I'm Old I'm Young

I made myself get up and walk out in to the hallway.  There was a strong odor of fresh paint.  I opened th edoor to my room and stood in the doorway.  It was much cleaner looking except for the large heap in the center of the floor.  I walked around the edge of the tarped pile and inspected the walls and trim.  I made my way back to the doorway.  This will do.  Why should I move out of this bigger room to run from something that wasn't IN this room and wouldn't ever be again.  I didn't see him lurking in the corners or feel like he was cowering in the closet.  No matter where I went he was in my head and moving out of this room wasn't going to take care of that.  Purging him from my head was completely up to me.  How to do it was a mystery.  I stared in to the room.  I felt that happy feeling from this morning when I woke up.  All right then, taking back control is all I have to do. I turned on my heel and went to the kitchen.  Mom had left cinnamon rolls on the table.  I poured myself a cup of their still warm coffee and ate four cinnamon rolls and felt content as I took the last of the coffee from the coffee maker and went out the back door and sat on the top step.

Take control of my life.

What does that mean?  I've heard that said in so many contexts over the years that it almost seems meaningless.  I've got a job, am going to go to school.  Shawn has come into my life, what will come of it is not necessarily in my control.  I'm not eve sure what I'm hoping for with Shawn.  Never have I even allowed myself to think about somebody being my life like this.  Like what?  Do I tell him?  And scare him away?  How could I not tell him something like this.  How would I tell him something like this?

I played out a scenario in my head, one of many to come I'm sure.  Telling Shawn and him looking at me with pity.  Gradually he pulls away and can't even touch me.  I look in his eyes and see the look I fear the most.  He sees me and sees a damaged person.  I can't fix that.  Forever he will see me and see what happened to me and thats who I will be to him.  I blink my eyes to focus on looking towards the backyard instead of picturing his face.

"Hey."  Startled I turn my head to see Mary standing next to the back steps.  Just two feet from me.  "Where were you?"

"No where I wanted to be."

"Oh, I guess we've all been there."  I slid over and she sat on the step next to me.   "What's up?"

"I painted my room.  I guess I should say Shawn and I painted my room."

"Really?  That's sounds good.  I haven't seen you for a few days and the next thing I know you have a guy in your room."

"Interesting don't you think?  I didn't want to lose all of my good mood from this morning so I am going to try to head this off.

"Yes.  I think I would say that's interesting.  Have you talked to Tim?"  I didn't see that coming.  I thought I was in for the long haul to explain my time with Shawn.  I liked this better.  Let's talk about her.

"Yeah."  I nearly forgot my talk the other night because of being with Shawn last night.  "He was over the other day.  Stayed for dinner."

"Oh..."   Quietly.  Too quietly.

"What's going on Mary?  You said you weren't interested in seeing him anymore."

"I'm not.  I don't think I am.  But I can't stop thinking about him."   I leaned back to the door and laid against it looking at the back of her head.  She put her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees.  "That doesn't make much sense does it?"

"Maybe it will if you explain it."

"I don't know what to explain.  I mean, when I was with him I didn't feel any excitement.  No thrill.  You know?  Like waiting for him to touch me or kiss me or something.  I felt comfortable with him.  Maybe I want something more than comfortable."   She twisted around to look at me.  "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"About me and Tim goof.  I mean, can I not like this wonderful guy because of.....what?  It doesn't make sense to me at all."  

"Me either.  You obviously think he's wonderful.  You like him.  But you don't like him.  I can't make sense of it.  You think you want more what?  Danger?  What kind of excitement do you think you want?"

"I don't know."  She dropped back to the door and laid back turning her head to look at me.  "I was hoping you would."  She smiled and I laughed which made me sit up because laughing made me bounce my head off of the door.

"You don't trust me with my own life and you think I have the answers for you?"

She smiled.  "Kind of ironic huh?"

"Just out of curiosity, why do you have to decide NOW what you want from a relationship with Tim?"

"What dya mean?"  She sat back up next to me again.  She sure was getting tan.

"I just don't understand whatever happened to the purpose of dating.  Why do we, me, you, whoever..have to be with someone and decide within hours it seems, on whether this is serious or not?  I thought dating was about discovering someone else, their likes, dislikes, what you have in common and what you will never agree on."

"I wouldn't say we decided in hours.  We were seeing each other for months."

"So."  She bugged her eyes at me in an 'explain that please' kind of look I was familiar with.  "Months don't necessarily seem long enough to me to discover everything about a person.  You said you liked him and think he's wonderful.  Why can't you be with him and have a good time?  See a movie.  Go dancing.  You know...go out."

"Sounds just peachy Nicky.  But he wanted this commitment thing I and I didn't know if I could.  I mean, what if someone did come along that gave me that thrill?  Someone who's touch I did wait for and anticipate.  Then what?  I told him I didn't know what I was feeling about all of this."

