It's passed midnight. Outside the crickets are chirping. My daughter is asleep beside me. As much as I would love to join her in dream land, I remain awake. This is my curse. The biggest reason why I'm always exhausted. On nights like tonight, I dread the morning. But what can I do? I will just lay here with my eyes closed listening to the crickets signaling the end of summer. It's a sad song, but as with most sad things, inexplicably beautiful. Maybe their lullaby will lull my brain to sleep...
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Thursday, July 23, 2015
to the man who took my innocence
You know who you are.
Why, you might ask, am I putting this out on such a public platform? Well, I'm not ashamed of what I've experienced. There are many people who have gone through similar things in their lives and I think it's important to have the knowledge that your not alone; that someone else in this world knows how you've felt. And so I'm allowing my story to be public, on the off chance that someday it might matter to another.
It's been many years since our acquaintance ended. But I'm sure you can't have forgotten so easily. I know I haven't. If you need a refresher, here is one:
I was eleven. You were twenty-one, at least. You had lived next door to me almost my entire life. You were my best friend's big cousin. You were important to the people who were important to me. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't notice the change in your mannerism towards me. I don't remember you ever acknowledging my existence until that last year. The first memory I have of you talking to me was that night when your sister and I were hanging out downstairs with you. It was then that you told me no matter what happened I would always be family. I took that message to heart. So when you suddenly started paying actual attention to me I thought it was just a normal thing for a pseudo big cousin to do. Then came the night I was babysitting and you invited me to come hang out downstairs after the girls had fallen asleep. I have to admit I was flattered. I felt very grown up. As I walked down the stairs the thought came to my mind of what might happen...but I laughed it off because it seemed so ridiculous at the time. Just a few short seconds later my entire life changed.
Did you know you were my first kiss? I'm sure you did. I mean, I was eleven. Who would I have kissed at that age? I'll spare you any further details. Except pain. Pain and fear. Pain and fear and detachment. And guilt. So much guilt. That's what my experience was. In the middle of it your aunt called to check in on everything. You talked to her as if nothing significant was happening. And I just laid quietly. Why didn't I yell out? Why didn't I walk away? Why didn't I ask you to stop? It is that absence of a fight that ate away at me for years. I justified blaming myself vs you, the adult in the room. I'm over that now. I don't "blame" anyone. After all, I was just a kid. Maybe I didn't look it, but I was. And you knew it, too. Anyway, I was obedient and did as I was told. Even though it hurt so much I thought I would scream. And then suddenly it was over. And you were almost in tears apologizing. You seemed so ashamed. So of course I promised not to tell anyone. But when I went back upstairs, I stayed in the bathroom crying until the sun came up.
It almost seemed like I imagined it. Everything went back to normal. The world did not change. Your behavior did not change. No one knew. Except you, me, and the closest friend that I had who was not related to you. Of course I had to confide in someone. But she kept her silence for me. Especially when it seemed it was all in the past. Suddenly, months later, there you were again. Stealing away kisses in the dark outside when no one was around. And then the second night. Your cousin and I were playing video games in your room and, behind her back, you were silently inviting me to come visit you later. I don't know why I came. There was no good reason for it, except maybe a naive curiosity.
Pain. Again, so much pain. That was the night I asked you to stop. You didn't.
Again, you apologized profusely. I think I was a little less forgiving this time, but still not wanting to unravel the world around me by breaking my silence. I did confide again in the one friend who already knew. How was I to know that she would tell? In her mind (and she was most likely right), if it happened twice it would happen again. She could not bear to stand by while I became pregnant or diseased at twelve. And so the truth came out.
I denied it. I refused to admit it. It was my sister, who over the phone, coaxed me to tell the truth. If you don't remember, you had already broken her teenage heart. Her love and understanding made it impossible to lie anymore. Sometimes I've regretted telling. It felt like my entire world was stripped from me as a result. You, of course, denied it. So your aunt, who was once a second mother to me, became cold and cruel. I was never allowed to talk to or see my best friend and little sister again. Did you know that before that day I had never gone 24 hours without seeing or talking to her in my entire life? But she wasn't allowed to be my friend anymore. She was taught to hate me.
Your aunt would pull the car over as she passed by and scream foul words at us. When my friends and I were walking home from school, if she happened to pass by, she would rev her engine and act like she was going to run us over. I became fearful. It came to the point where outside wasn't a safe place anymore. My life became lonely. My backyard became quiet. And your life went on.
