Question:
hi Lee! I can’t help but seeing what happened to me as being nowhere near as bad as what has happened to others.
I don’t know that anyones abuse is "worse". Abuse is abuse is abuse. And at the moments we are going thru it it is all equal. I truly believe that the amount of abuse is insignificant in comparison to the fact that it IS ABUSE. No one deserves it, we all seem to recognize at some level that we are not responsible as children (oh my god!! did I say that!! I don’t even know that I believed that about myself until very recently!) I guess what I am saying is that , especially here in the ng, it is equal playing ground. There aren’t better and worse, just people trying to get thru, and surpass the hurts of the past, heal, and feel alive again, and support eachother. I am glad you wrote. You have made me take a good look at what I am portraying. (especially since I come to the ng with all the bad angry and sad stuff,, I don’t share nearly enough of my victorys. You made me think…. thank you!) No one can possibly predict for me whether or not I will be able to get past this. It helps a lot, though, that you all seem to think I can deal with this. I’m nowhere near so sure myself.
Lee, I think you have it in you to surpass this, and so much more! good luck on the journey, I am sure I will see you on this road again! peace, celeste
Response:
I tried to post this once, but I think I accidentally deleted it–I’m such a brain. Perhaps that’s best, though, because I’d forgotten to change the e-mail address and such to the one that I use for these things. I guess it’s just another way of trying to keep it all away from me, to make it something distant and unreal. That and the fact that I’m incredibly paranoid. *shrug* Anyway, here goes. And who knows, maybe typing it the second time will give me additional insight, make me see something I hadn’t seen before.
Hello Lee! I post under an anonymous name because I don’t want spam email from people who troll these groups. And, frankly, it gives me a feeling of power. Never feel bad about posting under the address you want to. Everyone gave lame excuses about having to wake up early, and I started to help my roommate and her boyfriend (another good friend of mine who’s visiting us from out of state) clean up, but then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I took the broom and dustpan to put it away, and I just fell into a chair on the porch and cried.
I hope it can make you feel better if you know that I have times where a word or action can do that to me… but the times are getting fewer and farther between. When I was raped by my uncle, he told me to "Kiss it". Still, when I hear that phrase in a movie, or anywhere, I feel a wave of nausea. I’m sure I get distant for a time and my friends must wonder what goes on. My roommate, my best friend, is one of the most important people in my life. Never have I had anyone in my life who was so loving, so supportive, so truly understanding. Never has anyone cried -with- me, rather than -for- me. Never has someone seen me in one of the many strange emotional states I get in and not pitied me. Until I met her.
I also had a wonderful roommate help me through my toughest times. You are very lucky to have this person…. and she is lucky to have you. But … does it ever get better? Will I ever be able to lead a "normal" life, where I’m not constantly afraid that the next thing someone says, the next thing I smell, the next song on hold or in the elevator, the next chance sight of a pair of old man’s blue eyes clouded by cataracts will send me into the darkest depths of myself, alone? What if I can’t push that other world away again? What if I can’t free myself from what I see? What if my roommate isn’t with me the next time it happens?
Yes, you will. I used to panic whenever I was alone. I would be walking in a hallway and hear footsteps echoing, and have this urge to RUN as far and fast as I could. The place where I work has a farm right beside it, and I was raped on a farm. Even that can bother me, some days. Every time I catch a glimpse of an older, balding man I shiver and my heart seems to freeze. Is it him? How could it be him? Every time I go home to my parents I half expect to see the perp there, even though he’s in jail now. However, some days now I visit with my parents and forget the abuse. I go to work and think how cute the little calves are on the farm next door. I see an older balding man and think of Jack Nicholson instead. It does get better. Take care of yourself. Silver Tiger
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Congratulations on regaining a touch of hope!!! I am so glad you have someone there to support you! And I am sure you deserve not only to be loved, but to be "forgiven". As a matter a fact, you didn’t do anything wrong, so therefore forgiven isn’t the right word….acceptance. Maybe you can accept yourself just as you are instead of trying to forgive yourself for something you didn’t do wrong…. In either case, I am very glad to see you standing so tall!! I admire you for it too. In peace, take care of yourself!! {{{hug}}} celeste
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You’re right! In fact, the reason I said it so vehemently is because I need to hear it myself. I have that same thing in me that insists that I’m different somehow. In my case it always leads down the same road. I wasn’t *really* abused, I’m just feeling sorry for myself, I don’t fit in here. Maybe you don’t need to stop it… if it doesn’t lead to self-destructive thinking.
I wouldn’t say it led to self-destructive thinking, but it -does- lead to doubts. Sometimes, I’ll wonder if I ever really was abused, but then I’ll wonder how it could possibly -not- be true when the memories are so clear, so real, and always have been for as long as I can remember. That ended, for a while, after a conversation I had with my sister once, very long ago. She was depressed, crying, hurting … We’d hadn’t gotten along with each other for years. In fact, she was more likely to hit me than hug me, but when I came out into the back yard and found her, she reached out for me, and I hugged her tightly. She had been listening as I told my mother about walking to a friend’s house earlier in the day, and the man that stopped (ostensibly to ask for directions) and exposed himself to me. I hadn’t been planning on bothering her with it, but the police were still at the house when she came home. (We had some friendly patrol cops in the neighborhood whom I flagged down to report the incident. We lived very close to several schools, and I wanted him off the street.) Anyway, my sister heard me talking about it with Mom. When I found her outside, her first words were, "I never could protect you from him. I guess I can’t protect you from anyone." I was dense enough to have no clue, but when I asked her about it, she told me how she’d tried to protect me from our abuser, tried to take his attention away from me. After that conversation, I knew I was telling the truth. Except, now, I sometimes wonder if that conversation wasn’t a figment of my imagination, too? Ah, but I know better … most of the time. Babbling once again, -= Lee =-
Response:
mmmm nope, i don’t think alan said you need even a proverbial kick. i think he said to trust yourself and your higher power (if you have one) to get through this as best you can. i don’t think kicks of any sort are helpful. you don’t need to be brutalized by anyone else, and most especially not yourself. i know, you were talking metaphorically, but truly, you don’t need to push yourself any harder than you can go. babbling, i’m sure, but there ya go.
Actually, what I meant was simply that sometimes I need to be reminded that I -am- a human being, and I -do- deserve to be well again. I was also trying to be funny when I wasn’t in a funny mood. One of these days I’ll remember not to do that. 
"I am a limpet, and you are my rock." – from silverleafs’ silly husband.
