Tonight was another one of those moments where I realized something that I had never ever thought of before. And I am not sure that my mind knows what to do with that. I keep repeating what I never imagined. I want that thought to settle, to find a place but I am not sure that there is one.
For almost 19 years I have thought one thing and tonight I realized that I as totally wrong.
I have always said that a pillow fell on my face and I just went away. I really really thought like it just so happened , that the pillow fell over my face all by itself, but really it was on purpose, how does a pillow do that it doesn't , how does a pillow fall exactly over someone's face IT DOES NOT. Before tonight that thought had never crossed my mind.
I have never ever realized that before , and when I talk about violence and whether or not he was a monster, that is a big deal. He was violent, he was mean and he put that pillow over my face.
And my head screams for excuses , maybe he was moving it out of the way, maybe he was I don't know, I just don't know what he was doing. And I think was he trying to end my life ? Was he trying to make me shut up ? Was he trying to stop me from breathing? Those things I will never know because I just went away. And there is such great frustration in that. How does a person not even know something as big as this.
I can remember Mark months ago talking about it, and He asked something about him trying to cover my face, like he wanted to stop my breathing and I quickly stood up for Chares, like oh no it just fell; And I remember him being a little confused. Now I understand that confusion, because it didn't accidentally fall right on my face, it was put there. That doesn't even make sense in my head and I have to figure out where that fits in my story. Like he did that on purpose/ that is hard to understand. I have tried to make him a good guy in a sense because of my children.
And as another August 22 has passed, this is yet another piece of the puzzle. I find myself saying it over and over again in my head like somehow its going to make some kind of sense, but it still hasn't . I am sure that there is no sense to be had in this one. This is more than heartbreaking, and challenges all the things that I have said to myself all these years.
There has been a huge part of me that blamed myself. That hated the choices that I made that day. I have hated myself for wanting to fit in, for wanting to belong, for wanting someone to talk to me and get to know the things that I like.
I am so sad about all that was taken that day. I am so sad that he was yet another person who hurt me. I am sad that I felt like I was coming out of my shell a bit and opening up and wanting good things. And just like that; all was taken with yet another violent act. That is heartbreaking. I feel like that took thinks that I will never get back. I fear never finding love, never being special, never really really being understood. Those are all things that I wanted that day, I wanted normal and got everything hurtful.
I feel like the truth is still swirling in my brain trying to find a place to settle, trying to find a place to fit. I am wondering how something like this ever fits in anywhere. I can see the violence in the truth; and it is more than painful. . Yet, there is a part of me that wants to hold on to the lie that a random pillow just happened to fall directly on my face. I am angry that I just went away. I am angry that I don't have knowledge of what happened to me. Its strange to know what happened because I have my children, but the last thing I remember was that fucking pillow. That orange pillow, that tried to take my breathe away.
So many thoughts and feelings that all feel so overwhelming. I feel like my thoughts are so confused and I don't have any real answers. This is more than hard.
I am really struggling with this. There is some violence that is so out there in your face, there is no question. I think of the central park jogger, I think of Brave Ms. World, I think of Travon Martin and George Floyd. Those are acts of violence without question that we all should be outraged by. I am not sure that it is always that cut and dry. I guess I only know how to look at this through my own life, and it has me wanting to ask so many questions.
In one sense I could say Violence was a part of my life from as far back as I remember. I think when a child is hurt at such a young age, there is violence no matter how you look at it. Then there are times that I think, well it wasn't really violent, Sometimes I didn't fight I didn't scream, I didn't get physically hurt. I think for me in my life there were so many different levels of hurt and violence that for me if it was something small then I am not sure that I can consider that violence.
I know that there are certain times that stick out, where I can say without question that were violent. There are also some things that I can say, yes it happened but was it violent ? That is a hard one. I am really struggling with this , like seriously struggling and I am not sure that I have put this much thought into the violence that has occurred in my life. There is a lot of things that I am not sure that I consider violent.
I think about my father and there were times that it was awful terrible, he was hurting me and I cried, just wanting him to stop. Then there were other times, it was just something that happened and you just wait for him to be finished and to get off of you. There were times he got so angry at my size or not being able to do what he wanted and he would push me out of bed, that is pretty violent. He would get so angry with me at times. Not that either was better, but there wasn't extreme violence all the times. Sometimes it was just normal.
I think as I got older it was less violent with my father just because I was more mature and physically capable of what he wanted. It still wasn't asked for or wanted, but there wasn't that extreme level of violence either. Somehow if violence wasn't a part of it, then it wasn't so bad.