What you probably don't know is the impact it had on my own family. My sister was so hurt that, at least in my childhood memory, she didn't talk to me for a year. My mom could barely look at me. Conversations in my house were minimal and guarded. After a year, we were all uprooted. After all, we could not live somewhere if it meant constant harassment. So we moved.
I've run into your cousin a few times over the years. You know what hurt the most out of all of it? Four or five short years later when I saw her at a school dance I had to explain to her who I was. She literally seemed to have a limited to no memory of me. It was as if I wasn't a significant part of her childhood. I've reached out a few times, but never received an answer. The last time I saw her she showed absolutely no signs of recognition. I couldn't handle more rejection from her so I just went through her checkout line as if I was any other customer. And I really think she didn't know me. That's what hurts the most. In contrast, two years ago, her little sister immediately recognized both my sister and me. She wasn't even in school yet when we broke ties. And here she was all grown up and knew us on sight. She showed us much kindness.
Anyway, I wanted to give you some basic idea of how those three interactions you and I had affected my entire life. I'm quite happy with who I am and what I've become. But the pain will never go away. The loss was significant. Not just of my purity, but my relationships, my family's trust, etc.
Honestly, I decided I had to write to you after I found out that you contacted my sister. I know it was some time ago, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. She said you apologized to her for all the stupid things you had done. But what about me? Why don't I get an apology? Yes, she may have loved you with that special "first love" of her young life. But I loved you like a cousin. I don't require you to acknowledge what you did to me for me to move on and live a happy life. Yet it would still feel good to know that YOU know what happened. And if you really were sorry, why not admit it to those you denied it to? Why not tell your aunt and your cousin? Your mom and your sister? I don't expect them to ever reach out to me, but why should I forever be a branded a liar to them if I'm not? I've carried that weight for 17 years now. If only they knew the truth...whether they were to accept it or not...would help the eleven year old still inside of me feel such relief and redemption.
Whatever happens, I want you to know that I forgive you. And I forgive myself. I don't feel any hatred towards you and I harbor no ill feelings. In fact, I always wondered what I would feel if I ever saw you again, and to my surprise, I saw you walking to the bus stop some time ago and only felt compassion. It was cold and snowy. And there you were, walking the same street to the same bus stop just as you would have done 17 years ago. So now I can say with full confidence that, even though I will always be affected by you, I wish you all the best. With that sentiment, I hope someday you will choose to do me the honor of exposing the truth.
Why, you might ask, am I putting this out on such a public platform? Well, I'm not ashamed of what I've experienced. There are many people who have gone through similar things in their lives and I think it's important to have the knowledge that your not alone; that someone else in this world knows how you've felt. And so I'm allowing my story to be public, on the off chance that someday it might matter to another.
It's been many years since our acquaintance ended. But I'm sure you can't have forgotten so easily. I know I haven't. If you need a refresher, here is one:
I was eleven. You were twenty-one, at least. You had lived next door to me almost my entire life. You were my best friend's big cousin. You were important to the people who were important to me. Looking back, I'm surprised I didn't notice the change in your mannerism towards me. I don't remember you ever acknowledging my existence until that last year. The first memory I have of you talking to me was that night when your sister and I were hanging out downstairs with you. It was then that you told me no matter what happened I would always be family. I took that message to heart. So when you suddenly started paying actual attention to me I thought it was just a normal thing for a pseudo big cousin to do. Then came the night I was babysitting and you invited me to come hang out downstairs after the girls had fallen asleep. I have to admit I was flattered. I felt very grown up. As I walked down the stairs the thought came to my mind of what might happen...but I laughed it off because it seemed so ridiculous at the time. Just a few short seconds later my entire life changed.
Did you know you were my first kiss? I'm sure you did. I mean, I was eleven. Who would I have kissed at that age? I'll spare you any further details. Except pain. Pain and fear. Pain and fear and detachment. And guilt. So much guilt. That's what my experience was. In the middle of it your aunt called to check in on everything. You talked to her as if nothing significant was happening. And I just laid quietly. Why didn't I yell out? Why didn't I walk away? Why didn't I ask you to stop? It is that absence of a fight that ate away at me for years. I justified blaming myself vs you, the adult in the room. I'm over that now. I don't "blame" anyone. After all, I was just a kid. Maybe I didn't look it, but I was. And you knew it, too. Anyway, I was obedient and did as I was told. Even though it hurt so much I thought I would scream. And then suddenly it was over. And you were almost in tears apologizing. You seemed so ashamed. So of course I promised not to tell anyone. But when I went back upstairs, I stayed in the bathroom crying until the sun came up.