*giggle* -= Lee =-
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Valid points, all, but that does not change the way I feel. I can’t help but seeing what happened to me as being nowhere near as bad as what has happened to others. I don’t know what it is in me that does this, but I don’t know how to stop it, either, or if I even should.
You’re right! In fact, the reason I said it so vehemently is because I need to hear it myself. I have that same thing in me that insists that I’m different somehow. In my case it always leads down the same road. I wasn’t *really* abused, I’m just feeling sorry for myself, I don’t fit in here. Maybe you don’t need to stop it… if it doesn’t lead to self-destructive thinking. As for it getting better … You are right, of course. No one can possibly predict for me whether or not I will be able to get past this. It helps a lot, though, that you all seem to think I can deal with this. I’m nowhere near so sure myself. -= Lee =-
Lorraine "We cannot direct the wind, but we can adjust our sails."
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Keep coming back – it works if you work it. SumBuddie – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Life is like that. You and your higher power have to know how strong you are. Much like climbing a mountain path – you can’t see the whole road as there are curves and trees in the way, hills and stuff. But when you get to the top of the mountain – you will turn around and look and see the whole road, all the curves, rocks and stuff and see that it wasn’t all that hard. But on this side it looks tuffer then it is. Keep your eye on the prize and trust your process. Your Higher Power knows how to raise you, well anybody. Trust your process. And I know trust is one the hard issues for recovery people as we could not trust out parent objects. But you can trust you and your higher power. Keep up the good work. Yessir. I plan on doing all of that as often, as much as possible. I just occasionally need the proverbial good swift kick in the pants to remind me. Especially on those days when I’m not sure I trust myself. -= Lee =-
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: Life is like that. : You and your higher power have to know how strong you are. : Much like climbing a mountain path – you can’t see the whole road as there : are curves and trees in the way, hills and stuff. : But when you get to the top of the mountain – you will turn around and : look and see the whole road, all the curves, rocks and stuff and see that : it wasn’t all that hard. : But on this side it looks tuffer then it is. : Keep your eye on the prize and trust your process. : Your Higher Power knows how to raise you, well anybody. : Trust your process. : And I know trust is one the hard issues for recovery people as we could : not trust out parent objects. : But you can trust you and your higher power. : Keep up the good work. : Yessir. I plan on doing all of that as often, as much as possible. I : just occasionally need the proverbial good swift kick in the pants to : remind me. Especially on those days when I’m not sure I trust myself. mmmm nope, i don’t think alan said you need even a proverbial kick. i think he said to trust yourself and your higher power (if you have one) to get through this as best you can. i don’t think kicks of any sort are helpful. you don’t need to be brutalized by anyone else, and most especially not yourself. i know, you were talking metaphorically, but truly, you don’t need to push yourself any harder than you can go. babbling, i’m sure, but there ya go. silverleaf — "I am a limpet, and you are my rock." – from silverleafs’ silly husband.
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Life is like that. You and your higher power have to know how strong you are. Much like climbing a mountain path – you can’t see the whole road as there are curves and trees in the way, hills and stuff. But when you get to the top of the mountain – you will turn around and look and see the whole road, all the curves, rocks and stuff and see that it wasn’t all that hard. But on this side it looks tuffer then it is. Keep your eye on the prize and trust your process. Your Higher Power knows how to raise you, well anybody. Trust your process. And I know trust is one the hard issues for recovery people as we could not trust out parent objects. But you can trust you and your higher power. Keep up the good work.
Yessir. I plan on doing all of that as often, as much as possible. I just occasionally need the proverbial good swift kick in the pants to remind me. Especially on those days when I’m not sure I trust myself. -= Lee =-
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Life is like that. You and your higher power have to know how strong you are. Much like climbing a mountain path – you can’t see the whole road as there are curves and trees in the way, hills and stuff. But when you get to the top of the mountain – you will turn around and look and see the whole road, all the curves, rocks and stuff and see that it wasn’t all that hard. But on this side it looks tuffer then it is. Keep your eye on the prize and trust your process. Your Higher Power knows how to raise you, well anybody. Trust your process. And I know trust is one the hard issues for recovery people as we could not trust out parent objects. But you can trust you and your higher power. Keep up the good work. SumBuddie – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Valid points, all, but that does not change the way I feel. I can’t help but seeing what happened to me as being nowhere near as bad as what has happened to others. I don’t know what it is in me that does this, but I don’t know how to stop it, either, or if I even should. As for it getting better … You are right, of course. No one can possibly predict for me whether or not I will be able to get past this. It helps a lot, though, that you all seem to think I can deal with this. I’m nowhere near so sure myself. -= Lee =-
Response:
WOW. :) At least I’m good for something! 
*chuckle* I’m sure you’re good for more than that, Ronny. If -I-’m good for something, then you’ve gotta be. You’re a good person, with a good heart, and I personally think we’re all lucky to have you around. Let’s just not get into any religous discussions. That’s not true Lee. You can say that to yourself ok? But that girl I knew DID feel a LOT of fear. That’s how I know that you are terrified ok? I’m sorry if that sounds insulting.
But I am not that girl you knew, my friend. I’m an entirely different girl. I’m not terrified. I don’t know how to be afraid. This is not, necessarily, a good thing. Fear, after all, is what keeps the normal human being from doing things that may well result in serious injury or death. Well, what I mean is, she didn’t like *feel* it. It’s like, it was there you could see it if you looked. She was just so terrified of it, she hid it deep down inside where she couldn’t look at it. And you are doing the same thing Lee. ITS OK! It’s ok to feel it Lee, its even ok to hide it. That is so normal. It really is, I mean it. You aren’t bad for that.
That may be entirely correct. The problem is, hiding it, hiding -from- it, -can- be a bad thing. Fear is a natural, instinctive response bred into humans just as it is into any other animal. It’s an instinct that keeps humans alive. In bad situations, most people experience what is called a "fight or flight response". In my case, it’s simply a "fight response". There is no question of running away, and there never has been. So far, I’ve been lucky. I’ve come out of any and all such confrontations relatively unscathed. Luck doesn’t last forever, though. What you are going thru is so terrifiying. You know, all I went thru was being beaten by father (and having to deal with my parents’ basket case mind-$#%$ing me for years). But I love him so much Lee. I really really do. I know that he could do anything to me and I would still love him. I would hate him, and I hated him for just what he actually did alone, but I *still* love him so much. And that was what made me such a total basket case. I think if my dad or gramps did to me what happened to you… I don’t want to trigger anyone ok? But I think I would have just killed myself. cause there is no way I would have been able to handle it.
"All" you had to deal with? "All", as if it were nothing?! Wake up, Ron! You were just as abused as me, or anyone else around here! It makes no difference what -type- of abuse you suffered, you still suffered, you still suffer! You are one of us more surely than perhaps even you realize. You think I’m so strong for dealing with what I did? I -did- try to kill myself, several times. What stopped me was imagining the look on my mother’s face when my body was found. But that only stopped me from killing myself quickly. That only got me to put away the sharp objects, tug my sleeves back down over my arms, and turn to the liquor cabinet. I was six years old when I started drinking. Through middle and high school, as I was more and more ostracized, I carried a water bottle full of vodka around with me, every day, everywhere I went. I started smoking when I was 11. On a regular basis, I do incredibly stupid, dangerous things that I know full well are highly likely to result in my death. I’m not strong. I’ve just always been to weak to end my own life. And now I’m too weak to stop risking it in stupid adventures. (You know, my ng client’s tendency to only quote half a post is getting incredibly annoying.) No one person here is better than anyone else. It’s suddenly obvious to me, though it prolly should’ve been all along. (I’m a bit slow sometimes.) We are all here because we all need help. And we are all here because, in some deep, dark part of ourselves, we need to help others, too. Helping them helps us, makes us feel wanted, needed, loved, gives us a feeling of self-worth, builds our self-esteem. -= Lee =-
Response:
Valid points, all, but that does not change the way I feel. I can’t help but seeing what happened to me as being nowhere near as bad as what has happened to others. I don’t know what it is in me that does this, but I don’t know how to stop it, either, or if I even should. As for it getting better … You are right, of course. No one can possibly predict for me whether or not I will be able to get past this. It helps a lot, though, that you all seem to think I can deal with this. I’m nowhere near so sure myself. -= Lee =-
Response:
I am. There’s no turning back now. I stuffed everything I ever felt behind walls around my heart for a good 15 years, and one day, impulsively, I broke through it. Just a tiny break, really, a pinhole, but I learned that it’s like having a pinhole in the Hoover Dam: it doesn’t stay a pinhole for long. There is no way I could turn back now, even if I decide I want to. There is just too much for me to bottle it up again. And every moment I give thanks for my roommate, and now for the NG as well, because if I didn’t have this forum for venting, nothing I do would be any good, because I’d be keeping it all to myself again … I never learn. -= Lee =- – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Hey Lee, The thing of it is, it has already gotten better. You have spoken the truth to a friend and the friend stood by you, literally. There’s a lot to be said for that. Over time and with work it will continue to get better. It will be hard work, but you are worth the effort. For now, take some comfort and joy, that you have a friend who stood by you. Celebrate that! …still casting bottles into the sea, Carey
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(snip) Thank you, Ronny. You’ve helped more than you will ever know. It is now 3am where I am. I have to wake up at 6 for work, and I haven’t been able to sleep, plagued as I am by a vague, indistinct feeling. Was it fear? I don’t know. I wouldn’t know fear if it walked up and chewed on my kneecaps. I haven’t permitted myself to be afraid since I spent a night on the roof of the house in my nightgown. At some point that night, I don’t know when, I realized that my fear is what allowed him to control me, to keep me silent, to keep me in his lap. Why would I be afraid now? Afraid of what? Afraid of living a life I’ve never known, never expected to know? I don’t know. I really don’t. What I went through wasn’t terrible by any means. Compared to stories I’ve heard and read from other survivors, what I suffered through was a picnic in the park.
No, it wasn’t. There’s no way, and no reason, to compare your pain to another’s. I can see that, when I look at it logically, weighing the differences, the resulting problems. In the midst of it, though, when his image comes to call in my mind, I am the only victim, totally alone, suffering the searing blast of armaggedon with no one to help me, no one to hear me scream, no one to realize I’m drowning.
Part of the abuse is to make us feel that way. That way we won’t try to get help. It’s at times like these, like tonight, that I am most unable to reach out for help. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to say, "Please, I need you to help me." I’ve been alone, totally alone, in my mind and heart since I was 6 years old. That’s why it was so incredibly special when my roommate came outside to me, held me, and cried with me. I didn’t have to reach out to her. She reached out to me.
You reached back. That’s important! That’s why your response, though I wouldn’t know you from a 900lb. gorilla swinging from a flagpole, is so special to me. I reached out, blindly, and someone caught me, pulled me up, pointed back at the swirling darkness and said, "That isn’t you." Thank you, Ronny. You have been very much a friend this night. -= Lee =-
To answer your title question, I will say, "Definitely maybe." At least for me, I think I see the light at the end of the tunnel. And, as Ron put much better than I could, you seem like one who will make it through. Lorraine "There is no pain, you are receding. A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon. You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move but I can’t hear what you say. When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse Out of the corner of my eye. I turned to look but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now. The child has grown, the dream is gone. I have become Comfortably Numb." Pink Floyd
Response:
WOW. :) At least I’m good for something! I’m sorry, but I didn’t see your post on the ng until I read DesertRaines’ reply. So I’m gonna base my reply on her inclusion of what you wrote ok? (snip) Thank you, Ronny. You’ve helped more than you will ever know. It is now 3am where I am. I have to wake up at 6 for work, and I haven’t been able to sleep, plagued as I am by a vague, indistinct feeling. Was it fear? I don’t know. I wouldn’t know fear if it walked up and chewed on my kneecaps.
That’s not true Lee. You can say that to yourself ok? But that girl I knew DID feel a LOT of fear. That’s how I know that you are terrified ok? I’m sorry if that sounds insulting. Well, what I mean is, she didn’t like *feel* it. It’s like, it was there you could see it if you looked. She was just so terrified of it, she hid it deep down inside where she couldn’t look at it. And you are doing the same thing Lee. ITS OK! It’s ok to feel it Lee, its even ok to hide it. That is so normal. It really is, I mean it. You aren’t bad for that. What you are going thru is so terrifiying. You know, all I went thru was being beaten by father (and having to deal with my parents’ basket case mind-$#%$ing me for years). But I love him so much Lee. I really really do. I know that he could do anything to me and I would still love him. I would hate him, and I hated him for just what he actually did alone, but I *still* love him so much. And that was what made me such a total basket case. I think if my dad or gramps did to me what happened to you… I don’t want to trigger anyone ok? But I think I would have just killed myself. cause there is no way I would have been able to handle it. That is why I think ALL OF YOU PEOPLE are so courageous. I mean EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU GUYS ON THIS NEWSGROUP. And yeh, I’m religious and I know that some of you might think I look down on you for some of the things you do in your life, I definately have my standards of right and wrong and I’m not going to apologize for it. But (and I’m thinking of certain people here) you know what? I mean YOU people too. I think you guys are the most noble people I have ever met for just trying to live. I WISH I could be as good or incredible as you! I think G-d, and I mean MY G-d, the one I love and try to get close to, I think he loves you guys more than anything, cause by trying to live, that I think is like the ultimate statement of love for him. Whether you believe in him or not… I think he thinks you guys are the coolest things he’s ever made ever! I mean… I don’t think anyone has ever shown him that much trust and love in all the world, and I think he loves you guys more than anything for that. (btw, please no one reply to the above… it makes me feel weird. ) And yeah Lee, I include you in "you guys" too. I haven’t permitted myself to be afraid since I spent a night on the roof of the house in my nightgown. At some point that night, I don’t know when, I realized that my fear is what allowed him to control me, to keep me silent, to keep me in his lap. Why would I be afraid now? Afraid of what? Afraid of living a life I’ve never known, never expected to know? I don’t know. I really don’t.