"Can't you say all of this to him?  Why can't you see him with a commitment?"

"Girl, you are making no sense.  You just said why do we have to be in a hurry to be serious, now you say make a commitment."  She flipped her hair as she shook her head.

"I guess on one hand I can't blame him.  There's a lot of stuff out there you don't get by being monogamous.    But why can't you make a commitment to be honest?  You'll see him.  Hang out with him.  Have fun with him.  But you don't know that it's going to develop in to any thing more."

"Thanks."  Very dry and injured.  "Thanks Nicky.  Just what do you think I'm doing anyway?"

"Lighten up."  I punched her in the arm like I had seen her brother do thousands of times.   "I don't think you're doing anything.  Why can't you make a commitment to him telling him you will see only him while you are seeing him but you'll be honest if someone else comes along that you're interested in."

"That sounds almost cruel.  I mean, tell a guy I'll stay with him until someone else comes along."  She was in one foul and grumpy mood.

"Mary"  I tried to mimick her as best I could as she always says to me "do you need to feel bad right now?"  At first she sat there stony faced but as I stared at her she slowly started to smile.

"Yes damnit.  I think I do."

"Fine then.  You let me know when you are ready to stop feeling bad."  I liked pulling her own counseling tricks on her.  She returned the punch to my arm.

"Sometimes Nicky what you say sounds so...young.  But for some reason it makes sense."  I sound young?  I thought she said I seemed old to her.  I'm letting it pass.  I made her go upstairs with me and see my room.  She ended up helping me put everything back in order and drag that bulky tarp down to the basement.  We spent the time talking about Shawn and she became almost giddy talking about him.  We stopped in the kitchen on the way back up from the basement for some cranberry juice to drink.  We sat at the kitchen table.

Where Do I Start?

There hasn't been a day that I don't remember.  Not that I sit around and consciously think of what happened.  But it is a part of my life.  I very seldom think about the actual events anymore.  It is more like an awareness that this happened to me.  A fact.  Just like eating and breathing, only not as pleasurable.  It is what taught me pain, anger, shame, guilt, mistrust and fear.  Even more-lessons in gratitude, love and strength.  Though these lessons I did not learn until much later in life, certainly not while I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to be over.  I could never pretend it wasn't happening.  I could not remove myself from the reality of it.  Maybe this is a good thing.  Because if I had been able to escape reality then, would I have escaped reality forever?  Now, I know that is not what I want, maybe I knew it then also.

How did it start?  I don't know, I don't remember.  I don't remember not knowing him as a part of our lives.  I remember times when he wasn't around as much, and then times that he was around all too often.  Somehow, he managed to gain my parents trust with me.  They were very protective, very sheltering but not constricting.  They didn't need to hold on to me because I never let myself go.  I did not let myself lose control, or so I thought.  Though sometimes I may have felt stifled and miserable, it wasn't because of what they did, it was because of what they didn't do.  I didn't want them to know, and I wanted them to know.

Where do you start when you tell about this sort of thing?  There is much to say about what happened.  But even more to say about how it affected my life.  Not just when it happened but the entirety of my life.  It isn't something that happens and can be forgotten.  It was a constant in my life, something regular and almost predictable.  What happened?  All of that has been heard so many times from so many victims and survivors (sad isn't it, that I feel so many people already know these sordid facts that I don't feel it necessary to spell out the actual events).  I don't think most people, even the survivors, know the impact it has on every day living.  I started to discover this in pieces, and when put together, I myself did not want to admit that I lost so much control of my life to this abuse.  I would think the actual, physical crime against me would be enough, that that was my victimization.  The harshest part of what he did to me.  Not so.  The crime didn't stop when the sexual abuse stopped.  The victimization would go on.  And in trying to keep control in my life I would become "control-less".  There is so much more to me than the fact that I am a victim/survivor.   I hate these words, "victim/survivor", it is not who I am.  I have done more in my life than "be" abused, but often when someone finds out, that is what I am to them.  I am a combination of all that has happened in my life, both good and bad.  Like everyone else, the foundation of my character was laid piece by piece.  And those pieces were constructed from the very best God has to offer, to the very worst that man has contrived.

There were times in my life that I am vividly aware of.  Then there are the times that I struggle to remember what my life was like.  I remember how I felt, the internal battles I waged.  But I don't necessarily have an awareness of names and places and specifics.  Not because I have blocked these events out of my life.  But because I was not focused on my life.   The daily struggle of going through the mundane specifics of living was often delegated to "automatic pilot".  I did not give much thought to the basics of living and therefor did not register, often times, the events of my life.  So while I operated on automatic I dealt with the feelings I was not prepared to deal with, as no one should ever be.  Child or adult, this is not a test you can prepare for but spend an entire life learning from.

My story is my own.  I speak for no other.  I will start at a time when I was very conscious of the battles, very aware of my feelings, and am still learning from.