I woke up in such a smashing holiday festive good mood. As the day progressed so did the mood to go down a slippery hill. Perhaps it was because my husband was having a bad day. Perhaps it was because I have been dreaming of a very sad event from my high school days. Perhaps it is my missing my family very much in a way that I can not explain. No matter the reason it resulted in my not being the best socially correct lady. We are taught as young girls to be proper, polite, pretty when out at a social event no matter how big or small. Why must we do this? if you dared to ask your parents you might have been told " Because I told you so". You did not question it. I got the feeling my birth mother was told the same to her and her mother was told the same thing. Just like when something life altering happens to us. Some of us have had something happen that changed us from that friendly out going young woman to a cold ,crazy, heartless, easy,flirty beyond necessary woman.
I tried to share with a new friend my reason for my mood yesterday. I tried to explain my battle with returning to silence. I was unable to because she made sure to let me know that my thoughts my actions are my choice. My choice. Such simple words to say to someone. Sure legally ,logically my mood, my thoughts are my choice. Events altered me for life going back as young as four years young. I was pure,innocent,and that would be taken advantage of. That eventually would be stripped like a gorgeous Cadillac from the 50's battered by storm after storm till a tornado was able to easily break and scatter the remains of the metal of that once gorgeous pretty pink Cadillac.
I was trained to be a good girl to keep silent do not question,look my best,look pretty. I was not taught to speak up, I was not taught to be strong, I was not to be smart. I was taught to keep silent no matter what. I was so good at keeping silent it kept me from making friends. I made myself hidden away,unliked, unwanted by classmates. I made that choice to keep my secret from coming to light. I rather be the social pariah then risk my secret being exposed. I worked hard to be socially acceptable at a new school. I thought being sexual was the thing to be doing. After all it made those who were abusing me happy and kept them returning. I wanted my abuser happy with me. To have them not happy with me meant pain and cruelty that could last hours into the night. I became the class whore in Jr high, and high school. It felt comfortable to not tell where I learned what I learned. It was more comfortable to be the unliked whore then something else. I was disgustingly filthy in my eyes no matter what I wore to school or how I did my makeup no matter how much I scrubbed myself in a hot bath. No one ever questioned why I was the class whore. Yet looking back I realize I did not screw every guy in school. I know I did not give oral sex to most of the guys. In fact it was just a hand full of guys. I had a few serious boyfriends and what I did with them was from a place of wanting to be loved, to be cared for, and to be anyone else but me.
I had one boyfriend named Tadd who was most sweetest romantic boy who walked me to school and walked me back to where I lived. We never uttered the word love.We did not have enough time to let our relationship grow. We were supposed to exchange Christmas gifts when he got back from his vacation in Las Vegas. For those that do not know I lived in sunny southern California ,born and raised. I bring up Tadd because he is the one boyfriend who treated me like no other boy had.He did not see me as someone he can score with touching boobs under a bra. He did not see me as the girl he could get down on her knees in the garage.He did not see me as the girl to have sex with while watching t.v.. He saw me, not my body parts he could gain experience from. He saw me a scared girl, He saw I needed to be protected but from what he had no idea.He saw someone who had glimpses of adventure like learning how to skateboard. Tadd never returned from Las Vegas, we never got to exchange our Christmas gifts. we never hld hands one more time. Not one last kiss. I have lived with so many questions that will never be answered. I also get to live knowing I have the reputation as the class whore.
Tadd was my first suicide in my life and yet it is the hardest for me for some reason this Christmas season it is haunting me. I think the suicide of Chester Bennington and Chris Cornell this year has this memory back to surface. After Tadd did not return I felt so alone, afraid, and very vulnerable. His death was my downward spiral that would lead me to being forced to talk about events in life I had experienced most of my life. The court system taught me at the young age of sixteen,seventeen, and eighteen my voice does not count. The court system wanted family reconciliation, wanted me the victim to work with my parents for me to live with them. Despite all the evidence this is what the court wanted. Why give the legal system a chance ? Why leave yourself bare bone vulnerable all to be told that what happened dos not matter, that I need to do whats best for the family. Sound familiar ladies? Help our rapist. help our predator to see what they have done wrong, and why it is wrong. Go to court for the criminal to have more rights then us the victim. Strange thing is what I experienced is from the late 80's very early 90's. It saddens me to know that our society, our legal system, our culture of women has taken so long to say no more. Yet look at the back lash of women and men victims of sexual misconduct, consent violations that have spoken out. Everyone talks about them, gossip to no end. People saying what they would have done and should have done. Go to the police, sure easy for you to say unless you have been there.
I lived a circle a very big circle of abusive men in my life. I have to admit it was a massive struggle to break that circle of routine. Abuse was comfortable, living in fear was what I knew best. It is what I deserved so I had trained to believe my entire life. What could be scarier then a beating to send you to the E.R.? What could be scarier than being sent to a mental hospital because your abuser has literally made you crazy. Finding your voice and learning who to trust with your voice. Your very selective . What others take for granted on how to communicate is so painful worse then the back of your head being bashed into the wall. Eventually over time thanks to therapy, meditation and learning to live for me I found a voice. It may not always be the pretty voice, the positive voice. May not even be the voice of the modern day powerful independent woman of today. I do have a voice and try my best to speak up. When I read of women bashing women for speaking up on the #metoo movement. When a young woman tells me I have a choice to be silent or speak up. I wish she really knew it sounds easy. But its not that easy to speak up. Your afraid to offend, get someone angry, lose someone, feel vulnerable and exposed. You go with what you know and what you know is to be silent. I am not asking for you to understand the battle. I am not asking for you to even be okay with this battle of silence. What I am asking is try to be a little understanding we all handle life in our own way. Right now I am handling life battling to return to silence.
#metoo #Breakthesilence #Victims #survivorofabuse