#21 Something I Can't Seem to Get Over

Stupid prompt.  And so not me.  I work really hard to keep the baggage car empty at all times.  Doggedly.  Single-mindedly.  Drivin the peeps nuts. 

How 'bout we talk about something it took me a long time to get over?  That seems better.  I started to write about having my heart broken, but the peeps made me delete that and address instead having been abused as a child.  My abuse started around age 3 and lasted until I was 11 or 12.  There are no memories I have that do not include those too.  I tried to confess it at age 8 or so but the priest thought I was being a wise ass and laughed at me.  Destroying the last tie I had to something real and solid. 

I dropped out of my own life became surly, sullen, argumentative (maybe that's why everyone kept recommending a career in law).  I was a walking breathing ball of teen age hormone and amped angst.  So much of that turned inward.  By college I had begun the process of controlling those emotions.  I did that by pulling all of me into my head and curling up tight around the wound.  Never once speaking of it.  No one ever noticed.  Or if they did they never commented on it. 

I did try therapy - twice, but it failed miserably for me.  Twice.  I could just never get to a place where I trusted anyone enough to ever say those words again.  Never wanted to risk someone laughing at those memories that were so painful ever again.  I have a deep passion for science and process and experiments - so living in my head wasn't hard at all.  I lived there quite a while very comfortably.  I got by.  I passed as a real person all the while rotting a bit more inside every day.  That little girl screaming in my dreams loud enough to wake me the way she never did in real life. 

When things threatened to emerge, I shoved them back down.  And I drank.  A LOT.  I won't go into that here, it has been covered before.  I was very good at shoving them down into the deep dark pit of my belly.  It was, after all far removed from the lovely digs of my head where I lived.  The trouble is there is only so much room down there and I maxed it out. I guess the peeps kinda got tired of waiting for me to deal with it, crawl out of my head and start remembering who I am so they gave me a little nudge.  A little nudge called cancer.  Funny how that gets you where you need to go with a quickness. 

In the wake of that, I began to let out the garbage - one maggoty piece at a time.  Scraping off layer by layer my personal dung heap.  I began talking about my experiences.  I discovered I was far from alone.  I forgave one of my abusers.  I would easily forgive the other if there was one sign of remorse or recognition on his part.  I know I should do this for me, but I just can't - not quite yet.  And yet there is part of me that wants to.  So there is the thing that I am holding onto. 

When I look at it with my scientist's eyes, I know that when I let go of the rage and hurt toward him I will feel nothing for him.  He will be a stranger to me.  I want that.  I want to reclaim the real estate he has owned these last 45 years.  I want to pull back the curtains and let the light flood in.  I intend to dance in that room.