Albert was violent most of the time. He always hurt, and was usually threatening, I learned after he killed my tadpoles that he would hurt me just like them. There were times that I fought, there were times that I just silently cried there were times, I totally went away. He was always very rough and mean he didn't care that he was hurting me. He never acknowledged me crying, or showed any ounce of kindness. He was pure evil all the time.
I think of Don when I was 13. There were times he was so very violent and there were times that he wasn't . The first time I was shocked and I fought, the second time I was overwhelmed, I screamed I fought, I scratched, kicked and bit but there was nothing that I could do. The final time, it wasn't violent. I knew what was going to happen and I laid down there was nothing left, still bruised from the 5. I knew this is what was going to happen and I laid down, there was no violence the last time, my mind everywhere except what was happening. The cold floor, hoping no one came to the door, hating myself for laying down. It's crazy the things that you think about wanting to be anywhere else from where you are.
Then Charles. He was not violent, I didn't fight. I just went away I knew what he came to get the second he ignored my questions about going shopping. I just knew that I need to get far away and I did.
For certain situations yes there was Violence and I am more than sad and sometimes angry for what happened to me. Yet other times I think, do I have a right to be sad ? They were not violent all the time, there were no physical marks or injuries. One part of me understands the sadness and another part thinks how crazy you weren't even there to experience it, so where does that sad come from ?
I was watching these videos for work that we have to watch every year, and I got angry. Like really really angry. I had so many signs of being abused and yet no one noticed.
The wetting the bed, the withdrawn child, UTI's all the time that were more than painful, the bloody underwear. So many things and yet no one noticed. It made me mad. Some of those things were things that I couldn't hide, that I could not pretend weren't happening. I went to the Dr a lot about my UTI's and the Dr always said I took too many bubble baths. That Dr was awful, I didn't like him and he scared me. I can remember him always looking in my underwear and I seriously thought he was going to be another person to hurt me.. No five year old thinks like that. I did, I was always scared and always thought that another person was going to hurt me. I would sneak my underclothes to the trash, there was evidence, just no one noticed. I am sure that will be something that I never understand. I know that when it comes to trauma, we have come a really long way, but that doesn't make a difference for me. Even if trauma wasn't something that was on peoples radar, there were things happening to me that no one saw and no one noticed and I was left to deal with it all on my own.
So today all this time later, I question if things were violent ? I question if I didn't do something enough ? I question whether, I was the one that did something. All the violence and still I question well was it really that violent !!! In my head if things were really that violent someone would have helped save mw. If things were that violent someone would have held my heart and let me know that I wasn't this awful terrible person. No one ever told me that all those terrible things that were happening shouldn't have happened at all ever. NO one ever told me that those things weren't ok. So instead all this time later, I am left so angry that I question my anger and my sadness because really, there were a lot of times when things weren't really violent, it was just the way that things were. I want to see things different and find some peace. I can't go back no one can go back and tell me all the things that I needed to hear. Until I can call the things what they are, best that I can do is keep trying to understand and someday someday, I will never question the how or why of my survival.
I heart your heart Callahan. I am so sorry that you were never kept safe.
Oh this day. So many thoughts feelings and emotions. I can think of a favorite poem by Mark Nepo; Everything is beautiful and I am so sad. THAT. All of it. Such a tragic day for me, in more ways than even I can comprehend. Its such a deep sadness, that often doesn't have words. And yet the next moment everything is beautiful and I have two amazing children that call me mom. Sometimes those worlds collide in the most catastrophic and amazing ways.
When I talk about this day, I try to make it about me, my children are the most amazing part of it all. From my story will come their very own story and how they are affected. As they mature and grow older its up to them, what they do and don't share about their story. Who they tell and don't tell I want them to know that there is never a need to keep this secret .
I don't talk about this often because it hurts, and because I honestly don't know how too. This is something that really can't be shared often. People don't understand. People are shocked and people don't know what to say. Well guess what I don't either.
There is no guidebook or manual for what to do in this situation. I can remember being told that it doesn't happen and feeling so shameful. Because my truth was being denied right in front of me, and that was devastating.
One of my favorites, the wisest person that I know wanted me to think about this day in terms of empowerment. I can not even tell you the difficulty in that. Empowered, that is I think the furthest word from this situation. I feel a sense of weakness in this day.
