My first sexual experience was a rape. I was 16 years old. Indisputably a rape and yet I had somehow not let that register somehow all these many years. As I defrost from the TRAUMA of having taken megadoses of mind/body and soul numbing neurotoxic psychiatric drugs some of these old traumas are starting to resurface. I’ve had many traumas in my life including the ones that psychiatric treatment incurred.
I never forgot the rape. I’m not talking about a memory resurfacing. Intellectually the memory was all intact and always has been since the night of that rape so many years ago. But my mind…it did something…to minimize…to stuff…to deny…what really happened. It’s mind-boggling really.
Why? For many reasons. I was 16 as I said. I went to a mans home and he raped me. I felt like it was my fault, I guess. I couldn’t tell my parents because I wasn’t supposed to be out with the man. They would have said it was my fault too. I would have been in big trouble to acknowledge that I’d been with a man when I wasn’t even supposed to date anyone at all. Certainly not without my parents meeting him. Ironically they had met him, though. He was a waiter and served our family at a restaurant. That was how I met him. In any case, society, too lays blame on young women who act as I did. I went to his house, that means I deserved it somehow. Which is an awful thing to say about men too. Not all men are out of control fuck heads. Yet this is what we learn.
The thing is I didn’t know. Not then. I did not expect such violent inhumane treatment. I told him I was a virgin and I didn’t want that to change and then he raped me and somehow I figured it was my fault. End of story.
Except it wasn’t. Last night I spent 5 hours reliving a trauma that happened 31 years ago. Like it was yesterday. For the first fucking time. Thank god…it’s finally moving through. I meditated and did yoga and felt it like never before.
Layers. I’m working through layers. Shit I couldn’t feel for close to three decades because psychiatry figured it was healthier to drug the shit out of me so that I might not EVER work through the traumas in my life. Yes. Because no one ever bothered to find out why I seemed to be “crazy.” I just got slapped with a label. Mentally ill. Incurable. The end.
So grateful for my drug-free clear mind today. So very very grateful to be able to feel this stuff FINALLY and understand it for what it was.
I needed to share that. For now that is all I will say. I’m saying it because I know I’m not alone. I’m saying it because I know that hundreds of thousands of people on psychiatric drugs have traumatic secrets they’ve never felt safe to acknowledge. This is how I heal. This is how we all can heal.
Psychiatric Drugs as Agents of Trauma by Charles L. Whitfield, MD — “Drug Stress Trauma Syndrome”
My body has held on to these traumas for decades while drugged into submission and is now helping me heal as I finally am able to listen to it: