Everything is Foreign

 

The first few minutes after I told everything was in slow motion. I heard people talking, but they seemed very far away.  My body wasn't mine.  I can still feel their hands, I can still hear their voices, their laugh their smell.  All of those things were on repeat in my mind.  I was trying to understand, I was asking all the questions wondering what I did that was so wrong.  I was walking in the present, but my mind was on the things that happened. My mind was trying to comprehend the things that had happened to me.  Trying to process all of the things in front of me that needed time and attention, but I would look at my body as if I was somewhere else, my hands still shaking, I saw my body black and blue and every shade in-between.  Everything hurt, my heart was hurt, my body was brutalized and there was all this commotion around me but not one person was paying attention to me and what I needed. People were talking at me, but no one heard the things that I was unable to say.  I was literally dying inside but everyone was too busy to notice.  Everyone was worried about my parents, but there was no concern for me.  It was all about reactions, and what other people would think, and I was left alone.  No one asked who they were, no one asked, what happened to me, no one cared that physically I was not ok.  

I remember so few things.  I remember it was a Tuesday night at Youth group.  I remember there being kids everywhere and then all of the sudden everyone was gone.  I remember that I was not cared for, I was not believed, I was not held and told that it wasn't my fault.  I felt nothing but shame and embarrassment.  I remember being worried that they were going to have questions, and I remember reaching to give Calvin a hug, but it hurt to raise my arms. I just wanted to stay with him he was the only one that gave me any comfort.  I had Joan worried about a pregnancy test.  And I had her husband telling me how different that things were going to be.  They had no idea; and they didn't really care they were worried about how they were seen and their reputation. I could have been supported and cared for and instead I was made a lying laughingstock.  That youth group could have provided so much love and support They could have wrapped their arms around me and made me feel loved and protected.  They could have made a life changing difference and they did not.    Instead of those things that could have helped me heal, I was shunned, gawked at and looked down on.  I can never erase the way that they made me feel, like I was at fault.  Like I was the one to blame like I was the one who wanted what happened to me.

I was talked about; I was made to feel as if I was asking for attention and was offered no support.  They never cared about what happened to me or how I was affected because they didn't want to acknowledge that there was blame that belonged to them.  She was a 13-year-old girl who wasn't old enough to go to that weekend, Celebrate 88.  A thirteen-year-old girl left alone on the weekends, and somehow, they knew when she was left alone.  They never changed the locks, they never got rid of that couch. Nothing changed other than the fact that they knew I was hurt yet did nothing. 

Today at 47 I am still trying to figure out some of the same questions that I have always had.   I struggle that there are pieces I don't have, and do not understand.  I struggle wanting to remember all the pieces so that things fit together.   To this day, I don't know if I told them after it was the five of them or after Don's last time.  I don't remember, and I guess it doesn't matter but it does to me like I feel like there is so much that I have to prove.  I have to prove everything and have it some order so that it makes sense and during this time there were more things that didn't make any sense.  I was left alone with the things that happened to me nothing was talked about or ever acknowledged.  So, I was left to juggle the pieces and try to keep living as a thirteen-year-old girl.  Not a woman who could navigate life but a girl who had only lived 13 years.  

If I was ever told that a girl was assaulted everything would change and I would do everything I could and more to make sure that she felt seen, heard and protected. I would ask questions and meet needs before she even knew that she had them.  I would hold her and tell her millions of times plus more that she didn't do anything wrong. I would give her space to talk and space to be silent.  I would be gentle and understanding.  I would let her be sad, let her angry, let her be furious.  I would find moments to laugh and moments to grieve all that was lost.   

All I wanted was to be normal, to be a part of the group to experience life as a 13-year-old- and that was all taken.  I wanted someone to help me, I wanted someone to see that I wasn't ok.  I wanted someone to sit with me tell me they were sorry that those things were not supposed to happen. I wanted someone to tell me all those things until I believed every word.  

It was watching the Handmaids tale and seeing how she experienced life once she was freed.  It felt like that for me I so wanted to be part of a world that I didn't belong in anymore, and that is still a struggle.  I know that there are many women who have experienced things like I have but there is an alone feeling that I struggle with.  There are pieces and parts that long to be understood that never will be.  There are things with no rhyme or reason that I desperately want to understand.  There are so many questions about being lovable and worthy, that are a struggle with every breathe that I take.  I am trying so hard to understand how she even survived.  How she lived through that hell.  There are parts of me that are part of her.  I know whales helped her survive, she was a girl that always saw the little things in life, those were the things that kept her alive.  Those things in life that helped her survive couldn't hurt her soul.  I have heard the term soul murder and I think that there were parts of her that will never recover.  I think that there are a few parts of her that are so far away safe and sound that they will never see the light of day, but that is not a sad thing just survival. There are days I am so tired I feel there is no fight left.  There are days I think I have a come a long way and can win if I just keep fighting.  Sometimes all of this feels foreign, and I wonder if I will ever be ok, because there is so much pain and sadness. There are days I feel like that girl is close and days I feel she is millions of miles away.  Soon she will be a part of me; safe and sound and able to finally rest.

Creed : Wash away those years

I heart your heart