On August 22 2003 I was raped and 2 weeks later I found out that I was pregnant.
I type that and my heart Still sinks. I wish that things were different. I wish with all that I am that my story took a different turn, but it did not. That day become a part of my story that is everything sad and everything hopeful. I have to believe that is where the empowerment comes in.
There are so many choices that could be made, thoughts to be had. My first and only thought was, I am going to be a mom.
The morning sickness started right away, I was so sick. I literally thought, oh its the flu. But in a few days it never went away. It was a coworker that said "you are so pregnant, you need to take a test"
The panic in my heart, I am pretty sure that the world stopped for a few minutes. That night I went home and took a test. Two lines.
The only night that I cried. I laid down on the floor with my dog Rizzo, and I cried, I talked to him and petted his head, his eyes listening to my every word. What in the world was I going to do, I was going to be a mom.
I can remember the next day running into Wal-Mart after work and buying some saltines and ginger ale. I was standing there in line, and I wanted someone to ask why I was buying what I was, and I wanted to tell them that I was going to be a mom. There was an excitement, being a mom was something that I always wanted.
Honestly, I never thought about what happened to me again really not for a long time. All that mattered was my children. I never took better care of myself going to every doctor appointment taking every prenatal vitamin. I mean I was caring for two sweet amazing babies, why would I not ?
I was asked so many questions, if I was drinking, who he was, people didn't know I was seeing anyone and for oh so long I kept my story mine, because all that mattered was Vincent and Mariska.
I can remember my mother asking what I was going to do and I said I didn't know maybe move in with him....Just a smart ass comment , because I didn't have a clue. I knew what happened, what he did and I still said that. I said something to my mom that he was black, my brother said something about them having N**** lips, and my mother said oh they will look like little monkey's. And they both laughed. They broke my heart if they loved me how could they say those things. You can make fun of me and laugh at me all you like, but DO NOT make fun of my children. I was heartbroken, they were talking about my children. Never once was he talked about was he asked about so I kept my story to myself. My children were all that mattered and I was going to make sure that they had all that I never did. That they knew they were loved no matter what they did.
Right after they were born we went to get food stamps, they were less than a week old. And the case worker asked about the father. I am sure I shrank inside, he didn't matter my children did and I told her that I didn't know. She said that I had to file for child support. I again said that I didn't know any information, and she threw a pencil across the table at me and walked out. I was devastated. Like I already felt bad enough,, she was so cruel and insensitive. Tears running down my face I went in the car to nurse Mariska and I remember talking to her, like it was just us against the world with a shaky reassuring voice that we were going to be ok.
I never missed a second with them. They were everything. The reason that I got up in the morning, the reason why I never stopped breathing, because believe me there were plenty of days I wanted nothing more . Life was hard and I never stopped smiling. We sat on the floor, we sang we danced,
So I guess looking back there were great moments of empowerment in this story. Not once did I ever give up, not once did I let anything change the love for my children, because they were all mine. Not once did I ever think of anything other than being pregnant and being their mom. I can see some moments, but I am looking for that moment when I can stand tall and say what happened to me, and be proud of myself and not feel any less than the person next to me. If you stood me next to one hundred other people I am going to feel less than every single one of them.
Something terrible happened to me but I got the biggest light that I could have ever imagined in my children. Life was more than hard before I had them, and because of them; so many things changed. I went back to school, I got my degree. I made sure they were so loved, I made sure that they had a childhood filled with oh so much love. So many nights I went to bed tears streaming down my face hoping that I was doing enough, hoping that they always felt my love. Hoping that they were getting everything that they needed.
I am struggling trying to find that piece of empowerment, that piece where I can be proud. I am looking for that piece of peace that seems so far away.
As I look back I see how far that we have come, and I put my hand on my heart and it seems so surreal. I am sure I think more about him now because the kids are older, and I can look at the part before them. The part where I wanted to belong, the part where I wanted to go to lunch. The part where I knew what was going to happen and went away. The part where he didn't listen and I am not sure if any of this makes sense. So many feelings, thoughts that Vincent asks a few questions, but I feel that more are coming. I also feel like they know its a hard subject. They are going to be 18 in April and I fear them searching for him. I fear speaking the words to them, about what happened. We have only spoken about it once when we were in Colorado, and their were so many tears. I simply said that he wasn't nice and didn't listen. But its so much more than that. I know that they need the truth, and that is terrifying . I don't know how that conversation goes, I don't know the questions that they may have. I think maybe there is a fear that I will be left behind somehow. What if they find him and think he is this amazing person, better than me ?
