I haven't Slept in Journal

Well for the past week and a half. W has been waking up 3 to 5 times a night. Mostly clustered 1 to 5am.
I. Am. So. Tired.
My brain feels foggy. Because of that, I don’t really remember how it came up… oh, wait. Yes, I do. I was watching a video about psychological abuse. Repressed sexual trauma during childhood, mostly from age 0 to 10, is often expressed in specific ways. And the list ensued. And I thought to myself. Wow, I have done a lot of that. And then I remembered that one time, although I was an adult, that my dad groped me. And I never told anyone. And he laughed about it. And then he told my mom and they both laughed at me about it. But it was my reaction to that abuse that was poignantly reminiscent of childhood sexual assault victims.
It’s not the first time that I have asked the question- was I sexually abused as a child?
I ask that question and I feel a deep uneasiness. That startle-fear reflex engages. I feel unsure. How would I know? I don’t remember most of my early years. I have connected with parts of myself from that time, but… I have no conscious memories of it. And, how would I find out?
The last counselor that asked me that question- were you sexually abused as a child?- and I said I don’t remember anything, acted like everyone else does when a topic of this magnitude comes up and no real information is available. Discomfort. Avoidant. Anxious. Okay let’s just skip that because it makes me uncomfortable. And I feel that old self-blame rising up- it’s bad to make people feel uncomfortable! Don’t do that!
Although I genuinely feel grateful for that part- it has allowed me to survive with my family into adulthood- it is tragically misplaced, now.