Saturday, 13 July 2013

Realizing The Hidden Torment

Even before I got the rejection from the last surgeon I found myself wondering how I would respond emotionally to such an event. I know that rationally I can not get terribly upset about it, even if I do find myself shocked by the casual attitude with which physicians - not just in the Netherlands - treat their patients. I was however worried that I would collapse emotionally at any further bad news. That's why I was surprised when I didn't notice much from my emotional side the day I got that feared phone call. I felt clear-headed without much emotional interference. I did fear that the backlash would come later, as I wrote in my previous post.

Yesterday things were pretty calm for me as well. I was quite productive, the work for my German employer went well and I felt okay. Only after dinner did I begin to feel less great. I began to feel terribly sad and upset, inching towards a depression until around 9 PM I figured it was time I got some sleep and just went to bed. This morning things felt alright again. I went off to be very productive on this one company project, completing a large section of it. Around noon I began to feel strangely tired, though, and decided to take a nap. That's when things went south.

Once in bed, I read a bit in my current book, then tried to sleep. At first I drifted off alright, maybe even slept a bit, but gradually I became aware of an increase in dark thoughts. Trying to determine the source of them, I thought I could feel hands and... other things touching and prodding me with voices proclaiming things which cut deep into my soul. Terrified, memories and reality blended together and I could only curl up helplessly while I cried in shame and humiliation. How could I have allowed them to have done such horrible things to me? Why have they done such horrible things to me?

When I say 'they', I am referring to a large group of people. The dozens of medical specialists who have performed examination after examination on my naked body, doing things with their fingers and instruments I do not care to recall but which eagerly feature in my nightmares. The acquaintance who introduced me to sexuality years ago by raping me. The many others who used my body for their own carnal pleasures.

My recent experiences with this last surgeon must have made those memories surface so brilliantly that I can not conceivably ignore them any more. It does lead to a good understand at least to me of why I'm absolutely done with any further medical examinations, relationships and sexuality. For years I have tried to ignore the traumas and mental injuries I was inflicting upon myself by pushing myself past any reasonable objections, allowing anyone to just use my body, from rapists to physicians alike.

My body is the trauma. The trauma is my body. I can not separate them. Few can even understand how this would feel, or how to provide help. Referring me to yet another physician shows a fundamental lack of understanding. I must concede that asking for help isn't going to work, that any offered help is only the beginning of additional trauma.

Not that I'm completely giving up on getting medical help, but I do know much better where my limits are now. No touching of my body. No undressing. No more examinations. No more random consults. Only hard guarantees. If this does mean that I'll never get medical help, so be it. After literally dozens of physicians abusing me in such a fashion I simply have to refuse. It's telling that the memories of those examinations and me getting raped blend in so seamlessly. The similarities are just too striking. It also offers me an insight in the mind of a cousin of mine who committed suicide after getting raped by family for years on end as a young child, with the justice system and her environment then completely abandoning her. I do not want to follow into her footsteps, but life seems to be pushing me down the same path.

I'm tired of being raped, physically and emotionally. This is my body. Here is the line. Only cross if you have the proper respect.

That's how it should be, at least...


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