When Memories Collide…

This post is going to contain graphic descriptions, sensitive subjects, DO NOT read if you can’t stomach depravity…

Bout sums it up…..

So… we are currently separated from our husband and working on a divorce. We’ve been married for awhile and we separated once before 6 years later. The separation was the best possible thing for us however we found out we were pregnant a week after he left, and had massive medical problems during that pregnancy. By December of that year we started feeling a massive pull to reconcile. We couldn’t eat, breathe, sleep, or function. We just believed we needed him back. We reconciled in January and by May we realized we made a huge mistake. Our relationship continued to deteriorate but it seemed that every December we would go through a period where we doubted that things were so bad and maybe even that we were exaggerating or making stuff up for it to seem so bad. We would try again to make our marriage work, only to realize that nothing was getting better. We had a family therapist for many of these years who was confirming that the relationship wasn’t healthy. We just weren’t getting it.  This year we walked away again (6 years from the first separation), and now its December and the familiar pull is happening again.

Yesterday Jessa decided to reach out for help on a Facebook group for people like us, to find out why this keeps happening in December. The conversation turned to 6 year cycles, return dates, half returns, and programming. Someone mentioned ritual abuse or spiritual abuse. From the moment Jessa read those words memories started flooding back. First in small fragments, and then like a damn broke. Memories are playing over and over on a big screen in our inner space. There’s no pause button, no stop button, no way to slow it down or block it. We have the little girls in a safe place, away from the chaos but we all can’t be there because someone has to run the body and live our life. So the 4 of us who are over the age of 10 (there’s been a LOT of system changes since we last blogged) are rotating out and trying to figure out what to do.
I know that part of what we need to do is talk about it, but therapy is not an option for us. We simply can’t feel safe and it would take months to feel safe enough with a therapist to talk about it. Mama and Daddy want us to open up and talk but we cant seem to bring ourselves to speak the words. Mama suggested writing about it, and I decided to take that suggestion and write it out.
So far that’s proving to be challenging. My focus keeps wandering and  I keep forgetting what I’m doing. I keep trying to think it through but my thoughts jump around to other things. Even writing these sentences I’m finding myself thinking about 8 other things of which I could write. I’m just going to try and jump into it now and see what happens.
The first memory fragment was about a pagan style ceremony in our bedroom a bunch of years ago. There was a star on the floor, with a circle inside. The lights were off but there was a candle at each point in the circle. There was chanting and blood involved. We don’t seem to have any memory of where the blood came from, how it ended, or what actually happened there. We are assuming that the first born child was in the room at the time, but we have no memory to confirm that or not. We are mostly positive that second born child was conceived around this time, possibly that night, based on what memories of that year and time frame we currently have. There were a few of those types of ceremonies. We can see other bedrooms we’ve had with him over the years, sage, salt, incense, pentacles, candles, tarot cards, knives.
That memory paved the way for a lot of others, most being highly sexual. Being whipped with a belt while holding a necklace with a pentacle charm. The guilt of our body becoming very turned on. No memory of why, just the vague clips. Some type of blood ceremony, using a cut on our upper arm. Blindfolds, chains, and candles. A brand, in a crescent moon. Piercings, candles, pentacles, and intimate acts with a dog. Tied down and blindfolded with a lit candle in our anus. Being choked with his penis, being spoon fed his cum mixed with some type of oatmeal or something that made it chunky. Him mixing his cum into a lot of our food. Having him urinate on us, many many many times. The collars that choked us and felt horrific. Being called pig, cow, and other degrading names while blindfolded and naked around others in a room. Being used sexually by him and other females. Being given pills to ensure our compliance, or to sedate us so that we could be used sexually without fight or emotion. Being dressed as a small child, diapered as a baby, bathroom use being forbidden to purposely create accidents. Being punished (spanked, corner time, and butt plugs inserted) when the accidents eventually happened. Being used sexually after accidents and punishments. Use of furniture being forbidden… always belonged on the floor. Fed from dog bowls sometimes. Crawled around, barked like a dog, and being required to hump his leg. Being tied to the bed at night with a chain and a locked ankle cuff. Showers in cold water, him urinating in our hair, being forced to lick his anus. Him saving drops of our blood, keeping locks of our hair, clippings from our fingernails, Him assuring us he would always be able to find us and get us with those items. Threatening to leave us so that we’d be alone and no one would ever want us after all we’ve done.  
I don’t know what the right words are are to describe this, but taking advantage of littles in the system for sexual reasons. Waking up in the middle of the night to intercourse, often with the littles in the system. Manipulated into believing he could make spirits possess us, being punished for not trying hard enough at orgasm control, for not performing well enough, for not reaching a trance like state during beatings or whippings, being punished for healing too quickly from these “sessions”, Comfort items (blankets, stuffed animals), food and drink, bathroom use, orgasms, all needed permission. Permission was often denied. Sleep often denied for 30+ hours, while being expected to work a full shift and take care of the girls.
The worst part,  I think, was being convinced that we wanted and needed it. That it was all going to make us be “good girls” and that it was necessary for our protection and best interest.  The guilt is overwhelming because our body will still react in a sexually positive way to these thoughts, memories, etc. 

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