It almost seemed like I imagined it. Everything went back to normal. The world did not change. Your behavior did not change. No one knew. Except you, me, and the closest friend that I had who was not related to you. Of course I had to confide in someone. But she kept her silence for me. Especially when it seemed it was all in the past. Suddenly, months later, there you were again. Stealing away kisses in the dark outside when no one was around. And then the second night. Your cousin and I were playing video games in your room and, behind her back, you were silently inviting me to come visit you later. I don't know why I came. There was no good reason for it, except maybe a naive curiosity.
Pain. Again, so much pain. That was the night I asked you to stop. You didn't.
Again, you apologized profusely. I think I was a little less forgiving this time, but still not wanting to unravel the world around me by breaking my silence. I did confide again in the one friend who already knew. How was I to know that she would tell? In her mind (and she was most likely right), if it happened twice it would happen again. She could not bear to stand by while I became pregnant or diseased at twelve. And so the truth came out.
I denied it. I refused to admit it. It was my sister, who over the phone, coaxed me to tell the truth. If you don't remember, you had already broken her teenage heart. Her love and understanding made it impossible to lie anymore. Sometimes I've regretted telling. It felt like my entire world was stripped from me as a result. You, of course, denied it. So your aunt, who was once a second mother to me, became cold and cruel. I was never allowed to talk to or see my best friend and little sister again. Did you know that before that day I had never gone 24 hours without seeing or talking to her in my entire life? But she wasn't allowed to be my friend anymore. She was taught to hate me.
Your aunt would pull the car over as she passed by and scream foul words at us. When my friends and I were walking home from school, if she happened to pass by, she would rev her engine and act like she was going to run us over. I became fearful. It came to the point where outside wasn't a safe place anymore. My life became lonely. My backyard became quiet. And your life went on.
What you probably don't know is the impact it had on my own family. My sister was so hurt that, at least in my childhood memory, she didn't talk to me for a year. My mom could barely look at me. Conversations in my house were minimal and guarded. After a year, we were all uprooted. After all, we could not live somewhere if it meant constant harassment. So we moved.
I've run into your cousin a few times over the years. You know what hurt the most out of all of it? Four or five short years later when I saw her at a school dance I had to explain to her who I was. She literally seemed to have a limited to no memory of me. It was as if I wasn't a significant part of her childhood. I've reached out a few times, but never received an answer. The last time I saw her she showed absolutely no signs of recognition. I couldn't handle more rejection from her so I just went through her checkout line as if I was any other customer. And I really think she didn't know me. That's what hurts the most. In contrast, two years ago, her little sister immediately recognized both my sister and me. She wasn't even in school yet when we broke ties. And here she was all grown up and knew us on sight. She showed us much kindness.
Anyway, I wanted to give you some basic idea of how those three interactions you and I had affected my entire life. I'm quite happy with who I am and what I've become. But the pain will never go away. The loss was significant. Not just of my purity, but my relationships, my family's trust, etc.
Honestly, I decided I had to write to you after I found out that you contacted my sister. I know it was some time ago, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. She said you apologized to her for all the stupid things you had done. But what about me? Why don't I get an apology? Yes, she may have loved you with that special "first love" of her young life. But I loved you like a cousin. I don't require you to acknowledge what you did to me for me to move on and live a happy life. Yet it would still feel good to know that YOU know what happened. And if you really were sorry, why not admit it to those you denied it to? Why not tell your aunt and your cousin? Your mom and your sister? I don't expect them to ever reach out to me, but why should I forever be a branded a liar to them if I'm not? I've carried that weight for 17 years now. If only they knew the truth...whether they were to accept it or not...would help the eleven year old still inside of me feel such relief and redemption.
Whatever happens, I want you to know that I forgive you. And I forgive myself. I don't feel any hatred towards you and I harbor no ill feelings. In fact, I always wondered what I would feel if I ever saw you again, and to my surprise, I saw you walking to the bus stop some time ago and only felt compassion. It was cold and snowy. And there you were, walking the same street to the same bus stop just as you would have done 17 years ago. So now I can say with full confidence that, even though I will always be affected by you, I wish you all the best. With that sentiment, I hope someday you will choose to do me the honor of exposing the truth.
