Bless your little heart, glee -- I've said this before to you -- for dealing with all the horror and becoming the strong, self-confidant and whole person that we see here.
How much difference do you think it would have made without the years of therapy? (I know this is a question that you probably won't be able to answer easily, or you may prefer not to answer it at all -- if so, please forgive if I have put you on the spot, but it might shed some light on CY's situation -- since we know she has had therapy and may still be receiving it...)
I certainly would think in a case like hers and yours -- the sooner the better w/regard to such therapy. And obviously, the therapist(s) with whom you worked must have been very fine.
I don't think I'd be here now without the years of therapy. In fact I know I wouldn't. By the time I found the *right* therapist I was extremely suicidal. Not the type of *attention* suicide attempts, but the well thought out plan-type. I didn't receive any type of therapy until my early 30's, when I went to my GP and told him "something is wrong with me, I can't eat, I can't sleep, I cry all the time, and I have horrible, blood-curdling screaming, nightmares.
Yes, the sooner a child has help, the better.
The first therapist I saw was *okay* in that he broke through the wall I'd erected around my *feelings*. Many of my memories were at the surface, so when 'first guy' attempted to get a history on me, they came out. Although I was not receptive to therapy, would cancel appointments for any reason I could find, would give basically yes/no answers to attempts to draw me out, etc. I went because I wanted the anti-depressants my doc put me on because I agreed to therapy. After about six months or more of this, first guy finally said to me one day "gracielee, you sit there and relate horrible things, terrible memories from your childhood, yet you relate them in a monotone, much as though we were discussing the weather..." After that session, I went home, poured myself a drink in the biggest glass I could find, it was morning, kids were all in school, I took my drink, went outside and sat on the patio, and drank. As I drank, I began to cry, to *feel*, first guy had broken through the walls I'd constructed to protect myself from *feeling*. 'First guy' broke through the wall, but there came a point in time where *I* felt 'first guy' was not good for me. Suffice to say, something inappropriate was happening in therapy, and although I was in the midst of major depression, a part of *me* knew the dynamics of this particular therapist/therapy had become extremely counter-productive to me. After that it took me a few years, and numerous psychiatrist's and psychologist's before I found the 'right guy' for me. Psychiatrist's, 'in my experience' only want to drug. I was on major drugs, anti depressants, anti psychotics, tranquilizers, sleeping pills, etc. I recall finally being able to reason out my thoughts, and saying to the *last* psychiatrist I saw, "aren't we ever going to *talk* about my problems?" to which he replied, "If we find the right combo of drugs for you, you won't *have to* talk." And so I figured out, all the shrinks wanted to do was drug me up zombie like, so I could move through life like a robot. After that I searched only for a psychologist, someone who could help me get past it, not just be drugged up so 'nothing would bother me anymore'. Yes, I didn't cry all the time, but on the drugs I also lost my sense of humor, my ability to read books, I remember telling 'final good-guy psychologist' "of all the things I lost while drugged up, I missed my sense of humor the most."
I knew the moment I went in for my first session with 'last guy/good guy' therapist, that I could work with him. We were close in age, our live experiences meshed. When I related to a song, or a point in time in my life, he could relate without my having to go through a huge explanation, much like our Simon & Garfunkle 'relates' here.
He wasn't that long out of school himself, and once he tested me, MMPI and others, he did lots of workshops and research on PTSD. He really wanted to help me. We slowly peeled back the layers of memories to get to the bottom of it all. I had lots of doubts, guilts, thoughts of 'this can't be true'. My sister and I hadn't been close once we were teens, we went our separate ways to survive in what ever way we could. I found dh and got married, sis found drugs. Anyway, I was sought out when she had a nervous breakdown and no one could figure out what was wrong with her. They told me nightmares she was having, things she was saying, and they exactly mirrored my own that had come out a couple years before. It was then that I finally BELIEVED in myself, felt validated. My therapist always believed me, it was me who needed validation.
Sorry this is so long, and if it's wrong, the moderator can delete it. I just think it's important to understand what children remember, and what it can do to them if they don't get help, and get the right help. I have always remembered my mother tried to drown me in the bathtub when I was about CY's age, but to this day, I still don't *see* who it is drowning me. I knew it was her because I'd heard my aunts talking, "she tried to drown 'the kid' in the bathtub", but I still don't *see* mother in my mind. It's an unknown entity I *see*. Hope this helps.