Trigger Scale: (5/5!) [rate 5]

I am laying in a large bed waiting for something or someone, looking around the room. I am not afraid, but numb already. I am sitting on the right hand side of the bed, as far on the edge and back against the headboard as I can be. The headboard is wood, and twice as high as me sitting – some medium grain wood. I press my back against it, feeling how sturdy and cold it is. The room looks like it might be a hotel room, it is so generic. There is the bed, a side table, a dresser, but no windows. There is a door to the outside (I feel like it leads to a long hall, like in a hotel) and another door, maybe to a bathroom. The doors are right next to each other, on perpendicular walls. I am staring at the door to the outside.

A man comes in, tall, lean, slightly balding, but he is handsome. He is familiar, someone I know, who I should trust. A doctor. He is holding an old time doctors bag (just like in the picture, except this one is used and worn in, beaten up). He sits down on the edge of the bed by my feet and strokes my right thigh. He tells me that he is going to make me feel better and sets his bag down beside him and the bed, on the floor.

(I feel like I am going to have a heart attack right now, writing this, my heart is beating out of my chest and my black cat is freaking out. She is sensitive to my moods).

He leans down and opens the bag. I am sitting there, not moving, perfectly still, just watching him, but not really, more watching his movements. (I almost always remember my trauma memories from an “out-of-body” perspective). He takes a vial and a large needle out of the bag…I see him do something with the needle and the vial, but I look away, to the other wall, away from the door, searching for something to focus on…no more memory.

Reactions while writing: want to pee my pants, hands shaking, numb fingers, very white/hazy vision, slight shortness of breath to breathing very fast (almost hyper-ventilating), tightness in chest, vigorously shaking ankle/foot, leaving foot/ankle in uncomfortable positions for extended periods of time, profusely sweating arm-pits, b.o. (no matter how much deodorant I put on before, I know, weird…), sounds and music have became very loud, sounds outside (b-day party upstairs).

Trigger Scale: (5/5!) [rate 5]

My Monster

My Monster Has A Name… actually many. This blog is a safe place for me to share my healing journey from childhood abuse. The topics covered are at times controversial, offensive, horrific, and hopefully sometimes inspiring. Thank you for sharing in my journey.