Shadows of Betrayal (Part 7)

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GettingrealwithPTSD

This will probably be the hardest post I’ll ever write. Its about my father.  My father whom I loved and trusted.  The voice in the attic had been warning me, preparing me. “Good daddies don’t do that” it had said.  Then the flashbacks started.  First it was just my father walking into my darkened bedroom wearing his untied rubber-soled shoes.  The sliding and clumping sounds they made were ominous.  The next flashbacks  were of him saying my pet name in the dark “Sander, Sander” as if to see if I was awake. But I wasn’t yet ready for more memories to surface.  I wasn’t even telling my therapist about my visits to the attic or the strange flash backs.  In the midst of this, I continued writing in my journal.  This had become strange.  Often I would access memories from the rapes when I would sit down to write and of the remarks they…

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