I want them to ask the hard questions, I do I think I worry about the answers because I am not often honest with myself at how hurt that I am. I turned that off when I knew I was going to be their mom, not a single thing mattered more in the world. I have said that I don't want them to think he is a monster but really he is , its so much more than him not listening he took things that weren't his to take. I want to be able to say what happened and hide the hurt that he caused. I don't think that's possible, really. I am more than hurt at what he did to me. And I am more than grateful to be their mom. 2 things so close together in time. One minute there is a before, and an after in the same breathe, that is hard to comprehend.
I see them and I am amazed at the people they are becoming. I think there are pieces of our story that we can talk about together and there are pieces of the story that I can never understand from their perspective. I want them to know that they could not be loved more, that they are the best part of my life. I want them to know that even with what happened I would do it all again to get to be their mom. I want the sadness to be gone about what happened to me. Like that poem everything is beautiful and I am so sad. I am sure there is a part of me that feels I am so grateful for how far that we have come, I am grateful for them I love them more than words and even with all of that that sad is still there for what happened to me. Sometimes its hard for both of those things to happen in my heart at the same time because there isn't one with out the other. I don't know what to do with that.
That is what I want. There were some early tears last night, as we all laughed and talked in the kitchen. I want so much for them and I want this to be a very small piece in the amazing tapestry of the amazing humans that they are.
Oh my Vincent Mariska, you are everything wonderful, you made me a mom and I will forever be blessed.
There are times sometimes that just seem heavy. There are some times that things just don't seem to go right. I wish I had a soft place to fall. I wish that I had some peace, that my heart could find some rest and much needed answers. I want so much to find all the answers that I need in this life and that is just more than complicated. Sunday is coming quickly, I am trying not to think about it make it a big deal but it is. Because 18 years ago my world was totally about to change and I didn't even know it.
I have been thinking about where I am and where I have come and I am more than amazed that I have even made it this far. Life started out so very rough, and I kept going. Life was so screwed from the time that I was born. I feel like I never had a chance and yet here I stand.
I was thinking about how life started out so hurtful. I knew that I was a bother and got in the way. I knew that I wasn't liked. So many things happened that I didn't understand. There was so much that I couldn't even comprehend. There were so many cruel people. I was so little trying to learn about the world. My world was just so evil. I always cared about the little things, the things that others never noticed. I was always in my own world, watching the birds and clouds. I was always far away wondering about other worlds. I always felt so out of place, I never fit in anywhere. I was an outsider always looking in never a part of anything like everyone else. I always felt more than different. I would float away, pretend to be somewhere else, I would watch from other parts of the room. Sometimes I was there sometimes I was not. That ia not a way to live through your childhood. It is what I had.
Then comes 13, unimaginable loss, so much that I still didn't understand, but I knew that something wasn't right. I fought, I fought with my whole being for people to stop hurting me. I started to stand up for myself even in the smallest ways. I fought the five of them with everything that I had. I didn't win but at least I fought, there has to be something good in that. I suffered the greatest loss of sweet Bella, and I did it all on my own. People knew, they had too, I was only 13 and still I was on my own. There was no help no support. I was breathing in a living hell that no one really acknowledged or cared about. I was alone in the world, with fingers pointed at me, no one would want to do that to me. I took that as a part of me, I must be all kinds of disgusting , no one wanted to do that to me. I truly believed that, Every Single Word. There was something so wrong with me. Things were so bad; that my entire life faded to black. I would not only be in the corner or watching from the ceiling, I was gone in a place far far away . The blackness came when I couldn't handle the things that were happening to me.
Then again so many years later. I only wanted to have a friend , I wanted to be a part I wanted to do normal life things. And in comes Charles. I think there were so many red flags I should have known but I didn't. And there was a part of me that didn't understand Charles, I wanted him to be different. I begged him not to hurt me. Over and over I said how we were supposed to go shopping but the second I realized that he had no intentions of going shopping, I was already so far gone. That orange pillow fell on my face, I knew the routine, I knew what happened and I was gone. I could not tell you a single thing that he said or did because I was not there. I remember him being done , getting off my bed. I was in shock, not really in my own skin. I cried so hard when he left, I knew what he did but I was not aware if that makes sense. 2 weeks later the morning sickness stated and I was going to be a mom. I would not have thought about him or what he did again if I had not gotten pregnant. I was so far gone, if I didn't get to be a mom to my sweet babies, things would have been different.
