Not just the bad ones but the good memories as well, because they trigger unbearable hurt as I'm reminded of what is lost. Sometimes I don't want to remember. I just want to live in the here and now, but my present can feel so alone as those I thought once loved me continue to live as though I don't exist. Their abandonment of me in the here and now drags with it the pain of the past and then in my grief, time ceases to exist. The past and future are intertwined with the present, each memory of the past bringing pain, each moment in time a constant reminder of the gaping hole in the present; and every worry for the future filled with dread. Leaving the statement to "leave your past in your past" moot. There is no past, present or future, there exists only immediate pain, misery and empty loneliness.
Over the last year I have endured a LOT of grief. Days filled with endless tears as I emptied myself of all the years of hurt. In between those emotional releases I feel lighter, happier and healthier. But just like most things are cyclical, it seems as though my grief has been coming in waves. And just like the ebb and flow of the ocean-tide changes, so has this layer of grieving as it hit me like a tsunami with incredible force and knocked me on my butt, broken and undone. Hopeless and alone. This left me drowning in a sea of tears and ultimately unfettered from my gripping emotions.
It started with an innocent peek at my mother's facebook page, which is somewhat public; I hoped for a window into her world, a hint at her missing me but instead I saw my friend 'liking' one of my mom's photos... and that was the moment the wave made landfall. Enter destruction; crashing down walls built up around me to protect my heart, the salty tears pouring from my eyes like ocean water ripping through barriers.
It seems no matter how much progress I make; boost in confidence, change in perspective, positive thinking, being grateful and joyful, all it takes is a remnant of those old feelings of not being protected to relive the terror I felt as a little girl. A little girl who had no one on her side. A little girl lost and alone.
That little scared girl still wants to know that those still in my life through all this are on MY side and not hers. Little Brandi wants/needs to feel loved and validated and special. She doesn't want to see MY friends paying any attention to my mother. It's not just a simple "clicking like" on a picture...it's personal and it feels like more betrayal. At least it does in the mind of a little broken girl.
Since the dam of tears I'd apparently been holding back had broken I allowed them to freely fall; no longer feeling the need to hold them back like sand bags piled high against the rising waters. I then found myself looking through photos despite that it's painful to recall the memories captured in those snapshots. There were over a hundred pics on facebook that my mother tagged me in. In the 'good' photographs I felt a stab to my heart that my own mom could spend my life with me by her side, intertwined in so many memories and then just dismiss me as if I never existed as she completely turned her back on me. Wishing me 'Happy Birthday' for 37 of them but maintaining silence on my 38th. Spending 37 Christmases with me, and ignoring me last Christmas. A lifetime filled with spending time together; passing summer days with walks around the river, trips to the zoo, shopping (lots of shopping), winters of complaining about the snow together and spending cold mornings sipping coffee or chilly evenings snuggling under blankets while watching movies and munching popcorn. In all the seasons of our lives are all these memories and each one now triggers pain at what once was and what I fear will never be again.
I was tagged in lots of pictures of my youth; family photos, family gatherings, weddings & holidays. I was also tagged in two pictures of myself that sent me right into full on post traumatic stress. A photo of me standing outside of the barn where I was first sexually assaulted. Even as I type this, I KNOW beyond a shadow of a doubt that what happened was wrong but I STILL hear "it wasn't that bad, you weren't raped". I was 13, I was tackled down to the straw-covered ground, my arms were pinned above my head, my shirt lifted up to expose my bare breasts and I was "tickled". I was asked if it felt good. I wasn't physically raped, but I might as well have been because that day changed the course of my life forever. I was violated and my soul was irreparably shattered. My trust was forever broken. My trust in the man I knew as my dad, the man that took my mother away from my father, married her and vowed to love and honor her, had sexually assaulted me; and that was just the beginning of it. I saw this picture of myself standing outside that barn and I heard loud and clear that what happened didn't matter to anyone but me; because if it did, how could a mom choose to stay with this monster and later turn her back on me? If what happened mattered, how could a family go on living as if nothing happened?
