Remembering the Unmentionable

'Phrenologie' by Friederich Eduard Bilz in 1894

The mind is a funny thing. It can defend you, shield you from horrible memories, and then all of a sudden turn on you and become a weapon.

All it takes sometimes is just one trigger, and then the wall of protection will implode on itself. Then you are left to sort through the rubble and make sense of it all. But if you pay attention beforehand you will notice cracks in the wall before it completely crumbles.

This is how it happened to me...I paid attention. The first cracks in my wall came in the forms of horrible nightmares in which I would wake up in a cold sweat, to full out flashbacks while I was awake. I chipped away at the cracks.

What the hell happened to me, and the bigger question, who the hell did it? I scoured my memory trying to find the answers.

There were times that I tried to push it away and just forget again. That just made the nightmares and flashbacks worse and I started to have panic attacks. I would say it is impossible to ignore the mechanisms of a panic attack. I had to face it.

Situations began to come clearer, and certain things from my childhood did start to make sense. I would fully experience some of these situations, sometimes in 'first person', and other times as an observer. I always preferred to be an observer, there is a somewhat safe detachment.

At first I could not see who was doing these things to me. I had to think of who it could possibly be. I knew that it had to be someone who had access to me when I was still in diapers, up until about the age of 9. They also had to have access to me while I was in bed, and on a regular basis.

From my persistent chipping my walls finally did come down, and that is when I found out who it was. It was my father. FATHER. INCEST.

Jesus fucking Christ. My father. Incest.

I felt like absolute filth. And although I would never admit this to those who know me, sometimes I still do feel like filth. For me, it's not so much what happened, but who did it.

I began this journey almost 10 years ago, and I live with it every day. It does get easier, but I don't know if that stain will ever wash away.

Elle Jay

The Purpose of this Blog

'The Nightmare' by Thomas Burke in 1783

Elle Jay is not my real name. I have chosen to take on a pseudonym to protect my privacy.

Elle Jay is what my father used to call me, and the name represents a darkness that I had gone through. That darkness was childhood sexual abuse and incest; this has partially shaped who I am as a person, and is something that still touches me today.

Others who have experienced it will understand what I mean when I say that it is a stain that you can never quite wash away, so this is a place for me to emote. Of course I could always just keep a journal, but I have chosen this specific medium so others who have gone through this know that they are not alone, and for everyone else to understand how this still taboo subject can affect someone.

Yes, I do know that this has been done before many times over, so this is just my small voice in the sea of many.

I would like to thank my friends Aymi and Laurel for helping me with the design of this blog.

Elle Jay