I sat on the idea of this blog for a couple of years. Should I do it? Why should I do it? How would it be received? Do I want to expose that much about myself? Until now fear drove my decision. Once I realized fear held me back I knew I had to move forward. Did that knowledge help ease the fear? No, I’m afraid of every story I write. I’m scared of the memories, scared of the pain it brings, scared of responses I might receive, scared of exposing the truth.
In some ways 46 is just a number because at times I feel like that same scared, little girl. A couple of weeks ago I was faced with an issue regarding my sexual abuse and I became absolutely terrified. My hands were shaking and I was trembling – I was frozen with fear. It caught me off guard and I didn’t know what to do. I thought I was in a different place in my healing and I was emotionally broken. (I promise I will share this story when the time is right). I was at work so I text Robbie and asked for prayer because I was in a bad place. (This is also a good picture of how abuse can sneak up on you – even at work). I made it through my day but now I was determined to finally face my fear (not just treat the symptoms).
In 1976 there was a television miniseries called Sybil starring Sally Field and Joanne Woodward. Sybil had multiple personality disorder due to a horrific childhood of sexual and physical abuse. There is a scene where Sybil’s mother locked young Sybil in the wheat bin in the barn. Thinking she was smothering, Sybil used her purple crayon to scratch on the inside of the bin so someone would know she had been there. This blog is my purple crayon. My words, my voice saying “This happened to me and it was wrong”.
- “Don’t tell”
- “You like it”
- “You don’t want to get me into trouble”
- “Come over here”
- “Stop Crying”
My choices and responses were told to me and I wasn’t allowed to have a voice. It was stifled, strangled and silenced. It wasn’t important because I wasn’t important. Their desires and wants superseded mine, and in it I became lost. It can feel like you’re wandering deep in the jungle at night with no map – how do you find your way out? Scared of what you might find in the dark – knowing there is a chance you might not make it. I choose to fight to make it out in one piece, and let others know they can too.
3 of my 4 sexual abusers have died. Some times I wish they were still here on earth so they could hear my voice. I used to fantasize about the things I would say to them if given the chance. For a long time I only felt anger and hate and desired they burn in hell. I wanted them to feel every ounce of pain and torture they inflicted on me. I wanted revenge. Now, the tone of my voice has changed. I discovered when I stay in that hateful, revengeful place – I can’t heal. I had to make a choice – what’s most important my healing or my hate?
My choice, my desire, my voice will share my past to help pave the way for my future. I don’t want to limp down that road bleeding and bruised – I choose to run down it healed and whole.