I never got to talk about it

 I am learning that there were a lot more things that should have happened in my life that never did.  I was left to fend for myself and hope for the best.  I was expected to figure things out and life to go on as usual. But you see there was nothing usual about my life.  There was not a single thing about my life,  that was as it should have been. I am getting ready for the conference with Mark two weeks from tomorrow and realizing that I never got to talk about it.  I never got to talk about the things that happened to me.  I never got to let it all out and be free.  I never got to ask the questions about why because no one ever asked me what happened.  When I was thirteen everyone just wanted me to sweep everything under the carpet and just move on. Everyone wanted me to be silent and keep smiling. People could not handle the things that happened to me and they made it loud and clear that I was at fault.  I was a slut and I had asked for all of those things. When I pressed charges, there were the detective questing me but no one asked about what happened to me.  It's different when you are legally trying to hold someone accountable and when someone cares about you and asks what happened.  Those are just two totally different things.  I can remember being in the pool with my mom after I pressed charges and she asked if I wanted to know about her abuse.  NO, NO I do not want to hear about your abuse because I am drowning in my own and you don't even care.

Looking back I don't know if someone did ask questions if I would be able to answer them.  But I do know that at least someone cared enough to ask. At least I would have known that I mattered enough for someone to help me carry the burden.  Even if I couldn't answer their questions; at least there was someone that cared even a little about me to ask how I was. 

I think of being 13,  I was dismissed and made to feel like I was a burden, I was a bother and a girl that just wanted attention. I was yelled and, screamed at and after a few days it was life as usual.  Only for me; I was drowning inside, my spirit was dying.  I was suffocating in all the things that happened to me and no one cared to ask what happened or if I was ok. After 2 days not another word was spoken about what had happened .   Everyone talked at me but not to me.  Everyone talked around me , and gave all of their opinions but no one saw me. No one ever saw the scared girl, afraid of her own shadow. Everyone was quite ready with what they thought I should be thinking and feeling.  This had happened to me since I was, in ways this was different and in other ways it was exactly the same. 

From the moment that I told,  I regretted it.  At least if people don't know then there is nothing that they can do.  But when people do know and still choose to do nothing, that is the worst feeling in the world. That is the loneliest feeling that a person could ever feel. The moment after I told,  well I didn't tell actually.  I couldn't get the words out of my mouth,  but Calvin told the youth group leader.  Instead of giving me a hug and telling me that it was ok that she was sorry. Instead of being concerned about me, she said should we get a pregnancy test?  I think that I was shocked at her words, somehow her words were not fitting the situation.  I was confused, there was still that innocent part that had no idea why that would be her first reaction.  In the next two days by the reactions that I saw around me, actions spoke much louder than words.  I meant nothing.  I was a liar who was just looking for attention.  I heard all the things that that were said, and the shame was unimaginable. I wasn't showing enough emotion, I was the chubby unpopular kid who would want to do that to me. Your right I am the fat kid who would rape me ? In those two days after people knew, Not once did anyone say they were sorry not once was anyone there and present other than for themselves. Everybody was in damage control. I was left alone in my trauma, in the gross and disgusting to figure it out alone.

I wanted and needed someone to care enough to know what happened to me.  I was 13 years old and didn't even understand all the things that they did to me. I was just a girl. I needed to be asked the hard questions so I could understand the things that I had been through. I had no idea that  I needed someone to hold me and make me feel safe.  I needed someone to care, I needed someone to listen and those were just not the things that I got.   I became even more of an outsider.  I got the stares, I was talked about, I felt all the pointed fingers and I was the one who was made to feel like I had done something terribly wrong. 

All my life talking about the things that were done to me was something I didn't see as an option, because if those that were closest to me didn't think that I was important enough to take care of; then why should anyone else care ? I will just keep it all inside .  There were a few times that I wrote things out,  a version that put things nicely.  I am sure that there was a time when it was shared but I was never met with understanding and compassion.  I was met with disgust and judgment, no one believed this could happen in our little community. And even if it did, you sure didn't talk about it. 

Today when I try to talk about the things that happened to me; I really don't know how.  What words do I use; I don't want to be disgusting. I am always afraid to be seen as that girl who just wants people to feel sorry for her. How do I even start to explain the memories in my head.  Sometimes I wonder if things are really a big deal because everything was always my fault.  I think I fear talking about it because I am still here still breathing is it really as bad as I remember it.  Sometimes I think, no it wasn't that bad because no one noticed and then there are times I think it was even worse than you can imagine. I just took care of everything  there was no other choice.  No one was signing up to hold my hand and tell me that I wasn't the awful terrible slut that I believed myself to be. I want to get it out because I am tired of believing that I am less than.  My heart hurts that I feel like less of a person because of the things that have happened to me. My entire being often feels like a waste of space, and that is a feeling that I want to conquer.  I want to be more than what has happened to me.  I want to stand in my bruised skin and be able to say yep, this scar is here, yep that scar is there but I am here.  I have always been here I just haven't always been able to find myself. And no one ever cared to look for me. 

I heart your heart