Like at 5 there isn't an understanding of sex or what is happening to you. Things hurt, and you learn to just deal with it. As you get older there are good nights and bad nights and really bad nights. You know what is happening to you but there isn't an understanding, and there is a innocence to that. You don't want to be hurt, you know it isn't ok, but these are your people doing this to you and that is just what happens, and I never really knew any different.
Then at 13 you know how things work, you know the things that are happening to you. Your body still hurts, there is a different kind of understanding that makes you an outlier, you watch everything scared all the time, you wonder if everyone has to do the things that you do. You wonder if those other girls know what its like when your Father doesn't work, and you are relieved, that sex won't happen that night. You are old enough to know, and to find that your pregnant and you are going to do everything to keep them safe and sound. Somehow a little one to make people be kind, to give them the safety and love that you always wanted. To understand such loss , that is a life not lived. The world was on my shoulders and I learned to carry it so well.
Then later, you know all about life. Nothing surprises you anymore. Things hurt sometimes, and you go away, you learn to wait it out, but you are also tired of being used and yet that is the only life that you have known. I wanted nothing more in this life than to be cared for and loved. I thought I had found a good guy going to get lunch. Even as I write this the thoughts run rampant. I should have known better, so many red flags, the things he said on the phone I should have known he had no intentions of lunch and shopping but I did not. So as soon as that part of your brain kicks in, you know what is going to happen and you can't face it, you can't fight so you just go away. You know what he is going to do, you know your body will hurt, so you do what you know and there isn't a single part of you aware of what is being done. And just like that you become pregnant.
I am sure that I can not accurately explain all of this, the things that I thought, the ways that I went away, the things that I thought in my head. . I guess its just strange the progression of my mind, how I tried so hard too make sense of everything. I wanted so much to be that good kid, to be someone seen and acknowledged. I wanted to be important and special to people and instead I was nothing. I am used goods.
I keep talking about not making it, because I truly believe with my whole heart that if I ever got hurt again, that would be it. Callahan would totally check out from the world. I know what happened when Charles came, the second that I knew what he was going to do, with out a thought without hesitation I was far far far away. It was so automatic that I know I would not ever make it through being hurt again. I would not make it and I am sure that I wouldn't want to. I know I look for that guarantee, I know in my head there isn't one. I also know that if anyone ever hurts me, I will no longer be a part of this world. I know that my mind would be somewhere hiding away The fear, the devastation the disgust would surely keep me in that place far away, forever unreachable. A place where the things that happened, are irrelevant because there is no pain, ,no feeling, no nothing. Just utter darkness. That is my greatest fear in the whole entire world, that I live with every single day. That is a weight that no person can ever be prepared for.
So as Sunday comes, I feel the heavy and I hope I remember to breathe and remember just how far that I have come.
I think too often people say that they have lost everything but really have they ? I don't know I guess everyone can have a different view but I can say that at 13. I lost everything. Absolutely Everything was gone, everything was taken away and I was left this shell of a person not knowing what was up and where I was going. I was embarrassed, I was humiliated. I wanted to die, I wished that they would have killed me, just taken one last turn and taken away what little breathe that I had left. There are not many people that have had those types of feelings. They took life, created life and killed the person I should have been.
I was left with memories of things being taken that no person should have to remember or experience in this life. But this was my life; they took over and over and over again until there was nothing left. At 13 I didn't want to live anymore. I had lost the little girl who wanted to belong, I lost the girl who innocently thought Don was cute, I lost all that was good in the world. I lost joy, I lost safety, I lost who I was, and who I wanted to be. Men to my left men to my right, men holding me down, men hurting me. Hour after hour. All day. Unimaginable, Sometimes there underneath their bodies, sometimes in the corner and still other times in complete blackness overwhelmed by every sense.
My body wasn't mine, things were done that will never have words. My body was used by all 5 men , never having been given the chance to grow into my own skin, never a virgin, just their slut; they took what was never theirs to begin with. They took my sense of safety, my sense of who I was and what I wanted. They took my joy, they took my spirit and made me hide in a place where there was no light no sound no pain, a place to hide away until their soul killing deeds were done. Every sense was overwhelmed, things, parts were coming at me from everywhere. Over and over, like once wasn't enough, I will never understand. They took my life and made me want to go away and never come back. I wasn't a person, I was a nothing that was theirs to be laughed at. I think even for me its hard to put to words all that was taken because they took things away before I even knew that they were mine to begin with.
