Hindsight.

Here’s the thing: I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t mentally ill.

The first time I was seen by a professional I was a pre-teen. Just eleven or twelve.

She saw it then — the dissociation, the impulsive and destructive behaviors — and delivered the news that I was behaving like a victim of sexual molestation.

Sadly, the time frame of the behaviors surfacing was in alignment with my mother remarrying, forcing her to consider the possibility that my new stepfather was involved.

That wasn’t the case at all.

The timing was due to the upheaval in my life — the move, not the marriage.

It’s so clear looking back.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s