Trauma, PTSD and Depression | It's Me Laura Lee - Part 2

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“But Becky, I got away…”

That’s what I told her. 

I had been in therapy with her for years, discussing my childhood molestation and the sexual assault while serving in Pensacola and the and harassment that followed in the aftermath.  But this.  This I never told her. Because.  Well, because, I got away.

“But Becky, I got away…”

That’s what I told her. 

I had been in therapy with her for years, discussing my childhood molestation and the sexual assault while serving in Pensacola and the and harassment that followed in the aftermath.  But this.  This I never told her. Because.  Well, because, I got away.

Have you ever had something happen to you that was so profound that you knew, just knew, it was God who was intervening?  I did.  And, no one will ever be able to tell me that it was anything, but God.  He was there with me that night.  Right there in my room.  Not in the sense that He’s always with us, everywhere – the omnipresent God, but in the sense that He was physically with me.  God sat at my bedside one night in the early spring of 1986.

Popcorn almost destroyed my marriage.  Seriously, it did.  And, we’d only been married for a few short months.  We just celebrated our 32nd anniversary on June 5th, so you know what? Popcorn didn’t win!

I have a junk drawer;  I even have a junk cupboard – places for things that don’t have a place.  And, I had a dare-I-say-it, junk room.  I hated it.  As I cleaned the rest of the house things that didn’t have a permanent place just kept getting thrown into this room.  A room that has had several purposes over the last 7 years:  a formal dining room, a makeshift office, a nursery, a craft room.  I want it to be my office space.  A nice office with a real desk and real storage, but first I need to wrap my head around what to do with all the stuff that is in there now.

We would lie in his bed, watching TV and he’d fondle me.  I don’t know if he penetrated me.  I just don’t know.  But I do know there were times that he’d insist that I return the favor.  I remember what I think was the first time he unbuttoned his jeans and took my hand in his, pushing it under the waistband of his underwear, until it reached his coarse pubic hair.  My tiny fingers reached his penis.  It was warm down there.  I pulled my hand back.  He pushed it back down.  That’s the last thing I remember.

He allowed me to work at my own pace, attend my doctor’s appointments and take care of myself above all else because by this time, I was damaged.  Damaged beyond immediate repair.  By this time, if I wasn’t crying at my computer, I would fall asleep at it, with my hands still on the keys.  I’d take naps during lunch breaks.  Sometimes I’d grab a piece of paper and just doodle.  Eventually, among the  depression, anxiety, and PTSD, I was diagnosed with a sleep disorder – Period Limb Movement Disorder (PLMD), but my depression ran deep.  And, so did the damage.

Alcohol and the grace of God, spared me the memories of the rape, but I’ll never forget the harassment I endured, after returning from my TAD trip.

I woke up in my hotel room, nude, sore, bruised. Thick, crusty, sticky goop – semen, on my legs, in my pubic hair, on my thighs, on the sheets. I sat on my bed in shock. I knew what happened, yet I didn’t know. I couldn’t know. Not to me. I had no memory.  Who? How? My head was pounding and swirling. I could barely keep it upright.  My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. I needed water.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  My eyes were swollen and bloodshot.  I clearly cannot hold my liquor.

03

I was a victim advocate, and i was raped

02

he tickled me

01

POPcorn almost Destroyed my marriage
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Laura Lee, 52, with invisible wounds and scars.  I've learned to embrace PTSD and depression because if I don't own them, they'll own me.  I don't want to simply survive, but to thrive.  I hope you'll join me on my journey.  It's sure to be a bumpy road.

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