Hello, I am writing this note because of a series of events that I am struggling to understand. I need to start from the beginning. Please note (TW): I talk about suicide, anorexia, and molestation in this post. I was born during a traumatic period of life for my mom and sisters. I won’t get into the details, but my father was sentenced to prison for sexual crimes against women just a few weeks before my birth. Following my birth, my family lived in poverty and relied on friends from church to share housing, food, and other resources. My mom worked incredibly hard with three children and estranged relationships. Out of necessity, my mom put me into day care only a few weeks after being born. To this day, she talks about the pain and guilt she felt for leaving me, not being able to maintain her milk supply, etc. Eventually, my mom made the difficult decision to work on the relationship with her parents. The main problem was my step grandpa who was inappropriate, abusive, and controlling towards my mom and grandma throughout her childhood. She needed their help to take care of us and get a foot up. I say “us,” but it was mostly me spending time at their house. My sisters were already in preschool programs at this point, so I was left at my grandparents’ house a lot. For as long as I can remember, my mom had a rule about us never being alone with my grandpa. I have no memories of spending all this time at their house other than two details. One is a sandwich that my grandma would make for me, and the other is an intense fear of my step grandpa when he beat their dog after she bit me. I remember the blood on a towel and looking outside to see him kicking her. It was only then that I started crying because I didn’t want him to hurt her. Many stitches and permanent scars followed, but all I really remember is my fear, guilt, and anger towards him. Around age 7, I started to have strange memory recalls of this time in my life. To this day, I distrust my memory, but I know for certain that I’ve been recalling these activities from a young age. Please do not judge me. In one memory, I recalled my older sister laying me flat on a surface and probing at my privates with something wet. I remember just laying there and then a feeling of shame. In another recall, I remember an interaction with one of my mom’s friends daughters who was the same age as me where the lights were turned off and we pretended to rub each other’s bodies under sheets. I have always felt intense shame and the need to keep these events secret from a young age. I must have been 4 or 5 when these events occurred, and I don’t know where the concept of doing this kinds of acts could have come from. My mom was strict about the kinds of things we watched, listened to, or even overheard. I only began remembering these things when my grandparents moved away and I slipped into a major depression. My mom always talks about this time, how I would wear a hood around school, and stopped talking to my friends. I remember everyone saying I was sad that my grandparents dog moved with them, but we had our own family dog at home that I loved much more (he was with us my entire childhood until I turned 20!). After my depression, I started getting in trouble at school for the first time ever. My teachers and after school staff were very startled by my behavior because I was always compliant, respectful, and perhaps overly polite. I started to dare and make other kids kiss or hold each other in secret areas after school. When the staff found out, I had a total meltdown and my mom punished me by grounding me from family activities. I hated being alone so much that I would scratch at my skin and hit my legs until the time was up. I still punch myself on occasion. This wasn’t the only time I pressured other kids to kiss and be inappropriate as a child though. In another memory, I kept egging my sister and cousin on to kiss before I would let them out of a room. I feel so ashamed even now for doing this and I never understood why I acted like this. These are the main memories I have from that year. Most of my outbursts stopped when I got to middle school and became a model student yet again. I was deathly afraid of boys and poured myself into school. However, by the time I made it to high school I was struggling with severe anorexia and perfectionism. Between vegetarianism and veganism, I barely ate. My mom allowed me to go to school online to avoid the massive stress being around other people caused me. I abandoned all of my best friends and dealt with daily terror of being raped and murdered. I ended up graduating with a 4.0 GPA and went to college. My mom thought I would self-destruct moving from an online to in person environment for college, living on campus at a huge university. I did fine, though. I made friends, got involved in projects, worked part-time, and even maintained another 4.0 GPA. I was obsessed with being morally acceptable and ethical, which meant I was full vegan for all of college too. One thing glaringly missing from my life, however, was dating and boys. I still struggled with an eating disorder and what many called an “irrational” fear of men. I preferred fictional characters and gay male friends over straight, romantic male interests. Even though I had crushes, I would strategically avoid all men and feel a rush of panic if they entered my personal space. Even though I performed well in school, behind closed doors I suffered from daily compulsions and rituals that had me researching ailments hours at a time, inspecting my body and especially my privates for signs of infection, coming up with rules for my diet and