered into worry and regret but I know how to get help and that made a difference.  I think things could have been much worse.  I think the biggest problem for most people is admitting they need the help.  It is hard to admit you have an addiction. It is embarrassing. Who wants to say I am Lacey and I flawed!!! 

However, I had to learn not to worry about how people felt about me.  I know who I am I know what I am and I also know I am work in progress.  I am really at a point of who cares?  They are “really” going to talk about you/us when you are hanging over the Mississippi or Arkansas River  bridge ready to jump or threatening to take a bottle of Tylenol. Please go get the help and tell people (excuse my French)  to kiss your ASS!  I love yawl on Purpose Lacey Jones.