EMDR Changed The Way I Remember My Trauma
By Claire Foster
Content Note: discussion of sexual assault and PTSD
The first time I was raped, I was 18 and traveling alone through the southern part of Spain. It was beautiful, with its wild and rugged hills rushing breathlessly into the arms of the Mediterranean. I wore big, black sunglasses, chain-smoking while I walked on the playa. That’s the part of the trip I would prefer to remember.
My rapist’s name and face, the way he followed me into my hotel room, the metal scrape of the bolt, my shock at the sudden proximity and warmth of him, the actions he performed on my unwilling and inexperienced body, the blood, the bruises, and the sick dread I felt when I woke up alone the next morning — those details are mine, too. I could never forget them. My brain wouldn’t let me.
In many ways, my PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) was textbook. I had all the symptoms of someone who has seen too much of the bad end of life. The events of that night sent me into a deep, lasting depression that never seemed to get better. I was always vigilant. I couldn’t sleep without keeping my hand on the hunting knife under my pillow. I hallucinated that I was being attacked, dreamed about the rape, experienced flashbacks. My mood swings were legendary. Negative interactions with men — from a stranger showing too…