Oh Lee, you don’t need to be afraid. You especially don’t need to be afraid of being afraid. It makes you human Lee, humans feel fear Lee, we do, you do too. You don’t have to be afraid that you aren’t human, or that you won’t measure up to being human. You are Lee. You *are* human. And you are the kind of human that makes that word such a beautiful thing. It’s ok Lee, it is, it really is. You can feel Lee, you can be human, you really can, it’s ok I mean it. You don’t have to be afraid of being human. It’s terrifying Lee, it’s the unknown in particular that scares us all to death. That is nothing to be ashamed of EVER. But courage isn’t the lack of fear, its the standing up to fear. You don’t have to let this fear rule you. Maybe thats what I am trying to say. you can feel it, but it doesn’t have to dictate how you feel or how you act. Maybe its telling you to ignore it, cause it says you don’t have what it takes to stand up to it. Well you can feel that fear too, but you also CAN stand up to it Lee. YOU HAVE THAT COURAGE LEE YOU DO. What I went through wasn’t terrible by any means. Compared to stories I’ve heard and read from other survivors, what I suffered through was a picnic in the park.
No Lee, that isn’t true. What you went thru was terrible by ANY means. And you know that sweetie. You know it in your heart, your just saying this cause you… I don’t know.. maybe cause you don’t think you have the strength to handle it? (is that a fair guess?) Lee, whatshername (my nickname for my ex) (well she wasn’t really my ex, we never dated… but oh well) used to say that same thing *ALL* the time. It was a LIE then, it’s a LIE now too. I know you know that it is a lie. But that’s ok too, cause thaat is so natural and so normal for you to do that. Any other person on earth would say the exact same thing. You are a decent person, you really are. But you don’t have to do it. You have to learn that its ok to acknowledge what happened for what it was. And it *was* horrible Lee. It was one of the most terrible things anyone could ever go thru. But Lee, you can get thru this, you really can. You have that strength in you. I see it, I really do. A lot of people have that strength, and you are no different at all from any of them. You really aren’t Lee, please don’t be afraid to feel. You can handle this. You’ll overcome this, this won’t destroy you. It won’t Lee. Please please please believe me. She got better Lee, and you know what? She finally discovered what a wonderful and special person she really is. And you are also wonderful and special. You will learn that one day, and that will be one of the most wonderful days in your life… cause it will be like you are meeting your best friend, the most incredible person ever, and you will realize that it is really you! I can see that, when I look at it logically, weighing the differences, the resulting problems. In the midst of it, though, when his image comes to call in my mind, I am the only victim, totally alone, suffering the searing blast of armaggedon with no one to help me, no one to hear me scream, no one to realize I’m drowning.
I wish I could tell you that you will never be alone again. But it isn’t true. We will *all* be alone in our lives. no matter who we are or what we do. At some point, for even a few minutes, we will be alone. But we are NEVER EVER TOTALLY alone. And there is ALWAYS at least one who hears us scream. I remember a really powerful line I learned in yeshiva one time. It was a discussion regarding days when jews have to abstain from eating. And how much should a person eat if he feels weak. And the answer was – its’ up to her (they were particularly discussing pregnant women). And they asked, why? And the answer is – "The soul knows the bitterness of the heart." or in hebrew "nefesh yoda’at marat nafsho" I think its a line in proverbs or something. Anyway.. Only you and G-d will ever understand how bitter this truly was. But the rest of us people can at least let you know that you are not TOTALLY alone. That we at least hear some of the sound of your scream. We DO acknowledge it. It’s at times like these, like tonight, that I am most unable to reach out for help. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to say, "Please, I need you to help me." I’ve been alone, totally alone, in my mind and heart since I was 6 years old. That’s why it was so incredibly special when my roommate came outside to me, held me, and cried with me. I didn’t have to reach out to her. She reached out to me. You reached back. That’s important!
I agree with Raine. (she’s pretty cool in that way btw, ) You just took the hardest step. I won’t lie and tell you the rest will be easy… but this is what was the *hardest*. You will survive this Lee, now you have to take the rest of the steps you need to make on your journey. Get a therapist who is cool, understanding and will give you a good swift kick in the rear when you need it, maybe find a special group. Lee you will have ups and downs, you will think nothing can stop you sometimes, and sometimes you won’t even know why you bothered, but if you keep putting one foot in front of the other.. no matter how bad it is.. if you fall down seven times and pick yourself up each time cause you just absolutely no way in hell refuse to quit… you’ll make it. You can do it man. (I mean girl <g) That’s why your response, though I wouldn’t know you from a 900lb. gorilla swinging from a flagpole,
hehe. :) is so special to me. I reached out, blindly, and someone caught me, pulled me up, pointed back at the swirling darkness and said, "That isn’t you." Thank you, Ronny. You have been very much a friend this night.
