I Had EMDR Again
It's Not Getting Easier
Dear Readers,
Yesterday I had another EMDR session and that day I thankfully did not have a dinner. And I must say I’ve grown quite fond of my psychologist. She's has this unobtrusive but deeply caring sensibility. She’s also become accustomed the reality that there earliest I seem to be able to arrive for my appointments in about five minutes late. I am really trying to deal with my time blindness especially when it comes to being mindful of her time. But let’s go back to the session itself as I think my peculiar relationship with time has been addressed ad nauseum. There is something I definitely have to say about the EMDR that might sound obvious; it’s definitely a form retraumatization that I wasn't entirely prepared for to be honest. And being asked to sustain and sit with the worst kind of emotions like shame, anger and worthlessness while reliving the experience of sexual assault is not something I would recommend everyone to undergo.
I’m still frantically quite struck by the increasingly vivid nature of my memories as I go further along this treatment and there is also something quite emotional about coming to terms with sensory details pertaining to my assault that I had either blocked out or forgotten. And most of the anger this generates is towards myself. After my rape I religiously gaslit myself into playing down the situation and thoroughly convinced myself that “nothing had happened”. I know there are well documented reasons for why this happens but it doesn’t make me less angry at myself for not embracing the ugliness of the truth much faster. Does anyone else understand this? Is it just me? In the documentary, The Centre Will Not Hold, Joan Didion once spoke about how things appear less ugly than they when you look at them for a longer period of time when referencing her work in journalism. I can promise you that this is not the case when it comes to my EMDR. For me, it only gets uglier as the images form in my within my mind; the petroleum vaseline that was used to forcefully violate me and the slightly damp bedsheets my head was pressed into as I was pinned from behind by my abusers weight amongst other unwanted details. The phenomenon was is categorically draining and requires a type of stamina as your eyes radically follow the ever oscillating light. It almost arrests you in a state of gross vulnerability and the kind that doesn’t yield.
After it was over, I walked slowly towards the post office to envelope and send some more notes and gifts I’d received from hosts for The Last Supper Project to the archivist student at Stanford. I then went to have some comforting focaccia at the Stedelijk Museum and apple juice to catch my breath a bit. And indulged in some innocent people watching. I tried to activate my museum card but procrastinated on the attempt.
My next EMDR session is in two weeks and to be honest, I don’t entirely know if I’m looking forward to it. Will let you know how it goes.
Love,
Joseph.