Some days, I'll have something in my mind to make an entry about, but once I get down to it, I lose motivation for some reason. Just yesterday, I was talking about making an entry on how my dad might've been reluctant with molesting me at first, given some things I can recall. I was all ready to type it up, only to lose motivation. I'm not sure why that is. I don't feel triggered thinking about it or anything like that. But maybe it's just my mind's way of telling me I'm not ready to open about that just yet, for whatever reason. Strange if that's the case, considering I've opened about quite a bit from struggles with my personal life to graphic accounts of when I was molested. I have no idea why I struggle with writing sometimes. I've been feeling it off and on for a while and I usually overcome it. I'll just get around to it when my mind feels like it, I guess.

Now that I'm back on my own in therapy and with my mother hopefully going to be doing her own therapy sessions, I went and addressed something I've been meaning to for a while: piecing together fragmented memories. Unfortunately, my therapist said fragmented memory recovery isn't quite how therapy works and any methods practiced have been discredited by science. You learn something new every day.

She said the said speaking from her experiences being molested with vague or fragmented, she's tried revisiting places where it happened or focusing on things that might remind her of certain occasions. She warned me that it may be triggering, but it may come back to me. I'm not too concerned about getting triggered since I'm able to handle myself well enough for the most part. I guess I'll have to figure that out on my own.

I also told her about the bits and pieces I can remember from my fragmented memories. Including one in particular when I must've been 8 and my stopped in the middle of molesting me and said something, looking a little upset. I wasn't able to remember much of anything else, but my sister did provide something that might explain it: my dad having moments of guilt and regret. That the same thing would happen with her molester and how they'd randomly be apologetic and guilt-ridden while or after molesting her.

That could very well explain some other things I can remember about my dad's behavior from the earliest times he would molest me. I might make a post about it soon. Overall, I'm glad to be doing therapy on my own again. I'm glad to have given it a try with my mom, but us taking therapy separately is probably the best way to go about it now. I may ask her she feels her own therapy sessions are helping if she gets around to them.

For snapping at me for the language I was using about my molestation during therapy yesterday. She said she was trying to get me to tone down what happened to me and acknowledged I shouldn’t have to do that. She also said she really will follow through with scheduling her own counseling this time so she can take care of her anxiety, her drinking problem and just the overall stress this is putting on her. I’m glad for that. I’m especially glad that I can start being back at my own pace in my therapy again. There’s still a lot of things I wanted to go over. Namely with fragmented memories I have. I’m sure my mom will appreciate this change too. Like I said, she has her own personal issues she has to work on and it would be better if she did it alone.

My mom and I will no longer be having therapy sessions together.

Today, we got back on track with me recounting my molestation experiences. I told my therapist how I felt in what I wrote about today - how the amount of times it happened gets to me sometimes - and went into more graphic detail about what happened to me at one point. I use blunt language like "eat me out" or "down on me" in therapy too because, to me, that's just calling it what it is. I hate using words like "cunnilingus" because it just rubs me the wrong way. Feels like sugarcoating it. That's just my opinion.

Anyway, my mom objected to me using those words and about had an outburst at me over it. I told her understand these details are hard for her to hear, but I also told her what I said about sugarcoating it and that I'm not going to do that. She started making a big deal out of it, but I told her if she can't handle the details, and not that I blame her, then maybe she shouldn't be joining me in our sessions. I might've been a bit harsh in how I said it, but I didn't take kindly to her basically telling me to water things down for her.

The therapist suggested that maybe we should start doing our own individual sessions because, as we went over before, this is taking its toll on my mother as well and she will need her own therapy to cope with it. My mom didn't follow-up with arranging her own therapy sessions, but she said she would this time.

It's too bad it had to come to this, but it is what it is.

Just how many times my dad molested me in the way he always did. Especially when I was 15. But ever since I was 8 years old too. Once a week, but sometimes more. Possibly sooner than that in my sleep or times I just don’t remember. My dad gave me oral sex so many times, it is truly beyond counting. Sometimes I just have to cover my face and cringe to myself at the prospect that all of those times happened. That I experienced an orgasm pretty much every single time. So much, that I don’t care to experience one again.

They say oral sex and orgasms are the most pleasurable feelings one can experience, but that’s been taken from me. I have experienced oral from sexual partners before and while it isn’t triggering, it really does nothing for me. I can never experience those feelings of sexual fulfillment with oral sex again. I still hate that I experienced it at one point with my dad going down on me. When I look back on those times from when I was 8 to 12, how much I enjoyed it and how happy it made me feel, my cringing turns to self-loathing. Even though I understand fully that I shouldn’t blame myself, I still do. I thought I was getting better with that, but I guess I haven’t.

But there’s also more anger toward my late dad. It makes me irrational, again questioning why he had to do that to me and why I couldn’t have been given a normal upbringing and experience sex naturally on my own. An even more ridiculous thought is why he had to eat me out so many times, like he was making sure I wouldn’t be able to enjoy it physically or mentally again later in life. I think this just goes to show that I still have a long way to go with overcoming my trauma. I hate to admit this, but I’m not feeling that confident that I’ll be able to overcome it this year anymore.