Circumstantial Evidence

In my first post about my undertaking therapy to uncover repressed memories I say that I have “only 1 or 2 before the age of 7. Don’t get me wrong, I recall plenty of family stories about my younger years.” This is, of course, not evidence that I have blocked all those memories, just ‘lost’ them. In that earlier post I note that memories may reveal “nothing beyond a nightmare, memories of OBE (‘out of body experiences’) or difficulty adjusting to frequent relocations” – we moved every two or three years until we ended up in a village in south-western Ontario for a full decade. There is, however, some evidence that these memories are, indeed, repressed.

First are family stories which, at least as of now, will remain within the family. The other evidence includes a discussion, on a fairly basic yet personal level, of my sexual life. No prurient details- but it may not be suitable for impressionable minds. Proceed at your own risk.

During the seven years I was in a relationship with a man who was a professional costumer and make-up artist he was frequently frustrated that my aversion to having any make-up on my eyelids meant few of his most wicked Hallowe’en outfits would work. I have always had very sensitive eyes- in my youth there was an ad for a brand of eye drops that used a version of a Magic Slate toy. It had red squigles all over an eyeball, and when eye drops were added they lifted up the top sheet to make the red lines disappear. This included a sharp ripping sound that made me cry. However, he was convinced that my issue with wearing make-up was deeper.

The Toronto House of Perpetual Indulgence (1981-86) was one that did not do the ‘white face’ that is now considered a hallmark of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence in North America. Perhaps if we had done, I would’ve had to face his theory some time ago.

To the promised sexual discussion; when I first visit a new Dentist I advise the staff that I have a very strong gag reflex; often they don’t believe me until they’ve placed a tool too far back in my throat and experienced my involuntary reaction. Even brushing my own teeth is a trial.

I am a long-time leatherman. I ‘ve been involved in the community for decades; Production Director of the Mr Leatherman Toronto competitions in 1982 and ’83, long-time member of Trident International, and attendee at a number of contests and runs around North America. I’m also a ‘hands on’ participant in leather/fetish life. During the entire time I have been a ‘Top’ – the Master or Sir in sexual relationships short and long-term.

I have elsewhere contrasted my work serving my communities as Sister being the yin to my Leather Master yang. Again, circumstantial as one’s sexual orientation and preferences may be the result of a wide range of factors. But choosing/ needing to always be ‘in control’ (to the extent such an illusion is believed) in sexual situations is a possible indicator.

Another possible indicator of childhood abuse (physical, mental or emotional) is hypervigilance. This is defined as “an enhanced state of sensory sensitivity accompanied by an exaggerated intensity of behaviors whose purpose is to detect threats. [source: Wikipedia]. This, when combined with an intense focus on detail, may contribute to being seen as anal retentive as well as being great attributes for a photographer, accountant, or leatherman.

The final detail I will mention is a poem I wrote early in 1981. It is one of three found in this blog post.
SOMEWHERE
Somewhere, I can see the light–
Deep within I cried last night.
My only hope is to set it right;
My story’s often cold.

Someone I can hear tells me
Deep within, I know I’m free.
My only hope is my insanity.
My story’s often cold.

Something I can smell is here;
Deep within I feel his fear.
My only hope is that you are near.
My story’s often cold.

Sometimes I can touch the truth
Deep within my forgotten youth.
My only hope belies that truth.
My story’s often cold.

Somehow I can taste death now,
Deep within. I can’t allow
My only hope– has left somehow.
My story’s often cold.

© Copyright 1981 by Brian Gryphon – All Rights Reserved

 

Related Posts:
Don’t Cry Out Loud (Therapy Post #1)
Deep Within I Know I’m Free (Therapy Post #2)
Therapy As Art (Images of Therapy)

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