Posts Tagged ‘forced killing’

*******trigger warning – ritual and emotional abuse; religious triggers*******

On Monday, I shared a recently recovered ritual abuse memory. The next night, I recovered more of the memory. The “part two” shook me up much more than that “part one,” but I am not sure why. My offline friend said that it made perfect sense to her.

As I was trying to go to sleep the following night, I was right back under the stars again watching my sister being “murdered.” However, this time, instead of fast-forwarding to the next morning, someone grabbed me roughly from behind by my upper arms, lifted me in the air, and carried me over to my table, where he threw me down on my back. I did not see or hear him coming, so I was both startled and frightened. As I recovered this part of the memory, my body released body memories of how it felt to be lifted and thrown down by my upper arms.

He raped me on the table. My body released the feelings of being raped (always a “pleasure” – NOT!). While he did that, someone else walked over to the blood splattered everywhere, took a handful of it, and rubbed it all over me as the other one continued to rape me. I was sickened inside but had no reaction to it outwardly.

I had been raped many times before, but this time it didn’t matter anymore. Up until then, everything had been about protecting and saving my sister. I was always threatened with her death – if I did not obey, they would kill my sister. Now they had, so what was the point? It didn’t matter what they did to me any longer. I didn’t care. My reason for being alive had ended. I didn’t care what they did to me. There was no one left to protect.

I got off the table and walked to the right. I couldn’t “see” in the memory what was there. In my flashbacks, I always see the set up from the same perspective. The bonfire is in the middle. My table is at 8:00, and the brick wall that I see when I feel the urge to self-injure is northwest of me. My sister is at 10:00 when she is on her table. At 4:00 is where my abusers brought in and slaughtered my dog. I always entered from 9:00 and went to my table. I cannot “see” 6:00, but that is where I went. I don’t know if it was a place to clean up or what.

I remember climbing into the front seat of our VW beetle with my mother at the wheel. It didn’t occur to me to look in the backseat to see if my sister was there since I believed she was dead. I don’t remember much … just having no reason for being alive.

Then, I flashed back to the next morning and the jarring shock of seeing my sister alive and well, walking into the kitchen to eat her breakfast. She didn’t sleep in her bed that night (next to mine). I awoke to her empty bed and believed she was dead. Then, she was alive and OK. I didn’t know how to process this.

Photo credit: Hekatekris

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*******trigger warning – ritual and emotional abuse; religious triggers*******

I have been having dreams lately of a “little dog,” which symbolized that I had another really big traumatic memory to work through. Two of my most traumatizing memories involved dogs – watching my abusers kill my dog and being raped by a dog. I knew this was going to be a difficult memory to recover.

I recovered it last night. It is a variation of what I already shared about being forced to “kill” another child, only this happened before the ruse was pulled on me.

I knew the memory needed to come. I looked into the dog’s crate, opened the door, and peeked inside. Suddenly, it was like I was beamed back into my eight-year-old body. I was standing outside under very bright stars. Everything in the world seemed larger because I was viewing it from an eight-year-old child’s perspective. I took in the bonfire, the tables, and the people in robes filing in. This was different because I was not at my place at the table. I was just standing there observing the ritual.

Just as what I described here, I watched the same ritual with a child who was a little bit older than I was. The child was in a robe with the head robed man standing behind the child. A large knife was placed in the child’s hands, and the man put his hands around the child’s hands to force him/her to hold it.

Then, they carried out my sleeping (drugged) six-year-old sister and laid her at the feet of the child. I knew what was coming. I began screaming and sobbing in my head, but not one muscle on my face belied my internal emotions. I watched as the head man droned on and on and couldn’t see them replace my sister with a slab of meat. I watched as the knife plunged into what I thought was my sister, and I watched as what I thought was my sister’s blood saturated the child who “killed” her. Inside, I was screaming and crying. Outside, I was completely stoic – not one trace of emotion.

The next morning, my sister was there with me going to breakfast – alive with no marks on her body. As Chrystine Oksana says, “the real unreal.” I saw her die, and yet here she was. What can I believe? What is true? What is not?

I get it all from the adult perspective, especially since I already worked through being on the “killing end” of this dynamic. However, I still have to process the emotions of the eight-year-old girl who believed she saw her baby sister murdered.

Photo credit: Hekatekris

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