It Just Felt So Ancient...

I loved him.. Still do.. But he said he wasn't "in love" with me.  Still he said we were a family but made no promises.  Ahh, yet another one.  But it didn't start there.  No, it started long ago.

 

When I was 7 I was molested my my dad's girlfriends relative.  My parents were engaged in an ugly battle so what happened to me got swept into oblivion.  I remember feeling confused by the reaction of my body and yet the revulsion I felt having been violated.  It was only once, but it was enough to make me curious.  I remember wondering if there was something wrong with me.  Why did something so bad feel so good?  I was curious about the touching.  Why did it tingle when he put his mouth on my neck and touched me there?  It wasn't long before I started acting out.  I would pitch many fits, cry, scream, hurt myself, throw things, get into fights.  When I turned 9, my parents got back together and we lived in World War III.  By the time I was 13 I was boy crazy!  I hated my parents and their endless fighting.  My father was loving but strict, my mother loving but extremely passive except when she was fighting with my dad or vise versa.  By the time I was 13 I was fed up.  I remember spending a lot of time at friends houses.  I used to pretend a lot.  Pretend that I was in their families, living their lives.  Or I would create my own.  It was at one of these friends house where I was raped for the first time by her 19 year old cousin.  I remember, I had a crush on him.. One night as I slept on the couch he came to me, told me he loved me and the nightmare began.  His friends laughed the next morning to see me disheveled.  Said, the silver bullet has struck again.. I remember those words.  I went home and my dad was there with my sisters having chocolate pie, my favorite and he offered me a slice.  They were so happy I remember.  It was a good day for them.  I didn't have the heart to ruin it.  I ate my pie in silence, smiled for my parents and then went to my room and tore out pieces of my hair.  Underneath, close to the nape of my neck so no one would notice.  I ran away shortly after and stayed gone for 3 days using sex in exchange for a place to sleep and some food.  I didn't care anymore.  I felt that was all I was ever going to be worth.  When my parents finally found me, the war began again.  I left for good at 14. 



I wasn't promiscuous.. I couldn't stand to be touched really.  I had boyfriends and steady relationships.  But I never connected.  Never trusted.  Got pregnant, had a baby.  Another bad experience left me bruised and swollen.  Left.  Found another.. Another baby, marriage, another baby, he cheated with my friend and she had his baby too.. divorce.. stalked.. ran away 3 little kids tugging at my skirt, age 26.  Met a nice man, remarried had another baby.. couldn't understand "nice" man.. Left..

For years following I was genuinely happy.  I worked, sang, painted, wrote volumes of poetry which people would compliment on.  Moved to another state and met another "nice" man.. fell in love.. He said he loved me.  My children call him dad.  He was the reflection of beauty within me, but he was always insecure about himself.  He never had a chance to date he said.  Never had a chance to live for himself he said.  He couldn't commit to me.  Yet, he stayed with me, slept in my bed.. then slowly pulled away.. He knew my past, every detail.  I was scared at first, but he made it easy to trust him.  He came from abuse too.  Perhaps that is why things didn't work.  Neither of us know how to deal with "nice". 

The night it happened, we had a fight.  I was hurt.  He changed his mind about me.  Was it me?  Was I not good enough?  I didn't understand.  We fought.  He thought I was flirting with his friend.  I thought I was just being playfully kind.  He called me a *****.  Something broke inside.  All the years of strength vanished.  Gone.  I smoked a pack of ciggarettes in one night.. One after the other.  All the anxiety I kept at bay for so many years flooded into me.  I am only good for a ****, rang in my mind like a mantra.  Thats all I'm good for over and over again.. I looked him in his eyes and said thats it then.  No more.  He begged me not to hurt myself.  I lay in my bed that night restless.  That morning he started packing.  He said, let me leave in a good way.  But of course I couldn't hear him.  He kept talking.  Your not really serious anyway.. your not..   Snap, I got up went to the bathroom got my sleeping pills out of the cabinet, came back to the living room where he stood.  I walked to the kitchen and took them out of their packaging one by one.  He called the kids and told them to get some cookies, hug your mama.. He told me, look at the children.. I couldn't hear him.. He was just a whisper.  He told them to go to their room and they obeyed cookies in hand, oblivious.  My mind was numb.. All I could focus on was the snap of the packaging as the pills were freed and fell into my hand.  He was behind me then, holding me tightly.  Apolgoizing.  Begging.  He held my wrist tightly, some pills fell to the floor as I struggled to free myself.  He told me no.. I broke free and swallowed them all.

He rushed me to the hospital.  I remember they asked what his relationship was to me and he said "friend".  I thought, "*******".  I didn't want to be in the hospital.  My 13 year old son stayed at my bedside watching as they choked me with charcoal.  My "friend" left to take the other children to my sister.  Called my family from out of state.  When he returned, the doctors wouldn't let him see me except for a brief moment.  He ran his fingers through my hair and called my name and said, he loved me.. I fell asleep hoping it would be the last thing I heard.. But then, I woke up..



That was one month ago.  I turned 33 since then.  My relationship with him is damaged beyond repair.  He tried very hard at first, but lines were crossed that can't be uncrossed.  We both need healing now.  My children are strong though.  They are ever present checking to see if I ate or slept ok.  But for the most part, they are outwardly unaffected.  They have always been like rocks.  I love them more than I ever realized before. And despite popular belief I do have an immense sense of self love and respect.   Still, I am plagued by a sadness that no one around me understands.  I just want to be happy.  I'm not feeling depressed or anxious on purpose.  I wish I could turn it off.  I wish I could force myself to just be happy.  Nothing helps.  I'm not acutely suicidal today.  I give myself reasons to want to live.  Still smoke a half a pack a day, barely eat or sleep.  But today I'm alive.  Tomorrow, I'll have to give myself another good reason.   Tomorrow, I want to see the color of the sky when the sun rises.. Thats a good reason..

jadetemple jadetemple
31-35, F
Feb 26, 2010