So many things that a child doesn't know, that a child doesn't understand yet I was expected to know them all and to understand and deal with the consequences. I still deal with those aftereffects, the things that I never knew were mine to have enjoy and experience because they were so violently torn from my being.
This is a time when there is no rest, there is no peace, there is a constant fight for survival, for the breathe that you need to keep you alive. Those are all things that I can and will never take for granted. When you are gasping for air ;there is a part of me that is fighting for another breathe and yet there is another part that just wants it all to stop. A part fighting for life and another hoping for death, all in the exact same moment. Their parts being shoved in my face, in my body , the horror and and I would go away. Hoping when I came back, I would be alone ; they would be gone. Only they were never gone, it was night before they left. Sometimes there are parts of me that wished I never came back from that place of nothing. where I went wasn't even a happy beautiful place. The place that I went was a blackness, the place that I went was far away from what was happening to me. It was a place away from the chanting, and the turns and the immense pain. I wonder why I ever came back at all because sometimes I don't even know how to face people with the pictures that I carry in my head.
Tied by my arms and feet to the furniture , like an animal. When I was still trying to fight for my life, hoping for a way out, hoping they would stop and go away. What kind of men do that, such evil. By then there was little fight left, I was dying inside; nothing else mattered, nothing left to be taken.
All things good were stolen, I learned not to trust, not to believe in good things. I learned that people will take and take until there is nothing left I learned to do what I was told. I learned that when something hurt it really didn't, because they said all women do this. I learned to hide away from the awful finding a place any where else than where I was. I was good at going away pretending that I wasn't hurting. Pretending that the pain was fine, the blood was normal and what I felt didn't matter. Their laughing still rings in my ears, I was nothing.
They took things I still don't realize that I have lost. They took memories, they took, dreams, they took life they stole the world from a girl who could have done so much. They took away my right to have a loving husband, and children born in love. They took happy dreams and made them seem all too far away. They stole confidence and self acceptance. They made me believe that I was the worst of the worst and so far beneath every person I would ever meet. They made me believe I asked for what they did. They made me believe I asked for the attention, the assaults, the hurt. They made me believe that no one would ever want me and I believe that they were right.
Its a feeling that I know all too well. But its a feeling lately that is deeper and more extreme. It's a feeling that I could always shake, but lately I can not. I would listen to my music on the way home, cry, feel be and then go home back to the world where I have to be Mom, housekeeper cook and teacher. Lately I want to curl up in a ball and do nothing. I want to sleep, sleep like I have never slept only the nightmares are relentless. My heart is tired. My head is tired. I am tired of the pictures and the memories. I am tired of feeling things with every cell that I don't want to remember. I am tired of trying to figure out the fucking hurtful life that I was given. I have dealt with it all, always smiling, never quitting but lately I can't seem to shut it off and pretend that all is well because nothing seems well. Nothing is in place and it feels like I am drowning. The effort that everything takes is unbelievable huge, and I am not sure what to do about it. I know that I have been trying to figure out that 13 year old part of me. That girl so hurt that she won't even open her eyes is proving to make me feel like the world will come crashing in, with a mere word or picture in my head. I could leave counseling and write and be ok, I would do all the necessary things to figure life out. Lately I do all the necessary things but there is an underlying, wish that I want to disappear, that I want to crawl back in bed and cry until there is nothing left. As much as I want to understand and deal with this piece ; it is the hardest work that I have ever had to do.
People have said the most terrible awful things to that girl and the sad truth is that the both of us still believe them. There is on some level an understanding in my head that those things aren't true, but that is where it stops. Surely a 13 year old girl is not responsible for 5 men ? Surely someone would have done the right thing and helped her f it was serious ? Maybe it just wasn't that bad, Maybe ?? There is this battle going on between wanting to speak and not having a clue how. Truly , for some things there are no words. I say I can't ever be hurt like that again. And the word is said and I freeze, I absolutely freeze shaking my head of coarse that is what I mean. I can say that word, I can write that word but dealing with that 13 year old, there are no words, just silence. Somehow that word becomes a death sentence and I can only shake my head.
Right now the things I am experiencing feels like a death sentence. I feel the darkness that she lives in creeping in and its terrifying. There is such a darkness to that time, and there are so many parts and pieces that I still don't understand and don't know that I ever will. I am trying to save her and myself in the same breath and I don't know if its working.