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Change
It's been quite a long time since I've written. And the truth is...I don't really know what to write anymore. It all used to come so naturally. My fingers would hit the keys and out would come words that ran together into logical sentences and phrases. But now my fingers hit the keys and they feel stiff and unsure. I spend more time pausing than actually creating content. It's funny how things can change so drastically over time. Maybe I'm afraid that I won't have anything interesting to say. Maybe I forget all the things that I knew I wanted to write but never took the time to actually take down. It's hard to take time to do the things you love when life feels so overwhelming. And right now it does.
We just moved. It's been a week and I'm still not sure what to do in this tiny little apartment. We don't know our neighbors and it's been too rainy to spend time outside. So I've been cleaning and trying to pay more attention to my daughter. Poor dear seems desperate for a playmate. Especially now that we're so isolated. No more just opening the door and being a part of a neighborhood we know and love. No more neighbors walking their dogs and stopping to say hello. No more sitting on the front porch soaking in the sun and just being outside. No more greeting neighbors coming and going from the door next to ours. No, now it's never seeing but always hearing the people that surround us. Kind of a strange concept, really. It's interesting how much you can learn about people just by virtue of hearing their movement in their homes when you don't even know what they look like. It's definitely been an adjustment. I miss our house. I miss it terribly. But even then I miss something more than that.
A few years ago my sister and I were talking on the phone. It was quite coincidental that we discovered we both crave a home that doesn't exist. Only an illusion. When life gets hard, when transitions come, when we feel lost....it's quite natural to have that overwhelming feeling of just wanting to go home. The strange part is when you feel that way while you're currently at home in the house you live in. My sister and I had both independently realized that when we have that feeling it's for our childhood home. The place I lived for the first 13 years of my life. Where we faced many of the difficult trials we've had. I call it an illusion, though, because if we walked into there today I often wonder if the same feeling of nostalgia would exist as it does in the mind. My guess is we miss the home we knew and loved then. Just the way it was. With the people who were present at the time. But that exists in the past and can never be again.
Sure, I suppose it's possible to create a new home. One where we will provide that experience for our own children. But, at least for me, I don't think "home" can replicated again. It will forever be emblazoned in my memory. And I will always miss it. Just as I will always miss the house we just left.
I've never been very good with life transitions. Change makes me sad more than it makes me excited. Seriously, though, I've never even changed my style of clothing or hair. I mean never. I cried the entire night before my 10th birthday because I would never again be one digit in age. There is just something profoundly heartbreaking to me about big changes. I don't like endings, even when it means the beginning of something that could possibly be greater. I was reading an article recently that taught the natural human resistance to endings is a testament of divinity. It struck me as quite beautiful. We dislike endings so much because, as eternal beings, endings are unnatural. Our marriages and our families are forever. Our lives, after mortality, are eternal. Maybe my extreme aversion to change and endings just means that my spirit is strongly remembering my eternal nature. I don't know if that's the case, but it's much more poetic than the pathetic alternative I'm inclined to define myself by.
It's kind of funny, with all of this change that's been happening, my mom, who is often emotional, has been portraying an increased level of emotion. Namely, crying. Over the last week my daughter has asked me several times if mommies cry. I tell her that they do. But this seems to be confusing to her. It occurred to me that she has never seen me cry. I believe that I feel and express emotions differently than most others and one of the main differences is that I hardly cry. Not for lack of wanting or trying to. I just am not a crier. When I do cry it's usually a tear or two and that's it. I know this transition is hard on my daughter and I feel badly that I am unable to demonstrate a range of healthy and natural ways of expressing emotion. Parents, I think, are often inclined to feel responsible for the way their children turn out. I'm definitely no exception. I'm already worrying that my lack of crying and setting that example for her will inhibit her in someway. Oh dear. How silly that sounds once I say it! Yet, it's a true parental fear.
In any case, that's where life is for me right now. I'm sad, I'm lonely, and I'm nostalgic. But I'm grateful. So grateful to have a roof over our heads and to still be with the people I love. I'm grateful for all the help we've had and for this small trial that has helped me to grow a little more, appreciate blessings a lot more, and perhaps even be the wiser for it. I'm grateful for the luxuries I have a bad habit of taking for granted. I'm grateful to have a job and an income. I'm grateful for my friends and family who love me and accept my love for them. I'm grateful for my personal talents and skills. I'm grateful for my daughter who teaches me everyday what it means to be a better person.
