Finding those hidden memories of incest and abuse

I've only recently discovered the extent to which both of my biological parents had me working as a child prostitute. Around 5, my mother told me I'd help the family get groceries each week by "doing to the grocery man what you already do with daddy". My parents were pimps.

In a way, I'm grateful ? Not the right. Relieved, might be more apropos, that my childhood sexual abuse was so extraneous and egregious and horrific because it makes the rest of my life make sense.

I spent my years in such great pain and distress and mental instability. And it had a Valid, Logical and Expected reason!! I was never making things up. I was never ever exaggerating! I wasn't a liar or a drama queen. I wasn't the boy crying wolf; I was the child being raped. 

My pain was real.

My life makes sense.

I make sense.