Before my uncle violently sexually assaulted me at 17, I was miserable. I felt no connection to others and was in denial about how sick and not functional my family was. My future was going to be probably just living with my parents in their hoarded house in misery. I was in denial about the horrific incest issues. I told myself my uncle wasn't "that bad"; that my mom and brother were the only victims and maybe they were exaggerating. I blocked the things that happened to me and my life was reading literature and living in a fantasy world of Victorian England.

After the assault, my breakdown was like a kaleidoscope, Willy Wonka world. My cortisol levels dropped, my head throbbed with disturbing sexual images but I couldn't even have an orgasm for a year. I became thinner and thinner and often forgot to eat. I had nightmares and would fall off the bed in the middle of the night, waking up on the floor in the mornings. My life was my body and its survival functions. I saw how my school and my family did not love me like I thought they did. I saw that my parents could not take care of me or themselves. I was able to detach emotionally and look for people who would love me.

I have been assaulted again recently and reeexperienced some of those feelings. The drop in cortisol (what I think I might be experiencing from reading about PTSD) feels like a drug. Am I insane to feel there were positive aspects to my experiences?