And, world, I'm grateful for you. Whoever and wherever you are for all the beauty and wonder you provide in your own special way. To you, at times, it may not seem like much, but the world would not be as bright without the light that you contribute.
We just moved. It's been a week and I'm still not sure what to do in this tiny little apartment. We don't know our neighbors and it's been too rainy to spend time outside. So I've been cleaning and trying to pay more attention to my daughter. Poor dear seems desperate for a playmate. Especially now that we're so isolated. No more just opening the door and being a part of a neighborhood we know and love. No more neighbors walking their dogs and stopping to say hello. No more sitting on the front porch soaking in the sun and just being outside. No more greeting neighbors coming and going from the door next to ours. No, now it's never seeing but always hearing the people that surround us. Kind of a strange concept, really. It's interesting how much you can learn about people just by virtue of hearing their movement in their homes when you don't even know what they look like. It's definitely been an adjustment. I miss our house. I miss it terribly. But even then I miss something more than that.
 |
| The home we just left |
A few years ago my sister and I were talking on the phone. It was quite coincidental that we discovered we both crave a home that doesn't exist. Only an illusion. When life gets hard, when transitions come, when we feel lost....it's quite natural to have that overwhelming feeling of just wanting to go home. The strange part is when you feel that way while you're currently at home in the house you live in. My sister and I had both independently realized that when we have that feeling it's for our childhood home. The place I lived for the first 13 years of my life. Where we faced many of the difficult trials we've had. I call it an illusion, though, because if we walked into there today I often wonder if the same feeling of nostalgia would exist as it does in the mind. My guess is we miss the home we knew and loved then. Just the way it was. With the people who were present at the time. But that exists in the past and can never be again.
 |
| The home where I grew up |
Sure, I suppose it's possible to create a new home. One where we will provide that experience for our own children. But, at least for me, I don't think "home" can replicated again. It will forever be emblazoned in my memory. And I will always miss it. Just as I will always miss the house we just left.
I've never been very good with life transitions. Change makes me sad more than it makes me excited. Seriously, though, I've never even changed my style of clothing or hair. I mean never. I cried the entire night before my 10th birthday because I would never again be one digit in age. There is just something profoundly heartbreaking to me about big changes. I don't like endings, even when it means the beginning of something that could possibly be greater. I was reading an article recently that taught the natural human resistance to endings is a testament of divinity. It struck me as quite beautiful. We dislike endings so much because, as eternal beings, endings are unnatural. Our marriages and our families are forever. Our lives, after mortality, are eternal. Maybe my extreme aversion to change and endings just means that my spirit is strongly remembering my eternal nature. I don't know if that's the case, but it's much more poetic than the pathetic alternative I'm inclined to define myself by.
It's kind of funny, with all of this change that's been happening, my mom, who is often emotional, has been portraying an increased level of emotion. Namely, crying. Over the last week my daughter has asked me several times if mommies cry. I tell her that they do. But this seems to be confusing to her. It occurred to me that she has never seen me cry. I believe that I feel and express emotions differently than most others and one of the main differences is that I hardly cry. Not for lack of wanting or trying to. I just am not a crier. When I do cry it's usually a tear or two and that's it. I know this transition is hard on my daughter and I feel badly that I am unable to demonstrate a range of healthy and natural ways of expressing emotion. Parents, I think, are often inclined to feel responsible for the way their children turn out. I'm definitely no exception. I'm already worrying that my lack of crying and setting that example for her will inhibit her in someway. Oh dear. How silly that sounds once I say it! Yet, it's a true parental fear.
In any case, that's where life is for me right now. I'm sad, I'm lonely, and I'm nostalgic. But I'm grateful. So grateful to have a roof over our heads and to still be with the people I love. I'm grateful for all the help we've had and for this small trial that has helped me to grow a little more, appreciate blessings a lot more, and perhaps even be the wiser for it. I'm grateful for the luxuries I have a bad habit of taking for granted. I'm grateful to have a job and an income. I'm grateful for my friends and family who love me and accept my love for them. I'm grateful for my personal talents and skills. I'm grateful for my daughter who teaches me everyday what it means to be a better person.
And, world, I'm grateful for you. Whoever and wherever you are for all the beauty and wonder you provide in your own special way. To you, at times, it may not seem like much, but the world would not be as bright without the light that you contribute.
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