appearance, hoarding items, fantasizing about death, etc. I was at the doctors office multiple times a week asking for any and every test, only to switch doctors when they caught wind of my hypochondria. Eventually, one of my doctors urged me to see a therapist. I was terrified of prescriptions, drugs, and even alcohol out of fear of being out of control, so I mistakenly thought a therapist would force me to take medicine. She eased my worries and I finally agreed to go. Even though I was vague with my therapist, they did start to help me. Unfortunately, he was a man which I told him made me extremely uneasy. He offered to switch to a female therapist but my mom encouraged me to face my fear. I did and eventually everyone encouraged me to start challenging my fears, including dating. This brings you to the last two years of my life. I met my now boyfriend many years ago through work and was to shy/deathly afraid to interact with him. Two years ago as I started on this path of challenging fears, I reconnected with him. I went on the only three dates of my life before we reconnected and I’ve been with him ever since. However, at about three months into dating when I had my first kiss I started to experience feelings of disassociation. It was not a romantic feeling where I lost “track of time” with how wonderful he was, more like I became intensely panicked to the point of leaving myself to avoid sensation. Months later, when I touched him for the first time I was concerned by a feeling of having done something like this before even though having no recollection or experience to point out. When he tried to touch me (and this continues at two years in), I jump away and grasp his hand to make sure he can’t. The disassociation at the beginning of our relationship was so bad that I couldn’t recall activity that just occurred until well after he was gone. And then I would cry out of fear of what I couldn’t remember. It feels like my mind goes into a box during intimacy and only out once it’s over and I feel safe again. For the record, my current boyfriend has never hurt me and is always extremely concerned when I jump away from him. He asks me why but doesn’t pressure me to elaborate when I need to stop. I used to call my mom and sisters after these dissociative events to come pick me up and be with me until I felt okay again. They were concerned but chalked it up to my anxiety. As time went on, and I kept trying to challenge fears including dating, intimacy, food, school, and other things, I noticed myself getting worse instead of better. One night, I found myself researching poisonous plants and medicines that could kill me. One of the plants was a frequent one on campus and every time I saw it I thought of killing myself. I thought it was a sign, that I really needed to die. I brought up the suicidal feelings to my therapist and he had me make a safety plan. Unfortunately, I’d lied to him about the status of my health. I’d told him I didn’t have a plan (when I did) and that I wouldn’t follow through (even though I didn’t want to, I knew that I would). I’d truly convinced myself that I would be helping everyone around me by dying. Last year in January I attempted to take my own life. I poisoned myself with the plant and drank to immobilize myself, ensuring I couldn’t undo the decision. I have very few memories of the event besides my families heartbreak and nurses in the ICU. Later, I was diagnosed with OCD and anorexia. I went through an intensive treatment that insurance wouldn’t cover, but my grandparents paid for. My mom asked my grandma because of the enormous cost. During this time, my mom and sisters made weird comments about my step grandpa and during therapy as I worked on my fear hierarchy, I feared talking about my obsessions related to molestation. I still haven’t told my therapist because ultimately my grandparents are tied to the sessions and on my deepest level, I believe my step grandpa did something to me. The last couple of weeks have been challenging as I am making a change in my graduate studies and work, which has brought back recurring nightmares from my childhood. I have always had nightmares of my grandparents house. Most to do with men forcing their way into the house and raping me. Another about a massive structure underneath the house accessed through my grandparents closet. A few days ago, I had a dream of a childhood friend (that I worried had a creepy relationship with her dad) telling me that I need to confront what “[my step grandpa’s name]” did to me. In my dream, I covered my ears and refused to listen to her. I woke up distraught and have regressed in my physical relationship because of it. My boyfriends hands touching me makes me want to cry. I feel disgusted by my body and violated any time his hands touch that part of me. Finally, because of my debt to my grandparents and their connection to my therapist, I fear sharing these secrets and problems. At the same time, I have this angry loop that plays in my mind about “not paying them back for the therapy because it is my grandpas fault anyways.” This thought is the most confusing because I don’t know where it came from. Because I have OCD, I often distrust my memory. All of the events I’ve listed I’m sure happened, even if some of the details are wrong. I don’t know if my experiences point to abuse because I can’t remember any interactions with my step grandpa as a child besides a feeling of terror and sadness when he hurt their dog. But I feel like my mind is trying to get me to confront something that I don’t know if I can confront. Is it all OCD? Am I misunderstanding my memories? Please help.