Friday, November 12, 2010

I Survived. But When Will it be Over?

My sister reads this blog and I am going to warn her that she may just want to skip this one.  Please.

If my mother reads my blog, I do not know about it.  I'm not sure if she wants to read this one either.

I can't let that stop me.  I have to write this as if no one were reading...

I remember the day that my Elementary School Principal came to the classroom door and then my teacher told me to come to her desk.  My parents were in the office.  Both of them.  I remember the long walk down the short hallway to his office.
Why is dad not at work?  I'm gonna get in trouble.

I remember not wanting to remember their faces.

I remember how the smell of the cement plant filled up the Principal's office.  My dad hadn't changed his clothes from work.  

I'm gonna get in trouble.

I remember not looking at their faces.

I don't remember words spoken.  I remember going to to the girl's bathroom and getting sick ... vomiting ... and I remember a teacher finding me and asking if I was okay.  I remember wondering why mother didn't look for me.  

Was I in trouble?

They took me home.

I had just "accused" my step-brother of molesting me.  Incest.

When I got home I went to my room and at some point *his* mother came over with *his* sister.  They sat at my kitchen table, where I ate my family dinners, where I did my homework, where I played board games... and asked me why would I lie about such accusations.  My parents sat with them and said nothing.  They sat at my kitchen table and even called me names.  I was called a slut in front of my parents, in my kitchen, by my abuser's mother and sister.

I just stood there and took it.  Because that is what I knew how to do.  

"Didn't you say no?"  When did that mean I said yes?  I'm sorry... I didn't know I needed to consent to sex at age 9.

"You always were looking for attention." Oh... so by that logic it only makes sense that I did deserve what I got.  I did ask for it.  I asked for it and trust me... I learned how to take it and not complain so that I wouldn't bother anyone.

There were two of them, my step-brothers, and they took turns. I can't and I won't go into specific details... but after that day in the office... after that day at my kitchen table.... things changed.  It was the birth of some thing very ugly and ... well... I'd like to say the death of something very much uglier, but... it wasn't.

Let me explain.

So after the "accusations" were made and the reports were filed there was a bit of time when the "boys" were not allowed back into my home.  But I never really felt like I wasn't being violated, because even though I wasn't being touched... or watched... or... **sigh** I was literally being FORCED to talk about it with either the authorities, my parents, or a counselor.  This was supposed to be good for me.

Then, back at the kitchen table... remember the sacred place where I was called those nice things and just took it?  Well... I was told to set the table one Sunday afternoon, and I was told the "boys" would be there too.  I was told that I needed to get over it.  I was told that we needed to start acting like a family again. 

(Or something like that.  I'm sure my mother or sister both have their own memories, respectfully... these are mine.)

Again.  The kitchen table.

And so it was born.

I have thought really long and hard about this fucking eating disorder I struggle with ... and everything I have inside of me... every cell and every fiber I have.... well... it all shoves me back to the fifth grade and that goddamn kitchen table.

I would have done anything to never have to go back to the table ever again.


RadDyke said...

Oh Elle,
I barely know you and I want to reach out and hug you. No words. Just support.

Asya said...

tears are rolling down my face. I wish no child would ever have to go through this. I especially wish that you hadn't. My heart aches for you. Love, my to you, for you!

Anonymous said...

I love you, E.

Bebe said...

E, I'm so sorry. I knew and I'm still so sorry. Those horrible lost chances where we might have been saved. Only we weren't. We were slaughtered emotionally. It makes so many things hard as an adult. Trust? Almost impossible? Safety? Where? These monsters are inside of us, shoved in there first by abusers and then by words and later by silence. How do we get away from ourselves? We starve the body. We cut the body. We neglect the body. We want out of this body. I know. Instead, we must make peace with it, become the protector, the savior of that little girl inside. Get mad. Scream. Throw things. Write letters (sent or not). Run, eat, dance, love. But reclaim the body. She's in there, waiting to finally be believed, be safe, be loved, to trust. I love you, E

A. said...


Raye said...

you know, humans cannot replace something that only God can give in the first place... I would elaborate but I am not sure if you would want me to... so I will just say that I will pray for your inner peace and healing... I love you my friend.