Prelude.....

Choosing to write about events so personal was not an easy decision. So many questions entered my mind. Why am I doing this? What do I hope to accomplish? Is it wrong? Does anyone want to read this? After all, I am about to lay out my garbage for all the world to see when really, everyone has their own garbage. The past two weeks have been very reflective for me.
I have chosen to do this because I know I am not the only one. I didn't do anything wrong. No one did that has experienced this and yet, we don't talk about it. Why am i being punished for what someone else did? Why am i allowing someone else's horrible acts push me into silence? I can't do it anymore. That only lets them win. It is my hope that in writing that I will be healed. Not to "get over it", not to forget, but to be at peace. If anyone doesn't want to read my garbage, then don't but I'm letting it go. It's time to clean out the gunk, all the crappy leftovers that are rotting inside, and throw the trash out.

What have I survived? Take your pick. Just about all of it applies. I'm sure my thoughts and posts will vary from one topic to another but for now, specifically I'm going to face my molestation. I recently started seeing a therapist to deal with it. Well, originally it was to examine my "anger issues" but surprise, surprise, the stem of my anger is with this. On the outside, I am doing alright. Hell, most days I'm doing alright on the inside too. But every now and then (ok probably more than I'd want to admit) the anger creeps up, like an ugly vine, spreading itself all over until it grips the walls of my mind and begins eating away at the pretty paint I'd like to call my life. Then I'm really pissed. Pissed that it happened, pissed about the outcome, and then pissed that it's affecting me. Still. I've worked hard to make my life what it is; to get away from the stigma of being a "victim". I don't like the word, much less the label. If I could smash it to bits and erase it from my vocabulary, I would. But really, more than the word, I'd like to smash to bits the people that forced the label on me. Without my permission. In spite of my protests. Whether the protest was a whimpering "no", a physical struggle that I was too weak to win, my plea of tears, or my silent screams inside because I knew it was all useless....i still protested. And nobody listened. Even when I told.
I shake even now when I think of it. It's not uncontrollable yet, but sometimes I shake so bad, my teeth chatter. And I hate it. Each tremor my body has, every tear that runs down my face, each time I clench my teeth, and every time I am unable to speak because I don't know what will come out; I get disgusted with all of it. How dare I allow them to have this physical control over me? How dare i shed a single tear for those that couldn't care less about what they did to me? I know what some would say, perhaps those tears are for myself and not for them. That's probably true but right now, it doesn't feel that way. Right now, it feels weak and pointless. Right now, it feels like I am letting them win. Again. And dammit, I'm not going to let them.
I am the outcast in their big, sick, happy family. I am ok with being that. I certainly don't want to be a part of that circle. The circle of make believe and sickness. I don't want to pretend. I don't want to sweep it under the rug anymore. Guess what? What happened to me is that dirt. I am that dirt. I have been swept under the rug so they don't have to see how ugly it is. How ugly what happened to me is. They'd rather pretend I'm not there. They can do that for now. But you can only sweep dirt under the rug for so long. Eventually the pile gets so big, it begins to seep out. Particles show up here and there and pretty soon there's so much dirt, the rug is full and they have to step around the rug. This is what they have done. Stepped around. But I'm not going to stay under that rug any longer. Covered up. Hidden. The rug isn't big enough anymore. I am bigger.
I am not a victim. I am a survivor. And someone is going to hear me.