No, thank you, you helped me get over some stuff that was really killing me (well its been getting better, but it still hurts, and after your post it hurts even less). THANKS. and thanks to the rest of you people too! You all mean a lot to me. (and I am not thanking you all again, it makes me feel weird.) (’sides, its none of yer business how I feel anyway!) -Ronny
Response:
I have been out of my abusive situation for … 12 years. That was the last time I saw my abuser. I had flashbacks for a very long time, but, since I was told he died a couple of years ago, I haven’t had any. I’ve still seen many things that reminded me of him, but I got away with only a vague feeling of unease. Tonight, though, was a different story. I came home from work to join the friends who were over in a card game. I pointed out, figuring that it was the nice thing to do, that whenever I looked at the people on either side of me (a frequent necessity in the game we were playing), I could see their cards (a very -bad- thing in the game we were playing). Both of them turned their cards slightly so I couldn’t see them, but started teasing me, saying I should just not look at them, then, "like polite people would do". In that instant, I could hear my mother saying, "Why don’t you go sit in your grandfather’s lap, like a polite little girl?" and I could smell him, see him licking his lip–just barely, hardly noticeable–as I did what my mother said. I was … devvastated. Crushed. Utterly destroyed. Again. I had to walk away, I couldn’t even speak. I just went onto the back balcony and stood, breathing slowly, deeply, trying to drive that other world away, to get my real world back. The friends left with many excuses of having to wake up early, etc. One of them, the one of that group that I’ve always been closest to, left without even saying goodbye. At that point, I could’t stand it any longer, and I went back outside, trembling, shaking, sobbing. I -am- lucky, though. My roommate and very best friend peeked out through the blinds and saw me crying. She came out, walked up behind me, and just hugged me (She’s the only person in the state who can do that without risking physical injury. Who? Me? Paranoid?), held me, let me cry. I only told her about the abuse by the old man a few months ago. We’ve never actually talked about it, because I’ve never been able to. In fact, to tell her about it, I sent her to a webpage, where I posted the first chapter in a "story" I’m writing as part of my healing process. (The act of putting words down on paper [monitor] is just -so- soothing … ) Her boyfriend (another good friend, who doesn’t know the truth any more than the others do) is currently visiting from out of state, and yet she stayed there with me on the back porch, holding me, letting me cry, even crying with me. She reminded me that he can’t hurt me anymore, but does that mean that I’m somehow hurting myself? I certainly don’t -choose- to have these flashbacks, to be so miserable. Yet it puts me in mind of a poem "All these years, all this pain, Myself the cause of silent rain." and the things I was thinking when I wrote it, about how I hurt myself more than he ever could have, by not letting go, by not forgiving myself, and in so many more ways. She reminded me that no one else could ever hurt me like that again because I’m strong, even though I don’t -feel- strong, that I’m a survivor, even if there -have- been times when I didn’t -want- to survive. Most importantly, though, she told me that she loved me, and she held me while I cried, and she cried with me, and when we went inside and I was still trembling while we cleaned up, she put her hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Never again." I can’t help thinking that with love and support like that, it -has- to get better, but I’ve never been much of an optimist, so I can only bring myself to smirk when I think of it and remember Murphy’s Law and how many times it’s screwed me in the past. And then I think again of her standing with her hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes, and saying, "Never again." I straighten my shoulders, hold my head high, and look straight ahead. I’d rather curl up in a ball in the corner of a dark room and cry and scream and give in to the trembling that I can feel just under the surface. I’d rather retreat from the world that brought me such pain. But I look her in the eyes, and I see how much she really does love me, and I know that I’ve finally started getting more than pain from this life, and I can’t turn my back on it. And besides, she thinks I’m strong, so I’ll be strong. I’ll stand and face the world with my eyes forward, my shoulders back, and my head up. Gods, I’m lucky to have her support, her friendship! But will this ever end? Will I ever be able to lead a "normal" life, without being afraid that the next thing someone says, the next thing I smell, the next song on hold or in the elevator, the next pair of old man’s eyes with cataracts is going to send me into the darkest depths of my mind, alone and afraid and unable to help myself? What if she isn’t there the next time it happens? And I can still hear my mother in my mind, "That wasn’t a very polite tone of voice, young lady! Your grandfather only wants you to sit in his lap, and you’re being very rude! Now be polite. Go sit in his lap and tell him you’re sorry!" and a hundred variations … Wow … this post really got long. Sorry, folks. -= Lee =-
Response:
Ya, it gets better. The time it takes to get better depends on what you put in the mix and how much effort you take to go after your recovery. I did ACA for – oh gawddd – 8 years of 12 stepping every week – sometimes twice a week as my home group meeting would bring up so much stuff I had a second meeting 3 days later just to cathetic to talk out and maintain some kind of balance. 12 Stepping in ACA or ACOA just helps with relationships – as the "family structure" of the home group is healthy and one can speak and be hear – which is contrary to the dysfunctional Don’t Rules. During this time it was the visitudes of life and people coming and going on a par with what I did with them in my disease and recovery that broke me down into tears. I really fell big time for Susan Longworth – and we were both in need of recovery – never sexed her, but wanted to – and when I drove her away with my own crazy making issues – I cried for 2 months straight. I do like how my Higher Power gives me what I need to heal my self. But it was Integrative Body Psychotherapy that pull it all together for me. I was real ripe – lots of other no-money but time recovery things I did – and when we got started I was crying every day for 6 months, dealing with PTSD issues, before I got in the winning side of it. Then another year of therapy after that before I realized that I will never get licensed as I am to far out on the cutting edge, to far ahead of my peers in the community and the fact that I have had to many near death experiences. The powers that be have Christian Nazis in it – and they will never give me the papers. Unlike Ram Dass or Timothy Leary who went to Harvard and got their papers before their genius took off – and the powers that be could not take em back. My genius took off before the papers were cut – and they will never give them. C’est la vie. SumBuddie – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – I tried to post this once, but I think I accidentally deleted it–I’m such a brain. Perhaps that’s best, though, because I’d forgotten to change the e-mail address and such to the one that I use for these things. I guess it’s just another way of trying to keep it all away from me, to make it something distant and unreal. That and the fact that I’m incredibly paranoid. *shrug* Anyway, here goes. And who knows, maybe typing it the second time will give me additional insight, make me see something I hadn’t seen before. It’s been 12 years since the last time I saw my abuser. I had many, many flashbacks. They stopped, though, within a few months of my being told he had died. I’ve seen, heard, even smelled things that reminded me of him, but I came away from all of those with just a vague feeling of unease, no flashbacks. Until tonight. I came home tonight to join the party my roommate and I’ve been planning. I sat down with a bunch of friends–most of whom don’t know about my past–and we started playing cards. Because I thought it was the nice thing to do, I pointed out to the people on either side of me that I could see their cards whenever I looked at them (the people–a frequent necessity in the game we were playing). They both turned their cards away, but started teasing me, saying that I should just not look at them (the people–this would make the game extremely difficult), that I should look at something else, instead, like polite people would. At that moment, I could hear my mother’s voice saying, "Be polite. Go sit in your grandfather’s lap." I could smell him. I could see the tip of his tongue flick over his lips. I could feel his eyes crawling over my skin like … like maggots. And I got up and left. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I couldn’t. I stood out on the back porch for … well, I don’t know how long, until one of my friends came out to tell me that everyone was leaving (they’d all come in his car). And I was just standing there, breathing, clenching my hands behind my head to keep them from shaking. And then I nodded, and told him I was sorry, and came back inside. Everyone gave lame excuses about having to wake up early, and I started to help my roommate and her boyfriend (another good friend of mine who’s visiting us from out of state) clean up, but then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I took the broom and dustpan to put it away, and I just fell into a chair on the porch and cried. My roommate came out a little while later, walked up behind me and hugged me. (She’s the only person in the state who can do that without fear of serious physical injury. I’m a bit paranoid.) I only told my roommate a few months ago–by sending her to the website where I posted a half- fictional story that is part of my healing process (It’s so soothing, putting words down on paper [monitor]!)–and we’d never talked about it, never mentioned it, except once, in e-mail, when she sent me a letter about the story on my website. (Yes, my roomie and I talk via e-mail. We’re weirdos. *shrug*) But when she came out, when she put her arms around me, I told her what had happened, and I cried harder. She just hugged me, held me, cried with me. And then she reminded me that he could never hurt me again. That makes me wonder who’s hurting me now? But I know the answer. -I-’m hurting me, by not letting go, by not forgiving myself, and in a million other ways, and I think of a poem "All these years, all this pain, Myself the cause of silent rain." and I remember exactly what that poem meant to me as I wrote it, and every time I’ve read it since. Only I can heal me. But that does’t mean I can’t reach out for support, does it? And then she told me that no one could ever hurt me like that again because I’m a strong person, even though I don’t -feel- strong, and she pointed out that I’m a survivor, even if there -have- been times when I didn’t want to survive. And then she told me she loves me. And she hugged me, she held me, she cried with me. My roommate, my best friend, is one of the most important people in my life. Never have I had anyone in my life who was so loving, so supportive, so truly understanding. Never has anyone cried -with- me, rather than -for- me. Never has someone seen me in one of the many strange emotional states I get in and not pitied me. Until I met her. I’ve just realized something. I love her with all my heart. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me, the best friend anyone could hope for. I knew that already, though. What I’ve just realized is that she is only the second person I’ve truly loved since I started breaking down the walls I’d built around my heart. (The first is my oldest nephew, whom I love like a son.) When we came back inside to finish cleaning, I was still trembling. When she saw it, she put her hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Never again." I straightened up, put my shoulders back, held my head up, and looked straight ahead. With love and support like what I get from her, how could things -not- get better? But I’ve never been much of an optimist, and I can’t help thinking of Murphy’s Law and how many times it’s screwed me. But, again, I see her looking me in the eye, saying, "Never again." She said I was strong, so I will be strong. I’ll stand tall, with my shoulders back, my head up, and my eyes forward, facing the world, even though what I really want is to curl up in the corner of a dark room and scream and cry and shake and hit things. For her, I will be strong. For her, I will be able to face my friends again, even though they don’t understand why I act the way I do, even though they probably think they’re much better off -not- hanging around with someone as intensely unstable as I am. I’ll do it for her, because they’re her friends, too, and I can’t–won’t–take them away from her. But … does it ever get better? Will I ever be able to lead a "normal" life, where I’m not constantly afraid that the next thing someone says, the next thing I smell, the next song on hold or in the elevator, the next chance sight of a pair of old man’s blue eyes clouded by cataracts will send me into the darkest depths of myself, alone? What if I can’t push that other world away again? What if I can’t free myself from what I see? What if my roommate isn’t with me the next time it happens? Geez…this one ended up being longer than the other, I think, and I was trying to make it shorter. I’m sorry, folks. -= Lee =-
Response:
Don’t worry, ng posting is a pain for everyone except for maybe those geeks at Bell Labs.
One of these days, I’ll be a geek, too, and won’t -that- be wonderful? *purr* hehe, I’d say that’s just normal prudence. A little dose of paranoia is a healthy thing to have online. I only wish *I* had switched my email address for ng posting before I got swamped with with spam from every spammer and his idiot brother. As it is, I’m gonna have to change my real email address too.
I’d find it easier to call it normal prudence, except that everything I’ve ever written on the subject (poems, stories, even letters to friends) has been written under this pseudonym. Then again, maybe it’s just another sign that I’m eccentric, which would be a good thing, since all good writers are eccentric, right? So maybe I’m well on my way to being one of them. If you are paranoid, then I am certifiable. Who on earth do you think is going to blame you? After what happened to you… how horrible. I said it before and I will say it again, I’m glad I never went thru sexual abuse… I’ve seen what people who have go thru. It took a lot of guts to post here. And btw, you are a brilliant writer. You write with real feeling and heart and you write well.
*hands you a certificate* There ya go. All certified. I didn’t say I could or should be blamed for being paranoid, just that I am. And, you know something, Ronny? I’ve discovered something lately (other than the fact that I need a new keyboard). I’ve discovered that the people who are the most help to me, who touch me the most when I need it, and who are the most understanding when I push them away, are the people who’ve never been there. My roommate, another friend who was the first I told in many years, my boyfriend … None of them have been there. All of them can show me what life is like -without- the daily pain, fear, suffering. All of them offer me a gift no one else can: proof that life isn’t always like this, isn’t usually like this, and -can- be good! I don’t normally do this for anyone. And I probably never will again. But in your case I will make an exception.
*grin* Now I feel special. Or, as a friend would say, I feel all squishy! You can do it Lee. Believe it man, this is NOT going to take you down. Cause you are too big, and you got too much heart. This will be over. You will get it together. You will. Believe it. (go-Lee-go! hope this helps! )
Thank you, Ronny. You’ve helped more than you will ever know. It is now 3am where I am. I have to wake up at 6 for work, and I haven’t been able to sleep, plagued as I am by a vague, indistinct feeling. Was it fear? I don’t know. I wouldn’t know fear if it walked up and chewed on my kneecaps. I haven’t permitted myself to be afraid since I spent a night on the roof of the house in my nightgown. At some point that night, I don’t know when, I realized that my fear is what allowed him to control me, to keep me silent, to keep me in his lap. Why would I be afraid now? Afraid of what? Afraid of living a life I’ve never known, never expected to know? I don’t know. I really don’t. What I went through wasn’t terrible by any means. Compared to stories I’ve heard and read from other survivors, what I suffered through was a picnic in the park. I can see that, when I look at it logically, weighing the differences, the resulting problems. In the midst of it, though, when his image comes to call in my mind, I am the only victim, totally alone, suffering the searing blast of armaggedon with no one to help me, no one to hear me scream, no one to realize I’m drowning. It’s at times like these, like tonight, that I am most unable to reach out for help. I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to say, "Please, I need you to help me." I’ve been alone, totally alone, in my mind and heart since I was 6 years old. That’s why it was so incredibly special when my roommate came outside to me, held me, and cried with me. I didn’t have to reach out to her. She reached out to me. That’s why your response, though I wouldn’t know you from a 900lb. gorilla swinging from a flagpole, is so special to me. I reached out, blindly, and someone caught me, pulled me up, pointed back at the swirling darkness and said, "That isn’t you." Thank you, Ronny. You have been very much a friend this night. -= Lee =-
Response:
I tried to post this once, but I think I accidentally deleted it–I’m such a brain.
