Later my parents tried taking me to a therapist in hopes to making me normal, but that didn’t help at all, in fact it actually made matters far worse. Every therapist would ask me questions like Maria, what was your reaction when you were being raped or oh my favorite, can you draw me a picture, or how did being raped make you feel? Imagine how belittle I felt in those moments, how demoralizing those questions were, how intimidating those questions were? I felt less than a human being because they didn’t talk to me like you would talk to a person when you first met them, you could immediately tell you were different from everyone because they talked to me like I was still a baby.
I felt like I had issues now, that something was wrong with me. I remember being back in Russia in the orphanage they gave you labels and I remember they told my adopted parents I was different from the other children that I would have mental issues. I even started to believe these things were true about me. The worst part is that my parents and the therapist accused me of making all of this up. Imagine that? Now don’t get me wrong I do not believe in any way the therapist were bad people, I believe they truly wanted to help me, but honestly these therapist went to school and learned from a book to study psychology and how the brain works, and personally I believe there’s a time and place for science but it does not or can take the place of someone who has experienced being raped or mentally or physically abused.
There’s not a book that can help you imagine or know what really happens when you are going through this. It’s far beyond than just having consensual sex. No way could a therapist relate to my experience, that book they studied couldn’t teach them the pain you go through because they had never personally experienced being raped themselves.
How they approached me took me to an even darker place, I felt like no one really cared or listened to me I felt abandonment I just wanted someone to listen to me and allow me to express myself, not feel sorry for me or talk to me like I was a victim. So I stuffed my feelings and everything into a jar and shut myself off from everyone around me. It was so bad that I even began to rebel against my parents and I began drinking Vodka or whatever ever kind of liquor I could get my hands on.
I did everything to try to get attention because I wanted to fill the void I was missing.