Wow, in one breath that feels like forever, and in another breath it feels like it was yesterday. 1988 was such a long time ago, and yet there are things that still live in my bones. Recently, I learned that a woman who was incredibly unkind to me when I was 13 and truly needed help had passed away. The joy that I got from that kind of scared me. I saw the news, laughed, and was excited. There was this little part of me that felt so much relief, like finally that little 13-year-old had some acknowledgment that things should have been so different for her. As I continued to look for information, people posted about how wonderful she was and the fond memories they had. Yet, for me, the memories I had were not good ones, not warm and kind; everything was completely the opposite. I try so very hard not to think about that time, because it hurts that much, but there comes a time when a person just can't ignore things anymore. Maybe, just maybe, 13,522 ago is a time that needs some light. The little girl that I was back then was more hurt by this woman who passed away than I would ever like to admit. Her name was Joan Lux and I hated her, I hated her with all that I am or ever was. With her no longer on this earth, maybe it's my time to breathe and take back all the things that she made me believe about myself.
Even sitting here and writing about all those days ago, there is a rage, a fire like a volcano that is seconds from exploding. My chest hurts, and I don't even feel my fingers anymore. My throat feels like it's closing, and I know I am in my own skin, but it feels like a place that I just don't want to be. There is this ache in my body, and my shoulders, instead of feeling capable and strong, feel like boulders. Even thinking about talking about that time feels like I have done something terrible. There are these automatic thoughts that make me still feel small and weak. Like if I were just stronger, I would have already healed from this. If it were that bad, I would have more visible scars, and people would have helped me. I know that those things are not true, but somehow they still thrive.
When I did reach out for help, it was Joan that I wanted to tell first. I wish I could remember what I was thinking, why I wanted to tell her. For some reason, I had to believe that she was safe; little did I know how wrong that I was. I couldn't even speak the words, so Calvin did. He told her that I was raped. There was no care or comfort, no checking to see if I was ok. I was just the chubby, unpopular girl who would want to do that to me. Even writing those words, I can't believe how cemented they are to my very being. There was no presence with me; I was more alone than ever. Calvin came back into the room, and I just grabbed onto him. I can remember being worried about all the questions they would ask. No one asked any. I think there was a part of me that wanted them to, so that I didn't have to carry it alone anymore. I was 13, just a girl carrying the weight of the world, and Calvin was the only one who seemed to care. He was there, just holding me. There was so much commotion going on around me, but everyone seemed to be worried about themselves and not me. I can still feel the heaviness in my chest. I felt like I was the one who had done something wrong. I felt guilty for telling someone, guilty for involving Calvin. There is supposed to be this relief when someone finally knows and can help you, but I never got that. And after all this time, I still feel the weight of being so alone. Maybe this is where that deep aloneness that I so often feel comes from. It's a kind of sad aloneness that I have yet to find relief from. I think maybe that is part of the reason that Spunky is glued to that couch; sometimes it's better to be alone and risk more hurt. As much as I can tell her that I am here and ready for anything, it just takes time. She went through hell, and she did it basically alone. That kind of thing takes a lot to get over.
Joan's husband was the one who took me home, still showing no care. I don't remember the care ride. All I remember was him sitting next to me on the couch in my living room, telling me how different things were going to be. No one asked how I was. NO one asked about my heart. NO one held me, told me that it was going to be ok, I did what I knew how to do, you just keep going, trying to figure out what you did wrong to make all these things happen. They didn't help carry my burden; they just added to it. I was drowning right before them, and no one cared. I was the one who was at fault. I don't even remember my parents getting home that night. Still so many holes. The things I do remember feel like they happened yesterday, and then there are others that I still don't understand how I could not have known or remembered. Such dark times, that time was just as bad as the rapes, because I felt like everyone was looking at me like something so gross and disgusting, the same way that they made me feel. And they didn't even know the whole story, but that didn't matter. I was just a slut.
Even the days that followed after Calvin told them, "I was talked about and not to." I was crushed and felt like I was the one who had done something so terrible. After all these days, I still carry that. All of their words were like knives, and no one cared that I wasn't ok. It's crazy that even after all this time, this is more than hard to write about. These are the things that are wide open wounds that don't seem to want to heal. That time still creates so much pain; it feels like my heart is being ripped in two. I know I have spoken about this time; it's just that each time it feels so close, and I am overwhelmed with guilt. I have worked on this post for a week. I write a little, then have to leave. It seems exceptionally close, and I don't like it at all. I get angry that it still bothers me so much, even after all the work I have done. This is a piece that has a hold on me. As much as I can't forget, it seems to want me to remember. Songs come on and the feelings well, and I change the song as quick as I can. There is more connection than ever with Spunky, and it's really terrifying. All these things were something that Spunky had to deal with. Yes, she did, but that saying that often takes my breath away comes crashing in, "You are her and she is you." I think, ok, she went through all that and survived, me, I think I wasn't strong enough or brave enough, and she kept me sane. I know that we are connected; I know all the things, but my heart struggles; there is that fear that, somehow, when the full realization hits, I am going to end up in a dark place back in time. I wish I could explain it clearly, like that, somehow, truly facing it would crush me. I can't tell you how big that fear is. It just hurts, and I want to be ok. I know I have so many amazing things ahead of me, and I fear the things that have already happened the most. Somewhere in my brain, I don't believe that it is over, even though I know with every part of my mind that it is. It was so many days ago, and it feels so current. I just want to be able to say, this was a piece of my story, and yet here I stand today, and sometimes I am just not sure how to get to that place when Spunky is no longer afraid. Because I know that I am still terrified.
I just want to be Free
I heart your heart.
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