Posted by: Marie | February 22, 2011

(522) Throwing off a huge weight – Part 3 of 4

Post #522
[Private journal entry written on Wednesday, October 20, 2010 about a conversation between my therapist and me – continued from previous post]


(I allowed for a polite pause, then continued with the reading . . . )


“I lie down on the bed and try to get some rest. About 30 minutes later, [I witness two men violently rape a girl in one of the nearby rooms.] Laughing and slapping each other on the back, [the men] congratulate each other on doing such a good job of breaking in a fresh girl.

“They walk out of the room. She lies on the bed, only half conscious. I have to look away because I know that, or some variation of that, will be my own fate. It is too much for me to comprehend. I had heard about sex, but I had never actually seen it or experienced it before. Now I know the truth.”

Edward: What is that truth? What does the girl now know to be the truth?

Me: Ummmm . . . I guess that sex is only for the benefit of the man . . . and that sex is painful.

Edward: Ouch . . . ouch . . . (putting his hand on his heart) What a painful truth for a young girl to accept . . .

(I nodded my head a little bit, allowed for another polite pause, then continued . . .)


“Several hours later, the nurse comes to my room. She says it is my turn.

“I follow her out of the room and into a shower room. She tells me to take off my gown and to get into the shower. Wearing a wetsuit, she gets into the shower with me. It is her job to make sure my crotch and my non-existent breasts are very clean.

“We get out of the shower and she dries my hair. The adult man who is waiting for me wants me to be very clean. He doesn’t want me wearing any make-up or perfumes or anything that might cover up my innocence.

“The nurse decides I am prepared enough. She gives me a satin gown to wear – I have nothing on under the gown. She leads me down a long hall into someone’s living quarters . . . I assume it is where the man and his wife live. The man is waiting in his office, sitting in his big leather chair.

“When the nurse and I walk in, he leans back in his chair and grins with satisfaction. He is pleased. He nods at the nurse and she leaves. Now, it is just me and the man in the room.”

Me: I just realized something . . . “X’s” wife was a nurse . . . but she didn’t have anything to do with what happened. I mean, she had a bad back and took some heavy-duty pain medication for it. We would all each lunch together then she would take her medicine and go to sleep. That left him alone with me. That is when he and I would go downstairs to where his office was located . . .

Anyway . . . I don’t know if her being a nurse had anything to do with the fantasy . . . it was just something that came to mind as I was reading . . .

“The man pats the top of his desk and motions for me to hop up on the desk. I do.

“[He uses his fingers to assault me.] I suck in my breath . . . not because it hurts, but because I am afraid of what pain is yet to come. I know I must comply. The consequence of not complying is far worse than complying . . . at least the violence will be perpetrated by only one man in here . . .

“[He continues to assault me with his fingers while making comments celebrating what is yet to come.] Those are the last words he speaks to me.

“[He assaults me with his penis – in my vagina and in my anus – and it is very painful for me.] I want to die. I don’t think I can survive this.

“[After he climaxes, I feel him examining the damage he has done to me.] I guess he liked the look of his handiwork. I don’t care what he does; I’m already gone.

“I hear him wiping himself. I hear him putting back on his robe. I hear him leave, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m left alone, very alone. I am sure I am dead. If not, then I wish I were because I know this nightmare is going to be repeated over and over and over. This is now my life . . . a spunk depository.

“I want to die.”

(We sat in silence for a moment, letting the words settle down around us.)

Edward: What is happening for you in this moment?

Me: I’m just trying to make sense of this fantasy. I’m trying to figure out which parts reflect reality and which parts are pure fantasy . . . or if the fantasy parts are a reflection of reality. I don’t know what to make of all this. Where did all of this come from? It’s just so vile.

Photo by Martin Chen

Edward: I think it is probably very metaphorical . . . I think it tells the story of what really happened.

Me: But how do I know if I am making it up or not? (Tears and sobs well up suddenly) That is such a terrible thing to accuse someone of doing . . . how do I know if I made it up or not?

Edward: I want to give you every assurance possible, Marie . . . you are not making this up. This is not the stuff little girls make up.

Me: Then, what kind of stuff do they make up?

Edward: They make up fairy tale stuff – fantastic stuff about how great life is when their real life is not great. They don’t make up stories about being violently raped and then hold those stories in a secret corner of their minds, covertly retelling the stories to themselves, night after night, day after day, for decades. That just doesn’t happen.

(I silently nod my acknowledgement of this truth while blowing the snot out of my nose.)

Me: It just that this fantasy is so pervasive. Even now, as I’m trying to go to sleep, I have the sensation that someone is violently thrusting his penis in me.

Edward: Into what part of your body?

Me: Into my ass. Almost always into my ass. (Flood of tears)

Edward: It doesn’t surprise me that you still have strong body memories of this assault.

Me: As I look over this fantasy, I can identify the parts that are consistent with the flashbacks I’ve had. But, other parts make no sense. For example, the other girls in the glass rooms don’t make sense. I’m quite sure I’ve not seen other girls get raped. So, how would that have gotten into my fantasy?

Edward: I think that speaks to the power of dissociation. I think it represents how you separated yourself from what was happening and observed from a third-party viewpoint.

Me: Mmmmm . . . yeah, that makes sense . . . maybe I had an idea of what was coming because I had experienced it before even though I hadn’t accepted that it had happened to me before. I do have a sense that I was molested more than once – like maybe three times.

[Continued in the next post . . . ]


  1. What a painful story / fantasy / memory Marie. So courageous of you to explore it. Wow.

    • Thank you, Ellen, for the kind and supportive words . . . this session was a major healing point for me!

      – Marie

  2. I want to say that I agree with Edward. Kids don’t make this stuff up. Fairy tales for sure but this isn’t fairy tale stuff. From a very young age children know about making stuff up – labelled ‘let’s pretend’; and if adults take it too seriously they’ll be quite indignant and say, “We’re just pretending!”

    I’m very glad that you could work through this stuff with Edward – I have some idea of how hard it must have been.

    Congratulations on being able to do it.

    • Thank you, Evan, for the congrats . . .

      Realizing that this horrific material had to come from somewhere outside myself has been a huge healing step for me because it allows me to start believing I’m not organically bad.

      I appreciate your ongoing support!

      – Marie

  3. you are so very brave. i also have dark fantasies. i’ve been able to tell my therapist the general gist of them (i’m young, age 6 and they involve adult men), but no further details. she says we can continue to talk about it when i’m ready. i wasn’t sure i’d ever be ready, i’m so ashamed. but your post gives me hope that it is possible to get this out into the light of day. thank you.

    • Hi, Catherine –

      It brings me (joy?) to know that my story can be helpful to a fellow traveler. One thing that has been very helpful to me is to know I’m not the only one . . . that I am responding normally to a very abnormal experience. I have found I need lots and lots of proof of that.

      I trust that you will do what you need to do when you are ready to do it.

      I hope you keep us/me posted . . . I’d like to hear more about your ongoing journey either through public comments or through private email.

      – Marie

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