There is never really any rest, I have found. I just move from one crisis to another. Sometimes, there are maybe two or three days when things seem calm again, and I can get some things done a little more easily and then usually I begin to hope that maybe this will go on for perhaps a few weeks, or that this will become the new baseline. Then it doesn’t. Then it becomes subsumed in crisis.

I’m starting to accept that this is just life for me now. Life is just going to be a crisis. It is nice that the crises are mostly a little bit easier than they were before, but they don’t stop. Sometimes there is a break of a few days, and sometimes one rears up as soon as the last one is over. And this is just how things are for me.

Things start to seem a little wrapped up over the miscarriage—not entirely, but quite a lot, and before that is even fully tidied away, we are onto something else.

First a bit more about the ritual abuse, and then straight-up sexual abuse: what my dad did to me and what one of the elders of our church did to me, which was actually trafficking.

It’s not mainly about what they did. It’s what they said. It’s the whole dynamic. There is a soundtrack now. There are words. They are both crazy as loons, which I knew before, but now I know the specifics of it.

Hannah seems to know the most about this, and we talk, and she seems to feel better. Then it all gets lost again. Which happens. New knowledge or understanding is always lost under stress, but I can’t figure out why it’s happening. Hannah seems to feel it’s coming from somewhere else, that she is the conduit for it, but this is not really her thing.

So I check with Katya. Hannah thinks it’s Katya, but it’s not Katya. Katya is just mad.

I’m flummoxed, but I know it has to be a younger part. This is all young stuff. It went on for a long time, but it started when I was very little. Lana?

It seems to be Lana. She’s not kicking up the emotions Hannah is having—not the guilt and shame and compulsion to be punished so that something worse doesn’t happen. But fear. Lana is afraid, and that’s setting off the other stuff.

At first, Lana doesn’t want to come out. Her head is a very dark and scary place, and being out seems like it’s going to intensify it. But then it ends up feeling better to be out. Then she can some of the things that make her feel better. She can hear the Russian songs playing, and Russian helps her a lot.

She can see that she’s not shut up in a dark place somewhere—she just calls it a dark place, but I’m not sure where it is. It might be the garage or it might be a closet.

It’s just so hard.