Don’t worry, ng posting is a pain for everyone except for maybe those geeks at Bell Labs. Perhaps that’s best, though, because I’d forgotten to change the e-mail address and such to the one that I use for these things. I guess it’s just another way of trying to keep it all away from me, to make it something distant and unreal.
hehe, I’d say that’s just normal prudence. A little dose of paranoia is a healthy thing to have online. I only wish *I* had switched my email address for ng posting before I got swamped with with spam from every spammer and his idiot brother. As it is, I’m gonna have to change my real email address too. That and the fact that I’m incredibly paranoid. *shrug* Anyway, here goes. And who knows,
If you are paranoid, then I am certifiable. Who on earth do you think is going to blame you? After what happened to you… how horrible. I said it before and I will say it again, I’m glad I never went thru sexual abuse… I’ve seen what people who have go thru. It took a lot of guts to post here. And btw, you are a brilliant writer. You write with real feeling and heart and you write well. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – maybe typing it the second time will give me additional insight, make me see something I hadn’t seen before. It’s been 12 years since the last time I saw my abuser. I had many, many flashbacks. They stopped, though, within a few months of my being told he had died. I’ve seen, heard, even smelled things that reminded me of him, but I came away from all of those with just a vague feeling of unease, no flashbacks. Until tonight. I came home tonight to join the party my roommate and I’ve been planning. I sat down with a bunch of friends–most of whom don’t know about my past–and we started playing cards. Because I thought it was the nice thing to do, I pointed out to the people on either side of me that I could see their cards whenever I looked at them (the people–a frequent necessity in the game we were playing). They both turned their cards away, but started teasing me, saying that I should just not look at them (the people–this would make the game extremely difficult), that I should look at something else, instead, like polite people would. At that moment, I could hear my mother’s voice saying, "Be polite. Go sit in your grandfather’s lap." I could smell him. I could see the tip of his tongue flick over his lips. I could feel his eyes crawling over my skin like … like maggots. And I got up and left.
I don’t normally do this for anyone. And I probably never will again. But in your case I will make an exception. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – I didn’t say anything to anyone. I couldn’t. I stood out on the back porch for … well, I don’t know how long, until one of my friends came out to tell me that everyone was leaving (they’d all come in his car). And I was just standing there, breathing, clenching my hands behind my head to keep them from shaking. And then I nodded, and told him I was sorry, and came back inside. Everyone gave lame excuses about having to wake up early, and I started to help my roommate and her boyfriend (another good friend of mine who’s visiting us from out of state) clean up, but then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I took the broom and dustpan to put it away, and I just fell into a chair on the porch and cried. My roommate came out a little while later, walked up behind me and hugged me. (She’s the only person in the state who can do that without fear of serious physical injury. I’m a bit paranoid.) I only told my roommate a few months ago–by sending her to the website where I posted a half- fictional story that is part of my healing process (It’s so soothing, putting words down on paper [monitor]!)–and we’d never talked about it, never mentioned it, except once, in e-mail, when she sent me a letter about the story on my website. (Yes, my roomie and I talk via e-mail. We’re weirdos. *shrug*) But when she came out, when she put her arms around me, I told her what had happened, and I cried harder. She just hugged me, held me, cried with me. And then she reminded me that he could never hurt me again. That makes me wonder who’s hurting me now? But I know the answer. -I-’m hurting me, by not letting go, by not forgiving myself, and in a million other ways, and I think of a poem "All these years, all this pain, Myself the cause of silent rain." and I remember exactly what that poem meant to me as I wrote it, and every time I’ve read it since. Only I can heal me. But that does’t mean I can’t reach out for support, does it? And then she told me that no one could ever hurt me like that again because I’m a strong person, even though I don’t -feel- strong, and she pointed out that I’m a survivor, even if there -have- been times when I didn’t want to survive. And then she told me she loves me. And she hugged me, she held me, she cried with me. My roommate, my best friend, is one of the most important people in my life. Never have I had anyone in my life who was so loving, so supportive, so truly understanding. Never has anyone cried -with- me, rather than -for- me. Never has someone seen me in one of the many strange emotional states I get in and not pitied me. Until I met her. I’ve just realized something. I love her with all my heart. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me, the best friend anyone could hope for. I knew that already, though. What I’ve just realized is that she is only the second person I’ve truly loved since I started breaking down the walls I’d built around my heart. (The first is my oldest nephew, whom I love like a son.) When we came back inside to finish cleaning, I was still trembling. When she saw it, she put her hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Never again." I straightened up, put my shoulders back, held my head up, and looked straight ahead. With love and support like what I get from her, how could things -not- get better? But I’ve never been much of an optimist, and I can’t help thinking of Murphy’s Law and how many times it’s screwed me. But, again, I see her looking me in the eye, saying, "Never again." She said I was strong, so I will be strong. I’ll stand tall, with my shoulders back, my head up, and my eyes forward, facing the world, even though what I really want is to curl up in the corner of a dark room and scream and cry and shake and hit things. For her, I will be strong. For her, I will be able to face my friends again, even though they don’t understand why I act the way I do, even though they probably think they’re much better off -not- hanging around with someone as intensely unstable as I am. I’ll do it for her, because they’re her friends, too, and I can’t–won’t–take them away from her. But … does it ever get better? Will I ever be able to lead a "normal" life, where I’m not constantly afraid that the next thing someone says, the next thing I smell, the next song on hold or in the elevator, the next chance sight of a pair of old man’s blue eyes clouded by cataracts will send me into the darkest depths of myself, alone? What if I can’t push that other world away again? What if I can’t free myself from what I see? What if my roommate isn’t with me the next time it happens?
