Late last night I had a small seizure. I knew it was coming. Today I knew I would be confused and I was. I wanted to wake my husband up so badly last night and tell him how vulnerable and helpless I felt but I didn’t want to ruin his night. He has an important job. He would have wanted me to wake him. I lay awake until almost daylight. I thought about my Doctor’s appointment. I read through my notes that I take each day to remind me of people’s names and events that I may have forgotten. I read through the notes that reminded me I took my meds and what food I ate (since I seem to be forgetting to eat and drink). I lay awake feeling so broken by life. I prayed. I prayed that my daughter could be healed. I thought about her missing her junior and senior year of highschool and how much she missed which hurts my heart more than anyone will ever know. I thought of her suffering. Something else that I can’t imagine many know unless they have a sick child. Well, that’s not true. My mother has a sick child and that matters none to her. I lay there thinking of what my daughter missed and that led me to my own childhood and what I missed and why. Then, I got angry. Then I really could not sleep. I spoke to an old friend yesterday. A friend back from when I was 15 years old. He told me that I had hinted that someone across the lake had been a “peeping Tom.” That was my way of trying to tell him what was happening. I am SO glad he told me this. It triggered memories of all of the people that I tried to tell. The guy across the lake was far more than a peeping Tom. He had already been molesting me for 5 years by the time I told this boy. Which led me to thinking of how many people I DID tell. How many people knew. He was just a boy. It was not his job to save me or press me for more information. Whose role was that…MY MOTHER!!!!!!!!
I hoped I would fall asleep and wake up not remembering my mother’s role in anything. I mean my memory is typically 1. Wake up and possibly not remember what happened yesterday. 2. Wake up and think I am living 10 years ago. 3. Wake up feeling slightly confused but remember what happened yesterday. I woke up with 3. I woke up so upset.
I wanted so badly to be saved. To be rescued from that abuse. I remember distinctly telling one of the ski club members Dino. I TOLD HIM that Billy Banks was doing bad things to me. He never did a thing. Never told another person. When my mother found out, she allowed my brother to keep skiing with a child molester. Why did she do that? She sent me and my brother off to waterskiing jobs alone in other states when we were 16-18. I was just a little abused lamb sent off for slaughter. And there were predators just waiting for me. We traveled with the ski club as well and abuse waited around every corner. My mother did not tell her best friends what had happened to me. She kept that a secret. My mother let my first boyfriend, who was 16, I was 15, take me to his house in jacksonville. What did she think was going to happen? I was just sent off. I was sent off to ski school at 14. I was taken to Costa Rica to ski and left alone with abusers.
ALL OF THIS COULD HAVE BEEN PREVENTED. When my mother found out I was abused she should have pulled me in. Kept me close. Prevented continued abuse from happening. But she sent a wounded girl out into the world alone. A girl who had no idea what love, sex, good, and bad, were and how they could be differentiated. She sent me out for slaughter. My mother sacrificed me and for what? Pride? Her own secrets? Worrying what others thought? What about her own daughter? I have nearly killed what is left of my own body to take care of my daughter but my own mother just discards me like trash. Trash. That is how my mother makes me feel. Like I am so easily discarded because I WAS.
I am realizing so many people knew. Those that did not know, had a “feeling.” Her best friend told her not to send me to Billy’s house. My mom didn’t listen. My mom may not have had intuition but she had friends that did. She didn’t listen.
Why was I sacrificed?
Why, when I finally did come forward and tell my family that I was so sick of the secrets did they ban me from the family a few years ago? Why when my brother sold the house on the lake this past year did he keep his boat there? Why? He made it clear to my husband that he had his own childhood good memories. Heaven forbid anyone acknowledge my memories. I am not trying to take away the fun little soccer games, baseball game slushies. But for fuck sake validate that I was living in hell while you drank your fucking slushie!!!!!!!
The abusers are not what upset me. The abusers are abusers. The pedophiles are pedophiles. But what of my mother. What of those in the ski club that knew. What of the others that did not protect me. What are they? How do we label them?
All of this on my mind.
Cancer patients can go into remission.
Alcoholics and drug abusers can become sober.
What does a sexual abuse victim have? There IS NO REMISSION. There is just the PTSD and the continued nightmares of those who did NOTHING and those who did everything to rob me of my childhoood. Think I can just forget? Well not as easy as you would think. Therapy? Been there. done that. Meds? Done it. Years and years of molestation and rape. Years and years of a family and a town that just looked the other way are not forgotten. Believe me when I tell you I want nothing more than to forget. Nightmares remind me. Cologne reminds me. My brain reminds me.
All it would have taken was one person to save me. One person. No one did.
Then when I face my family with any truth then all leave. I think perhaps I never belonged to them anyway.
So I make it. I survive all of that. Then I get hit by a muscle disease. A bone disease. Lyme disease. Chemical sensitivities. My daughter gets sick. PTSD with constant reminders of the vile acts of human beings.
I lay in my bed and wonder how much fight I have left in me.
I lay in my bed and I wonder how I will survive this life.
So I get up. I take this picture of this purple flower. I take another picture of a flower. I have no idea what tomorrow or even the next moment will bring. I have no idea how long my body will hold out and how much longer my spirit can handle the burdens of the suffering in this life. But I WILL look at this flower. I will stare at the beauty. I will just keep trying. It is all I can do.
Know, this flower, each flower, each sunset, each word I write, each poem, each mindful moment I find, are my ways to show the world that I didn’t let it kill me. That even in the face of all of the evil I can still find the beauty. The molesters, rapists, and everyone else who made me feel like I didn’t matter, I can forget, even if just for 10 seconds, while I watch the colors of the sky. It is my way to show I am a survivor. When I post my mindful walks. They are more than just a leaf or a sun ray. They are me saying my life matters. I matter. And there is good left in this world. I will keep looking and finding it.