Little things that aren't little that I can't forget

 

First weekend of Summer and I have done little.  I have rested, taken a lot of naps and there have been lots of little memories.  Little memories from being 13. Things that are heartbreaking, that are hard to understand.  So many things that seem so far away and yet I remember them so clearly.  The vividness of the things is undeniable.  There is a part of me that understands why spunky trusts no one and would rather be alone. There is another part that wants to run to her and tell her that none of those are things that she could control.  It's so much now about my experience of what was done. How I saw things, how I experienced them. There are so many things that I am trying to wrap my head around. The blaming and excuses are ever present, and I struggle to put those things to the side. I just needed to be heard.  I needed someone to notice how hurt that I was and do something. I needed someone to see me. Fight for me make me feel safe.  Explain to the people around me, that I didn't have the words but explain to them that I was drowning inside in what happened to me.  I didn't have words because I was lying.  I didn't have words, because I was in so much pain.

In my brain I see the pictures the reenactments all the time.  Some days are worse than others, but they are always there.  I think that sometimes I play them over and overlooking for something that I could have changed or done differently.  I play the times in my head that I tried to run and get away and try to analyze what I did wrong to once again be caught.  I replay moments in the aftermath judging what I did.  I was in another world after I told living in a terror that is hard to comprehend today.  I was so afraid.  Even when it was all over, I think I became even more afraid because I couldn't find any rhyme or reason.  I remember the little moments of hitting the floor knowing that I didn't get away.  I remember laying by the back door, the evening sun keeping me warm through the sliding glass doors. I don't think that I even had any clothes on.  I was in pain, and I couldn't move anymore.  I was just there, and I keep thinking there was no one around, why didn't you try to open the door.  I think I heard them in the background, but why didn't I try to get out.  In the next breath, I know that I couldn't but why was I just lying there. There are so many moments in the weeks and months after that I became so frozen in fear.  My parents were still gone on weekends doing their church things.  I was still left alone. And again, I think why they would leave me alone knowing what had happened to me.  On one hand I think my father set it up so he knew that the five of them wouldn't be back, and he had no problem leaving me alone.  I was so afraid in those following weekends.  I was frozen in a terror that is completely debilitating.  I was so afraid I wouldn't even go to the back of the house.  Like somehow, they were still there, hiding just waiting for their moment for another attack. and I wouldn't even use the restroom, I was that afraid.  I got a towel and used the restroom in the kitchen then just put it in the wash, I was too afraid to use the restroom in my own home. That kind of terror, living in that constant state no wonder I was strange and did things different. No wonder I became an outcast, I had lived a life that they told me didn't happen to girls like me and I was doing everything in my power to understand what had happened, and what I did to cause it. I was afraid of my own home, and no one did anything to keep me safe. The nightmares were horrendous at night and didn't stop during the day even when my eyes were open. There was this fear that no matter where I was, they were there waiting and lurking for that just right moment.  Even as I slept there was a fear that they were hiding somewhere. That is such a terrible way to live life.  There were nights when I would wet my bed because I was frozen by the things that had happened to me. I would wake up, but I was too afraid to move, that is fear on a different level.  I can remember in the morning spilling a drink on my bed and telling my mom oh sorry I spilled my drink; I was 13 and unable to move.  I would lay there in a state; it was like it was still happening. These things seem so little, but they feel so big.  What thirteen-year-old wets the bed, what thirteen-year-old is too afraid to use the restroom in their own home? I was that thirteen-year-old, and I was so afraid of the world, and no one was doing anything to help make me feel better.   

There is this battle between my head and my heart.  I know so many things, but my heart is more than hurt.  Even after I told others what had happened to me no one did anything different.  I think for a few moments I thought maybe I would get some care; some help but I was terribly wrong.  I was told the most terrible things that I have clung onto, and I need to shake free of them.  Somehow because I wasn't pretty or popular there was no way that I could have been raped.  I have fought with that statement my entire life. I have fought my worth every single day. What happened to me always seemed to come second to everything and everyone else around me. What happened to me wasn't bad enough.  The first counselor at Friends of the family, I call her the turquoise lady. She had rings on every finger and was able to twist her legs into something that I had never seen. She let him stand up and scream and yell making it all about him.  Everything was about him and his feelings; how he was affected. He was so dramatic crying and carrying on like someone had cut off his leg.  While I sat there taking in the room, wanting to be anywhere but there. I remember the wood paneling, and the fake plants the room seemed to get smaller and smaller as he continued to scream.  He basically blamed me, and I just took it all in.  Of course it was my fault.  Then at the end she says well maybe we need to do this separately. I needed to be the focus, I needed help and got overlooked over my father's dramatics.  I go to my father's counselor, and once again a shit show. He even let my father go on and on, calling me an entity and making things all about him once again.  He talked more in those days following my rape than anyone in my house.  All that counselor asked me was how many men there were and just kept going there was no pause or care for me.  Yet once again I could tell you all the little details of that room and my only thought was wanting to get home in my own space. I remember the large window behind the couch and while my father was talking, talking, I was trying to think of an escape route through the window.  I knew it wouldn't work but it got my mind out of that room.  I was in a room full of people that should have done something, and no one did. 

Today there are people that care, and sometimes I just want to say all the words and get it all out then deal with the consequences. I am so ashamed of what I have lived through.  I want to say it's not a big deal it didn't change me, but it changed everything. I wanted them to ask me questions so I would know that I wasn't awful.  I needed to talk about what they did to me, so it didn't get stuck on repeat and I didn't get the message that I was some kind of slut that deserved what happened.  I needed someone to be sorry, for what happened to me and care for my heart. I needed someone to help me understand my own feelings. Help me find the words, help me find the feelings and smash that shame and gross and disgusting.  I am stuck in that in-between.  I know some of these things with my head, but my heart doesn't believe them because of how I was treated. People were so very cruel.  I was judged no matter what I did, and they crushed me.  I think that their responses or lack of response made things so much worse for me. So today I am fighting this battle.  I am fighting for that spunky thirteen-year-old girl that wanted to be heart and kept safe. I fight because she deserved so much better, and I will not stop until she believes that with everything that she is. 

I heart your heart.