In answer to your question, will it get better… YES IT WILL. I know someone who went thru pretty much the EXACT SAME DAMN THING. Only worse if possible. And yes, she was paranoid, and terrified, and had one best friend.. and found it almost impossible to trust. Not just men… BUT ANYONE. Her life was an absolute hell. Touching was out of the question… flashbacks constantly… suicidal, out of desperation.. but she NEVER wanted to die. I KNOW ALL THIS. And no, she was not ugly, she was not evil, she was not crap, she was not bad, she was not guilty, she was not stupid, she did not deserve this, she was worth loving, she was worth a LOT. She went thru an absolute hell Lee. She was strong special beautiful cool smart filled with heart dignity honor and courage. And if you are able to write the way you just did, then guess what, you have every single one of those qualities. And just for the record YOU are NOT ugly, you are NOT evil, you are NOT stupid, YOU ARE NOT CRAP, you are NOT bad, you ARE NOT GUILTY, you DID NOT deserve or ask for this, YOU ARE WORTH LOVING YOU ARE WORTH A HELL OF A LOT. And he was WRONG to do this. NO ONE, man woman fish or duck has ANY right to touch you like that. And your friend is right and wise… this will NEVER happen again. And yes, I never saw anyone suffer like that in my life. But you know what Lee? She got out of it. She struggled and suffered and fought and fought like a wildcat, and in the end she survived and she even has her life together now. It can happen Lee, it seems impossible but it CAN happen. Its been done before, and its going to be done again. And you know what Lee? Its gonna be done by YOU. HAve heart and courage Lee, you can do it kiddo. You got it in you. Yeh, I don’t know you from a hole in the wall, but I form judgements based on how people talk. And you talk with courage … real courage
… read more »
Response:
I tried to post this once, but I think I accidentally deleted it–I’m such a brain. Perhaps that’s best, though, because I’d forgotten to change the e-mail address and such to the one that I use for these things. I guess it’s just another way of trying to keep it all away from me, to make it something distant and unreal. That and the fact that I’m incredibly paranoid. *shrug* Anyway, here goes. And who knows, maybe typing it the second time will give me additional insight, make me see something I hadn’t seen before. It’s been 12 years since the last time I saw my abuser. I had many, many flashbacks. They stopped, though, within a few months of my being told he had died. I’ve seen, heard, even smelled things that reminded me of him, but I came away from all of those with just a vague feeling of unease, no flashbacks. Until tonight. I came home tonight to join the party my roommate and I’ve been planning. I sat down with a bunch of friends–most of whom don’t know about my past–and we started playing cards. Because I thought it was the nice thing to do, I pointed out to the people on either side of me that I could see their cards whenever I looked at them (the people–a frequent necessity in the game we were playing). They both turned their cards away, but started teasing me, saying that I should just not look at them (the people–this would make the game extremely difficult), that I should look at something else, instead, like polite people would. At that moment, I could hear my mother’s voice saying, "Be polite. Go sit in your grandfather’s lap." I could smell him. I could see the tip of his tongue flick over his lips. I could feel his eyes crawling over my skin like … like maggots. And I got up and left. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I couldn’t. I stood out on the back porch for … well, I don’t know how long, until one of my friends came out to tell me that everyone was leaving (they’d all come in his car). And I was just standing there, breathing, clenching my hands behind my head to keep them from shaking. And then I nodded, and told him I was sorry, and came back inside. Everyone gave lame excuses about having to wake up early, and I started to help my roommate and her boyfriend (another good friend of mine who’s visiting us from out of state) clean up, but then I couldn’t stand it any longer. I took the broom and dustpan to put it away, and I just fell into a chair on the porch and cried. My roommate came out a little while later, walked up behind me and hugged me. (She’s the only person in the state who can do that without fear of serious physical injury. I’m a bit paranoid.) I only told my roommate a few months ago–by sending her to the website where I posted a half- fictional story that is part of my healing process (It’s so soothing, putting words down on paper [monitor]!)–and we’d never talked about it, never mentioned it, except once, in e-mail, when she sent me a letter about the story on my website. (Yes, my roomie and I talk via e-mail. We’re weirdos. *shrug*) But when she came out, when she put her arms around me, I told her what had happened, and I cried harder. She just hugged me, held me, cried with me. And then she reminded me that he could never hurt me again. That makes me wonder who’s hurting me now? But I know the answer. -I-’m hurting me, by not letting go, by not forgiving myself, and in a million other ways, and I think of a poem "All these years, all this pain, Myself the cause of silent rain." and I remember exactly what that poem meant to me as I wrote it, and every time I’ve read it since. Only I can heal me. But that does’t mean I can’t reach out for support, does it? And then she told me that no one could ever hurt me like that again because I’m a strong person, even though I don’t -feel- strong, and she pointed out that I’m a survivor, even if there -have- been times when I didn’t want to survive. And then she told me she loves me. And she hugged me, she held me, she cried with me. My roommate, my best friend, is one of the most important people in my life. Never have I had anyone in my life who was so loving, so supportive, so truly understanding. Never has anyone cried -with- me, rather than -for- me. Never has someone seen me in one of the many strange emotional states I get in and not pitied me. Until I met her. I’ve just realized something. I love her with all my heart. She is the best thing that has ever happened to me, the best friend anyone could hope for. I knew that already, though. What I’ve just realized is that she is only the second person I’ve truly loved since I started breaking down the walls I’d built around my heart. (The first is my oldest nephew, whom I love like a son.) When we came back inside to finish cleaning, I was still trembling. When she saw it, she put her hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eyes, and said, "Never again." I straightened up, put my shoulders back, held my head up, and looked straight ahead. With love and support like what I get from her, how could things -not- get better? But I’ve never been much of an optimist, and I can’t help thinking of Murphy’s Law and how many times it’s screwed me. But, again, I see her looking me in the eye, saying, "Never again." She said I was strong, so I will be strong. I’ll stand tall, with my shoulders back, my head up, and my eyes forward, facing the world, even though what I really want is to curl up in the corner of a dark room and scream and cry and shake and hit things. For her, I will be strong. For her, I will be able to face my friends again, even though they don’t understand why I act the way I do, even though they probably think they’re much better off -not- hanging around with someone as intensely unstable as I am. I’ll do it for her, because they’re her friends, too, and I can’t–won’t–take them away from her. But … does it ever get better? Will I ever be able to lead a "normal" life, where I’m not constantly afraid that the next thing someone says, the next thing I smell, the next song on hold or in the elevator, the next chance sight of a pair of old man’s blue eyes clouded by cataracts will send me into the darkest depths of myself, alone? What if I can’t push that other world away again? What if I can’t free myself from what I see? What if my roommate isn’t with me the next time it happens? Geez…this one ended up being longer than the other, I think, and I was trying to make it shorter. I’m sorry, folks. -= Lee =-
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