But that was just what we all did. It was swept under the rug and not dealt with. It was only spoken of when another 'incident' occurred and then I was treated as if I had done something wrong. I was in the wrong for going to him for affection/attention. I was wrong when I got angry. I was wrong when I spoke with an attitude. I was wrong when I ran away from home. I was wrong when I spoke with my friend about it. (and subsequently she was wrong for reporting it to CPS) I was wrong when I complained and compared. I was wrong when I cried and screamed. I was wrong when I got angry last year and stopped accepting my mother's excuses, minimization, denials, and deflections. I was wrong when I spoke up publicly. I was wrong for discussing it on facebook. Not only was I told I was wrong to do that, I was treated as if I was dangerous, unsafe and not "ok" to be around.
How does that even work? I was violated and I WAS WRONG? Was I wrong when he entered the bathroom while I showered, to re-attach the shower head that had mysteriously popped off in the middle of my shower? Was I wrong when I obeyed his demand to just stand their in the shower, dripping wet and naked while he repaired the shower? Was I wrong when I bit him in the chest because I panicked when he again had me pinned down in a compromising position? Was I wrong when I showed him my tailbone bruise and he tried to touch my vagina? Was I wrong for trusting that my "father figure" would'nt do anything inappropriate? If I was wrong for trusting him, how does that NOT make my mom wrong now? I kept trusting, because my mom trusted him. I kept going to him for love and affection, because that is what my mom did. I kept treating him like my parent because that is what I was taught to do. I modeled the behavior and acceptance of this abuse. Until last year, that is when I started to think for myself and act upon my own gut feelings about this. And as soon as I did that, I was disowned and abandoned.
I was NOT in the wrong. I was a child and I should have been protected. I am still not in the wrong, publicly speaking about this.
I will never stop speaking about this. I believe that sharing my experience is the only way to live a life free from the bonds it created. I believe that speaking my truth is not only empowering to me, but for others who hear it. Sexual abuse should NOT be swept under a rug. It should be discussed, dealt with, and out in the open for healing. People need to be educated and informed. That is the only way to ever attempt to stop this from happening again and again to children.
I know, just as sure as the sun rises, that every time I speak about this, I push the wedge in farther and the great divide that exists now between my mother and I (and her family) widens. I know that each push subsequently forces those in denial further away. With each push I feel the agonizing pain; the sorrow and loss of so many I held dear in my life, the hurt at my outrageous abandonment, the wounds of not being chosen time and time again. The sting of betrayal, the shock of their denial. I feel it all each and every time I 'push'.
But, something else happens with each push of this wedge; I feel my resolve grow stronger, I feel my commitment to healing get bigger and I feel more empowered. I'm never going to back down again and crawl back to them in blind acceptance of their abuse and denial or their blatant disregard for my well-being. This 38 year old Brandi is standing up for that little girl and I won't ever let her feel alone again. I have her back. I believe in myself, because I was deserving of protection and a safe environment, and when it wasn't safe or healthy it wasn't my fault that it affected me the way that it has and continues to.
When I saw those pictures today, I made some outspoken comments on facebook knowing my mother would see them. (until she blocked me again...or maybe even deactivated her facebook for a while) That hurt little angry girl who has NEVER once received validation from her mother lashed out. I know it upsets her and I hoped it caused her pain because admittedly in that moment, I didn't care. I wanted her to feel a speck of the pain I have felt. That I know is not the definition of 'forgiveness'. I thought I had begun the journey to forgive her, but today proves I'm still a ways off. And that's ok. I'm allowing myself time and space to keep making this journey of healing. Because I'm still grieving, I have a lifetime of memories to remember and with them a lifetime of loss to mourn.
Each day that goes by without a phone call only further proves she is still incapable of telling me what I need to hear. And each day that passes only adds more pain and hurt to recover from; but that is on her. If/when she ever wants to be in my life again, she will have a lot of time to make up for.
For now the crashing waves of tears have ceased just as risen waters recede after flooding. I feel the calm after the storm and in the calm I once again feel hope. I do not know what the future holds, but I know I will be ok. And even as sure as I am that another storm will surely hit, for such is the cycle of life; I know that I will make it through that too. I am strong. I am a survivor. And I'm glad I don't have the "flashy thingey" that Will Smith has, because there are far too many beautiful memories to hold tight to...kissing my husband for the first time, becoming his wife, gazing upon my babies faces for the first time and every time since, laughing with my family and friends, and living my life with joy.
