I disclosed to my aunt this week. She knew my perp. My perp is a peer of my grandparents. I asked her if she remembered him, she said yes.
I said, "He raped me."
She said, "What do you mean?"
I said, "I mean, he raped me."
She said, "Oh my God. I believe you. That motherfucker!"
That instant validation felt really good. Finally, for once. It felt real instead of something I was making up or suspecting without proof.
When I started therapy in 2004, my first words to my first T were something like, "I wasn't abused but I have symptoms of someone who was." To go from there, to accepting I was abused but didn't remember, to finding a suspect, to shaping a narrative, eight or nine years of detective work on my own early life, to getting instant belief and validation feels really good, and a welcome change from the silence and denial I get from my father and mother, respectively.
I was able to tell her (my aunt) that my perp was uncircumcised and had white pubic hair, details which my dissociated younger self has eroticized. But by telling her as my primary self, I was able to feel the correct emotion -- disgust. There for about 12 hours, I felt almost cured. It didn't hold, but I'm hoping to reinforce that disgust with the EMDR.
"I believe you. That motherfucker!" -- words that might have changed my life.
But he grew old, this knight so bold / And upon his heart a shadow / Fell as he found no spot on the ground / That looked like El Dorado.